2 year Angel-versary
In the world of losing a baby they call it “angel-versary”. Sometimes I feel silly using those terms as if it is a way for me to still separate myself from being a part of “that club” but it also makes me feel like I am a part of something that can acknowledge the pain and the reality of our experiences.
On Sunday (the 11th) marks two years that have gone by since the day I spent in the hospital and we were able to hold our still born daughter, Autumn. I am not quite sure how to describe what I am feeling. I am surprised I am not as emotional as I thought I would be, or wouldn’t categorize my feelings in the “angry” column. That surprises me so much. I always felt I would be angry, bitter, and so depressed. In a way I hate the saying “time heals”. I always felt like the reason why people “think” time heals is because it pulls us farther and farther apart from the actual event and we can’t remember as clearly what happened because life seems to carry on and we have to live our lives. So to me, when someone says “time heals” all I hear is “just give it time, you’ll be forced to forget your feelings and you won’t care as much”. That was my biggest fear the day I found out we lost our baby and the day I delivered her, was that everyone was making a big deal about it, sending me special notes, meals, thoughtful texts, praying for me, but as soon as a months and now years fly by, it’s as if no one feels obligated to express as in depth their feelings…I guess time healed them. The situation is still the same for me. I lost a baby I will never hold, or get to know. Sometimes I wonder why time has to go on. I wonder often, how can anyone process losing a child then be expected to move on and find joy in their day to day experiences? It breaks my heart that as time seems to go on us mothers are the only ones who remember our babies. Even then, I have to convince myself she was real and what I experienced was real. I spoke to a friend who had an experience of giving birth to a baby girl, McKenzie, who was diagnosed with Triploidy, a very rare chromosomal abnormality. Her baby was born and a day later died in her arms. She had the privilege of holding her close to her chest as she sung “I am a child of God.” One particular evening I had spoken with her about the similar feelings about loss. She would share her perspective and I would share mine. Later that night I felt bad. I didn’t want her to feel like I knew what she went through and I was trying to put both of our experiences on the same level. I felt like they were both very different experiences with outcomes of losing our babies and I wanted to discuss those feelings of loss. I worried I may have come across as if I knew what she had gone through. I decided to text her and let her know I didn’t feel that way. She told me she didn’t and that she enjoys talking about McKenzie because that way she feels like she really did exist. My heart sank, feeling so sad that she had to constantly remind herself that McKenzie existed! She mentioned that night that no one ever brings up McKenzie or talks about her and she understands but it is hard for her to keep her alive as others are constantly keeping her dead. I feel like as a mother of a baby who passed it is difficult to ever truly move on. I feel it is sad knowing we are the only ones thinking of them, speaking their name, and trying to convince the world they are real.
Well what I have come to realize is that time brings experience and opportunity to have a new perspective on the exact same experience. I have been able to experience new things and be able to look back with a fresh pair of eyes and come to conclusions about things that I couldn’t possibly do while right in the middle. I am not saying that ANY of my heartache or pain is gone. That will always be there and if I start thinking about the details I am overcome by such intense emotion as the same day I found out. I have crystal clear memories of that experience that are engraved on my heart. As much as I have wanted to forget that whole experience with everything inside of me, I will never. If that was taken from me, I am not me.
Autumn Jo Dees would have been 20 months this month. She would be walking, talking, and since she’s my daughter most likely dancing and singing around! It would have been so fun to see her personality right now, just entering her “terrible twos” I wonder if she would have been an “easy” baby, or high maintenance wanting a lot of attention? It is fun to wonder. It is also just as sad to go down the road of “what ifs” I will stop here and leave with a poem that I dedicate to anyone who has experienced a loss.
We Remember
In the rising of the sun and it’s going down,
We remember them
In the blowing of the wind and in the chill of winter
We remember them
In the opening of the buds and in the warmth of summer,
We remember them
In the rustling of the leaves and the beauty of autumn,
We remember them
In the beginning of the year and when it ends,
We remember them
When we are weary and in need of strength,
We remember them
When we are lost and sick at heart,
We remember them
When we have joys we yearn to share,
We remember them
So long as we live, they too shall live,
For they are now a part of us,
As we remember them
*Little Update: As I wrote my feelings the night before the actual day, I was surprised to wake up Sunday morning and feel peaceful. Of course I had tears here and there, and when Kevin asked me to pray over our lunch I couldn’t get through it without bawling like a baby, but overall it was a nice day. I appreciate the thoughtful texts and phone calls. We were able to visit the gravesite and take some pictures.
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