The Fairy-Tale Magic of Love and Loss

In life, I have learned, that it is the people you laugh with, cry with, and love that are what makes life amazing.  The friends that make me smile and the family members that I lean on in a time of need are what make life enjoyable and bearable.  But, there is always one person, one person who can make everything else in the world fade away. They make the sunshine, the stars sparkle, and the earth move.  When you are with them you feel like you are flying, you’re so far off the ground you lose touch with reality and that is where you want to stay.  You can look into their eyes and see your whole world. 

 Eye Art by Svenja Jödicke

This person for me is Nick, my husband.  I knew the minute I met him something magical was to begin.  I walked up to him on our first date, not having met in person yet, and he turned to meet my eyes and his face glowed and his smile grew.  In that moment he gave it away.   I knew he was hooked!  But, it took me a minute or two to realize that I was the one who was falling head over heels in love.

Since that day, five years ago, Nick has brought magic into my life.  No, he is not a real magician; he doesn’t even know how to shuffle a deck of cards.  But, his magic is a deeper kind.   His enchantment is filled with love.  

That is why I die a little inside every day, knowing that I was not able to bring the magical creature made from our love into this world.  I miss her, yes, but I miss all the magic of love she created.  I wanted to revel in her magical essence in my arms, not only in my heart. I wanted Nick and me to be able to do this for the rest of our lives together. We eagerly anticipated doing so, hoping to watch her grow out of the love that Nick and I share for each other. Our love, it’s a fairy-tale love that deserves a happy ending.  

 "Pure Love" Artwork by Mila at Fairy Drop Studio's on Etsy

We didn’t get it.   That didn’t happen.

At times, I feel as if I am the cursed one in this fairy-tale and by loving me, maybe my husband is cursed too.  My womb is the killer in this story.  He is the victim, along with my beautiful daughter.  My body is the evil witch. 

 

I guess what I am saying is that I so hoped that I could be the fairy-tale princess that lives a charmed life with her handsome prince and her child in her arms when (THE END) flashes on the screen. (It’s curious when I think about it, why do they always end the story there?) Oh, because sh** gets messy!  Even charmed lives have moments of being unlucky.   

 Art by Paper Wings Production

But, who is to say that the story is really over.  Our marriage isn’t.  Our love is still magical and even more beautiful than before.  Maybe we are in the middle of our story.  Maybe Nick and I will slay the evil dragon, or kill that bitch of a witch, with the power of our true love. Because I still see the whole world in Nick’s eyes.  The possibility.  The love.  I know that Nick really doesn’t have magical powers that make the sun shine, the stars sparkle, and the earth move.  But his love sure does feel like magic. 

I hope ourfairy-tale ends more like the nursery rhyme, The Old Woman Who Lives in the Shoe.  With a revised ending of course, Nick would be there too.  We will have so many children we don’t know what to do, and our shoe is going to be the a primo expensive shoe, Manolo Blahnik’s $14,000 stiletto boot, baby!   

  

Picture from Forbes.com

The Bonds of Marriage We Have Made

Today I am going to be BOLD!  I am going to take a break from my grief and honor my husband and marriage instead. Marriage needs attention during grief.  I plan on giving mine some today.



According to the pamphlet, "Fathers Grieve, Too."  Some things to do to nurture your relationship and/or marriage after the death of your child include remembering:

• It's Important to keep on "dating"...even now. (Nick and I are going to go for a walk around the lake this weekend where we got married to celebrate us.)
• Talk about how you met.  Remember how you fell in love. (Online dating.  Oh, we talk about it still.  And laugh.)
• Share what you like about each other. (I like his smile, his smell, his sense of humor, his eyes, his intelligence, oh, I could go on forever.)
• Touch and hold each other. (We hold hands all the time still. I hope to be the one holding his hand when he or I pass away.)

I am going to be BOLD and do these things today, on our two year anniversary.

A Message to My Husband On Our Anniversary 

Dear Nicholas,

We have been married two years, honey.  I believe I have "chosen wisely" when it comes to you.  Thank you, Nicholas, for being the man I always knew you were when I met you and when I married you. 

You are truly my best friend, lover, husband, and dare I say it, Soul mate. 

I love you more and more each day and I am so proud of the beautiful little girl we created together.  Thank you for her. Thank you for us.

I love the poems we chose to share during our wedding day and I will share with you one today. 

On Marriage
 Kahlil Gibran

You were born together, and together you shall be forevermore.
You shall be together when the white wings of death scatter your days.
Ay, you shall be together even in the silent memory of God.
But let there be spaces in your togetherness,
And let the winds of the heavens dance between you.
Love one another, but make not a bond of love:
Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls.
Fill each other's cup but drink not from one cup.
Give one another of your bread but eat not from the same loaf
Sing and dance together and be joyous, but let each one of you be alone,
Even as the strings of a lute are alone though they quiver with the same music.


Give your hearts, but not into each other's keeping.
For only the hand of Life can contain your hearts.
And stand together yet not too near together:
For the pillars of the temple stand apart,
And the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each others shadow.

Honey, I give my heart to you and in our love and grief we stand together but never too near.  I believe because of this we have become the pillars of the temple, and we grow like oak trees not in each other's shadow, but from each other's light.  

And from my speech at our wedding I will close again the same way I did two years ago today,

"Finally, most importantly, thank you to Nicholas, for loving me, agreeing to marry me, and to spend the rest of his life with me."

Love Always & Forever,

Lindsey

P.S. Happy Birthday, My Love.

Sundays at Grandma's - His Story, Nora's Dad Shares

First off, I want to apologize for not posting yesterday.  We are out of town and have been having some technical difficulties.  

But, today in Sundays at Grandma's we will be hearing from Nicholas, Nora's dad and my husband.  I want to thank Nick again for being able to go to the dark places of grief and share his story in order to help others with theirs.  
 

His Story

The story begins about a year ago when I found out that my wife, Lindsey, was pregnant.  We had been trying to get pregnant for a few months when she came into the bedroom on the morning that we were closing on our new home.  She came over to me, as I just got out of the shower, and handed me something.  I looked at what she had just handed me and realized it was a pregnancy test.   I knew immediately the reason she had handed it to me.  She was pregnant.  I was so excited.  I always wanted to be a father.  I thought this was the greatest day.  We were buying a house and I found out I was going to be a dad.

Throughout the pregnancy I was hardly nervous at all, but every now and then Lindsey would express some concern and I would comfort her when she would get nervous, as I had no fear.  I had no reason to fear.
   
On December 30^th at 2:00 in the morning Lindsey woke me and told me she was feeling labor pains, so I calmly got the bag we had prepared.  We got in the car and drove to the hospital with anticipated excitement.  When we arrived the nurse took us into a room and used the Doppler device to look for the baby’s heartbeat.  After a minute or so she tried another device.  That didn’t seem to work so she retrieved the doctor who tried to find the heartbeat of our baby girl.  I remember him looking at us and saying the worst thing I have ever heard in my life,  “I’m sorry.  We’re not finding what we are looking for.”  My heart sank.  I held Lindsey’s hand as we absorbed the news.  Everything we had prepared for during the last nine months was all for nothing.  All our hopes and dreams of how we would raise our daughter were, in that moment, destroyed.  

The doctor said the safest option was to have Lindsey give birth naturally.  I thought to myself, “What torture this is."  To hear your baby has died and then be asked to go through labor and give birth to a baby that will never open her eyes.  Over the course of the next 12 hours Lindsey demonstrated more courage than I have ever witnessed.  She gave birth to our daughter, Nora, at 3:00 in the afternoon that Sunday.  At first I wasn’t sure if I wanted to hold her, to remember her as this lifeless baby, but I took her in my arms and felt a deep love and a maddening sadness at the same time.  This was my baby girl, Nora; this was my daughter.

             

The weeks following this ordeal (I still don’t know if I should refer to it as Nora’s death or her birth) were difficult to get back to normal.  We rearranged our lives to prepare for her, now we had to rearrange them back somehow.  We had to stop preparing to raise a child and had to concentrate on finding stability.  I was nervous how this might effect our relationship.  Would Lindsey sink into depression?  Would I become irritable and get frustrated with inconsequential things?  These fears subsided after time.  Our relationship grew even stronger as we were given the support we needed from friends and family.

             

What I learned from this, what Nora taught me, was that the most important thing in life is friends and family.  We found out that we are extremely lucky to have such a close network of people who care for us and each other.  I knew this before of course.  I have always had a deep appreciation of those close to me, but the support shown was moving.  Nora reinforced my belief that the importance of relationships and experiences will always trump material things.  She also taught me that we can get through anything, we can overcome anything. And finally, she made me a dad.  That is a powerful gift.    

Grief Project - Parenting My Dead Child

"I am convinced grieving a child is like mothering a child...A LIFE-LONG JOURNEY."

~ Lori Spray - Esteve

“When are you and your husband going to have kids?” A client asks me as we chat at the end of a therapy session.

My heart sinks and I quickly envision how this conversation might go with my different answers.

Situation #1 – The Drawn Out Awkward Conversation

“I have a daughter.” I reply.

“You do? How old is she?”

“She’s a baby.”

“I didn’t know you had a baby.  Is she walking yet?”

“No.”

“You must be so excited being a new mom?”

“Umm, no, not really.”

“What do you mean?”

“Umm, my daughter died.”

End of that conversation. Maybe I will try being more straight to the point. 

Situation #2 – The “Aren’t you sorry you asked?” Response

“I have a daughter, but she died.” I reply.

“Oh.”

And the person feels like a heel and I forever get eyes of pity in my direction. Or, I could try response number three.

Situation #3 – Don’t Acknowledge Your Role as a Parent or Your Child’s Existence Response

“Maybe someday.” I reply.

I choose situation #3. 

It was awful.  In that moment I consciously chose to not only deny my child’s existence, but deny my role as a parent.  I hated it.  What I want to do is shout it from the roof tops. 

“I AM A MOM!” 

I parent my daughter every day.  I parent her just like any other mom parents their child, by thinking about her first thing when I wake up in the morning and her being the last thing on my mind at night, worrying about her, wondering if she is safe where she is, and constantly questioning, “Did I do this right?” in regards to her time with us during my pregnancy.    But, I have to find other ways to parent then moms with living children.  

The other night I was irrationally upset about something with my blog and I called my sister.  After about 10 minutes of listening to me say, “I don’t know why I’m so upset?” While holding back tears she finally said, "I'm not a therapist, but do you think you are upset because your blog is your baby, it’s how you connect with Nora?" 

She was right.

 

I use my daily blogging as a way to “parent” and create a relationship with her like in my Letters to Nora section of this blog.  I realized that I find any way I can to hold onto my connection with Nora and I am also finding that the connection to her is still growing, getting deeper, even in her absence.  It's strange too because it’s as if Nora is so much more of an idea then an actual person.  She was a person, a person I will never get see grow up. I grieve that. But in some ways I parent her like I did when I was expecting her; I parent the idea of her.  

I continue to do this by trying to help others who have experienced the loss of a child like me, by creating White Signs of Grief so grieving parents can share their love, like I have for Nora on the site.  I join causes and take on membership roles within them by becoming a Local Leader for Return to Zero and a Core Staff Member for the Hope & Hearts Run in effort to bring awareness to stillbirth so others won’t have to suffer Nora’s fate and mine. 

It’s difficult though, parenting a deceased child.  But I do it all the same. I may not be able to put Nora to bed at night or hold her when she cries, but I see all my “projects” and “causes” as a way to still bond with Nora and with other parents with similar experiences.  It’s like if I were to go to Nora’s dance recital or join the PTA.  I am an involved parent in my daughter’s life.  It’s just that my daughter’s life is over and now I am creating her legacy.  

Our parenting instincts don’t stop when our children die. We still have a desire and need to be guardians to our children that are no longer with us.   I choose to listen to that need and continue to “parent” my daughter after her death.  Lots of bereaved mom and dad’s do.  They do this by starting memorial walks/runs, making movies, setting aside time to talk to their child daily, or planting and tending a garden dedicated to their child.  These acts of continued parenting are a form of attaching, grieving, and healing. I haven’t had time to find much research and resources on the idea of “parenting your deceased child” as a healing technique (sorry), but the act of doing so, I feel personally has helped me in my healing process.  I am sure there is research out there on the subject.  I will look into it.

In the meantime, I am curious, how do you still parent your deceased child?  

Dad’s & Grief: An Interview with a Grieving Dad.

Today I will be interviewing my wonderful husband, Nicholas Henke, on what it is like to be a bereaved dad after the stillbirth of our daughter, Nora.

Lindsey: Thanks for taking on the task of representing grieving fathers and for being willing to share your answers with others as I know you are more of a private griever.  This is a big stretch for you in your grief process.  I appreciate your willingness to do this.

Nick: I'm happy to help out.  Hopefully, other grieving fathers will realize it's okay to talk openly about it too.

Lindsey: So let's get to it. What is it like for you to be a grieving dad?

Nick: All I can do is really give you examples.  I notice that there are certain triggers that come now and then. Like when I interact with my friends and coworkers about their children.  It usually doesn't bother me but when one of them mentions their real young daughter, when they talk about their daughters, I become less engaged in the conversation.  That one hits closer to home.  Also, seeing kids at the store or park or something isn’t too bad either.  But again, little baby girls, that’s a trigger I guess.  Or it cues me to think about what happened to us and what Nora might be like now and as she gets older.

Lindsey: Okay, sometimes I know I need to be more specific in the questions I ask you in order to get the answers I am looking for. (That also might be a difference in gender too.)  So now I want to know, how does it feel to be a grieving dad?

Nick: It’s tough, confusing, I don’t know if I consider myself a dad. I like to consider myself a dad but…I don't know. I think as a man you are expected to be stronger and not show emotions. Typically I don’t get overwhelmed by the emotion of grief or sadness when I’m out in public, but sometimes when I am at home the flood of emotions comes easier, maybe because it’s safer at home to grieve. I also think being a guy, other guys don’t, or aren’t, comfortable with emotions.  I’m not comfortable talking about grieving in general.  My friends will ask how I’m doing and I'll say, "OK" or "fine."  I think some want a real answer and some don’t. I think it's not really expected that I talk about how I feel or if I'm having a bad day.

Lindsey: Are you okay with that?  That you perceive that it is not really expected that you talk about how you feel? 

Nick: You're always wearing your therapist cap, aren't you?  (He said this with a playful smile).  

Lindsey:  So to wrap it up, because I know you are a man of few words.  Do you have any advice for grieving dads?

Nick: Find people that you can talk to.  Hopefully it is your spouse or significant other.  Hopefully you have friends close enough, family close enough, that you can talk to about these things too. Find some way to actively grieve, something I think I 'm still struggling with.  I don’t know how to actively grieve.  I don’t know what that means really. 

Lindsey: Thanks Nick, for participating today.  I think you gave others a needed glimpse into what it is like to be a grieving dad.  

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If you are a grieving dad, or a partner to a grieving dad, below are some great resources to check out and help both of you understand more about what it's like to be a bereaved father. 

Resources:
Healing A Father's Grief, by William H. Schatz
Strong and Tender: A Guide For Fathers Whose Baby Has Died, by Pat Schwiebert
Still Standing Magazine : Author Paul De Leon's Articles on Being a Father of Child Loss