The Act of Writing as Healing

·       The act of writing as healing…I know why you do it…it gives you purpose, flow, release, no boundaries, no critique, just me and my emotions, weaving webs of tangible and sometimes intangible understanding.  My fingers dance on the keyboard while my thoughts and emotions cry through them.  I feel free, I feel burdened, all at the same time.  How could it ever be that happiness and sadness could go so much hand in hand?  I never knew real love until I knew real sorrow.  

      ~Still breathing...Lindsey 

Are You Who My Daughter Might Have Grown Up to Be?

·         Even before I got pregnant and while working with teenagers in a day treatment center, I would look at my teenage clients and imagine what my child might be like when he or she grew up.  I provided family therapy to families with teenagers and could see the unconditional love, coupled with frustration, excitement, fear, and pride in the parents’ faces as we would travel through the therapy process and think to myself, “I want to experience that kind of love”.  I would see in the teens’ parents I worked with, the joy of what it might be like to have my own child one day.

While pregnant, I would envision Nora playing with neighbor girls when I saw them playing hopscotch on the side walk in front of our house or ice skating on the pond down the road.  In my mind it was 10 years from now, and Nora was friends with those little girls.  I saw her in them.  I could see her laughing, playing, and enjoying herself. 

The strange part now, is that after Nora died, I didn’t just see her in little children or teenagers anymore, and it didn’t bother me to watch them either.  Also, I never saw her in other babies.  I found myself looking at young adult women and seeing my daughter there.  In these women I saw who my daughter might have been, women who were only 5 – 10 years younger than me, my peers.

One afternoon three days after returning to work after my 6 week maternity leave, I sat across the table from a co-worker who was 23 years-old, right out of college, and juggling the stress of navigating the career world for the first time and getting married in 2 months.  My co-worker was pouring her worries and fears out to me, crying over her tomato basil soup, and as she did this, I saw my daughter.  I saw Nora.

I wondered what it would have been like 23 years from now, having this intimate conversation with my own daughter.  I imagined, what would I have said to my daughter or what would I want my daughter to be saying about me?  Would she get married one day? Would she have a job at 23 years-old?  Would she be happy?  Would we have the kind of relationship where she could share these personal details with me?

There was another instance, in the first two weeks after her death where my husband and I were watching the movie Friends with Benefits with Mila Kunis.  When I watched Mila, I imagined I was watching Nora as a young lady.  I saw in Mila features that I wished Nora would grow up to look like.  Nora was born with dark brown hair and big luscious lips with a round, beautiful face, which looks nothing like me, but in my mind, I guess looks like Mila Kunis. 

I saw Nora in the character she played, a young woman in her late 20’s struggling with relationship issues and the complications of love and vulnerability. Then there was a scene when this young woman and her mom are lying on their backs next to each other, in a park and having a conversation about adult love and the reality of adult relationships.  That’s when I lost it.  Tears swelled in my eyes.  It hit me then, that I would never have a moment like that with my daughter.  There would be no brushing of her hair, spying on her as she plays with her dolls, watching her play hopscotch with the other neighbor girls, or guiding her through the heartbreaking realities of romantic relationships as she grew older.

There would be none of these things…but I still see my daughter in the places I never would have imagined, like watching the beautiful young lady walking down the street.        

~Still Breathing...Lindsey

Nora's Thank You Letter...Honoring Those Who Supported Us. A January Healing Technique

Dear Friends and Family,

I wanted to write everyone an individualized thank you letter for your love and support during this difficult time in our lives.  However, I found myself writing the same message, over, and over, not because it was surface level and superficial, but because it is so raw, full of emotion, and important for me to let everyone know.  You see, I have been trying to come to terms with why my sweet daughter, Nora, needed to leave us so soon, before she even took a breath in this world.  What could this possibly teach me?

Well, Nora has taught me so many lessons about life in her short time with us, but the one I want to share is about love and you.  You see, at a time when I should feel lonely, depressed, and hopeless, I feel the opposite.  Through Nora’s brief life and her untimely death, Nick and I have since been surrounded in love and support beyond the depths of our imagination.   Don’t get me wrong, each day, I mourn the death of my beautiful daughter and the hopes and dreams that we had for her that will never be, but through this experience I have learned so much about love.

Nick and I have been brought closer together from the moment we found out we were pregnant to today, where we still grieve our loss.  But, I have learned about how beautiful the world is and the abundance of love that we have for each other as a community, despite what the news might tell us every day.  I feel so much overwhelming support and love from all of you.  

During this experience and in our grief we have been encompassed in love, starting with the love and support of our parents, sister, brother-in-law, aunt and cousin who were at the hospital with us that sad day. Where we were gently and empathetically cared for by the nurses, doctors, and social workers at Abbott Hospital who guided us through our first stages of grief and sadness. To having friends from high school and college that we haven’t seen or talked to in years drive over 250 miles to the Cities for Nora’s funeral. It was heartwarming to see over two dozen military men honoring Nora by dressing in their formal attire with tears in their eyes attending my daughter’s ceremony.  We received condolence letters from multiple close friends, but also our friends’ parents, or our parents’ friends, and our past and present co-workers. And in these letters people reveal some of their most heartbreaking personal stories of loss of their own children either in pregnancy or after birth, or of other loved ones, things that people don’t share in every day conversation. A friend of my cousin, a person I have only met in passing, wrote me a letter and reached out to me sharing her own story of loss of her baby girl.  My teachers from elementary school sent me a card of condolences, people I haven’t seen in 20 years. Classmates from graduate school dropped off food at my house and I haven’t been great at keeping in touch.  Family on the east coast have facebooked me to send me resources and support to “just check in” even weeks after Nora’s passing.  And friends across the country and ocean, everywhere from France, Hawaii, D.C., and Arizona to name a few, have reached out through e-mail and cards. And we estimate that between $800.00 to $1000.00 has been donated to Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep in Nora’s name, to help other families who are in similar situations like ourselves. All because of your donations. 

You see, our daughter was only in our lives for 284 days, and never breathed the air of this world, or opened her beautiful eyes to see the light here on earth.  I thought that when I lost her, I had lost all the love I would have for her as well, but I love her more every day, and due to her I have seen the abundance of love and beauty there is in humanity. Nick and I are surrounded by love, though not in the way we had hoped, but in a way that is still a true miracle in its own right.  

In the few weeks before I left work to give birth to Nora, I had a client who said she needed a sign that there was still good in humanity.  I chuckled at this and told her I hoped that she would receive it.  I only hope that she can experience the love and support of humanity like I have. 

   

If you are receiving this letter, it is because you have made a difference in our journey through grief and your gesture, either large or small, has shown us how truly loved and supported we are.  Thank you for showing us love.  Thank you, Nora, for teaching me one of many great lessons: That life surely is beautiful and humanity is good. 

    

Peace & Love,

Lindsey & Nick

(Nora’s Mom & Dad)

The Meaning of Stillborn…

Merriam-Webster dictionary definition: 1) dead from birth. 2) failing from the start.  

My definition: 1) my worst nightmare come true. 2) pain and suffering. 3) lifeless; quiet, eerie, no sound, no crying, no screaming.

Oh how I wanted screaming, and tears, and movement. Oh what I would have given for movement. A blink of her eyes. The shaking of her cold body as it received its first brush of the harsh but comforting air of this world. The only sound in my delivery room was silence.  I was still in shock.  My tears where not there yet.  It wasn’t real.  It wasn’t real until I saw her, held her in my arms upon my chest.  She was cold.  Her lips were blue.  Her eyes were closed.  Did I mention her skin was cold?  Her body was lifeless, still. But stillborn. 

4) unfair.

Stillborn... 5) this is where my grief begins...