In that moment, I decided that maybe I could open myself up again by opening my mouth to lift a song. Attending mass was completely painful anyway, so why not sing with my husband and lead worship to offer as a distraction? Little did I know how much this decision would change things for me.
At that first mass, in that first song of true and profound prayer (because I didn’t even know how to pray anymore), I felt her, and I felt heaven, and I had a vision of her eternity of praising God the Father, endlessly. And it kept me going. Week by week.Read More
“I will send out an army to find you in the middle of the darkest night...
I will never stop marchin’ to reach you in the middle of the hardest fight...
I hear you whisper underneath your breath. I hear you whisper you have nothing left...
It’s true, I will rescue you...”Read More
Six months. Today, we celebrate six months of life. It’s your little brother’s half birthday. As I type this, he’s cuddled close to me, sucking on his pacifier, while his softie is nestled into his neck and lullabies lull him to sleep. It’s beautiful. But it stings. It’s bittersweet... I’m overcome with love for him and the joy he brings me to the point that I’m overwhelmed and brought to tears. His breaths fall heavily on my arm, while you remained so still. His little life, in my arms, because your life slipped through my hands. Death literally passed through me, so a new life could be planted. Could grow. Could resurrect from the darkness and bring to fruition a redemption I had not thought possible. There’s so much guilt. But there’s so much love. And grief, it still remains.Read More
Who am I now? How has this experience changed me? I hesitate to even call it an experience. It was and is so much more than that. It was stillbirth. It was losing a child. It is loss. And it is grief. But nonetheless, I am different.
Transformed, however, makes it seem as though I have come to the end of this difficult road. I am ever evolving. Ever changing. In each day, each moment, in each breath...I am transforming.Read More
Every night, before bed, I would look at her picture on the mantle. Trace my thumb over the rosary beads made from her funeral flowers. And beg for it to all be different.Read More
Today my grief is a longing. A dull ache that never goes away, stealing my breath and causing me to feel like I can’t breathe. Today my grief is finding beauty. The Eucharist. A smile. A glimpse of joy. A warm fall morning. The flowers at your grave. Standing near you as the sun warms my skin, and the birds sing, reminding me of our silent retreat together. Today my grief is feeling you in my heart, always. Knowing that wherever I go, you are always near. And I feel it so deeply. Today my grief is choosing. Choosing to take another step forward. Choosing to be present. Choosing to remember. Choosing to let God soften the edges of my heart. Today my grief is real and tangible. I am aware of its presence. But I invite it in. I do not hide from it or run away. Today, I step back, and I allow it to take its place in my life.Read More
Your name. It came to me in prayer before the Blessed Sacrament. It was early on in the pregnancy, and we weren’t finding out the gender. I had always thought I would have a Rebecca if I had another girl. But God named you before you were mine: Teresa Elizabeth. This was to be your name...Read More
Two years this Monday...October 1. The Feast of St. Therese. I had proof of your life growing within me. The inkling I had felt was proven true with two pink lines.Read More
I shut my eyes in hopes of dreaming of you. Of finding you. Of you finding me.
I see you in my mind’s eye, and I speak your name on my heart. It rests on my tongue in a quiet sigh. No sound comes out. It’s stifled. Unreleased.
I wrap my arms around my shoulders, clenching myself tightly. I envision the weight of your small body against mine. Leaning into me. Pressing against me. Delicate arms wrapped tightly around me with your tiny jaw embedded into the nape of my neck.
In the bed. Holding you. Holding me. I need you to hold me.
I miss you so much.Read More
“It has been said, 'time heals all wounds.' I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens. But it is never gone.” (Rose Kennedy)Read More
Where are you, my love? I cannot find you. Cannot feel you. You have left me. You are gone. Your life, departed from mine. A year ago yesterday, we had one another. One last day. Together.Read More
May is here. And May hurts. Because May means you will be gone...forever...until we are reunited in heaven.Read More
Last night while nursing him, he gave a slight resemblance to you, and I remembered staring down at your face in the hospital room in such disbelief. No matter how much I willed you to breathe or to move, no matter how much I begged God to change the outcome, I couldn’t change a thing. I was completely powerless.Read More
Being home with your little brother, I’m so very much reminded of those early days at home without you. I sit on the sofa, nursing him, holding him tight, gazing at his small frame and features, and I listen to the birds sing outside and dive and dance in and out of our yard. And I see you, colorless and empty of life, in a cold, dark hospital room. And I remember how I came home and slept all night, stayed in bed until the afternoon, didn’t eat, and cried every waking hour and in between. I’m reminded of how my body continued to move on without you...Read More
I’m a day late, my love. Yesterday, it was 11 months. How have we happened upon one month shy of a full year?
I know I haven’t written in a while, but so much has been moving and churning within the depths of my heart. It’s almost been too much to articulate admidst the exhaustion of daily life, grief, and pregnancy after loss. However, I think you know. You’ve witnessed it all.
Eleven months ago, my world came crashing down when I received the most unimaginable news of my life...your heart had stopped beating just two weeks shy of your expected due date.Read More