Tag Archives: bereavement

Self reflection 

Day 27: SELF PORTRAIT- Who am I today? I’d like to say I’m the same person I’ve always been, but that’s the furthest from the truth. I’ve actually been able to see myself change for years now. The person I am before Parker and after Parker hardly recognize each other. I think I’ve pretty much been a decent person my whole life, but the understanding of me, of life, of what matters significantly changed the day my daughter was born. I watched myself go from an afraid, uncertain, angry, alone girl to a mom within a couple of seconds. Because of Parker being born and facing difficulties from day one I was still scared, but I turned into a warrior- my fear powered me rather than paralyzing me. I went from uncertain to researching and gaining any and all knowledge I could. The anger and loneliness took longer to change. But because of my anger for the first few months my relationship with God grew. My anger only made me fully realize that I could help with the possible, but I had to leave the impossible to Him. And little by little my anger changed to faith, and hope, and love. 
I, again, changed as a person as I watched my child die. That situation will change any and everybody. Because I watched her transition I found strength in myself I never knew was there. Because I had to let her go and choices regarding her life had to be made I found a unconditional, unselfish love on a whole new level. Letting your child die because that’s what’s best for them is the most unselfish thing a parent can do, in my opinion. I could’ve kept her here essentially on life support because I never wanted to lose her, but the doctors made it clear that’s how her life would’ve stayed, and it would’ve been keeping her because it was easier for me. There were many times during her decline that I wanted to tear up her DNR and drive her straight to the hospital to ‘save her’, but that would’ve been for me, not her. Because I lost my child my faith has grown even more. I HAVE to believe she’s in Heaven waiting for me – it’s honestly one of the main things that keeps me going. Knowing she’s watching over me, I’m making her proud, that it’s her showing my signs, and has truly never left my side is what gives me peace. Because Parker passed I found my true calling in life – to help children like her and families like our’s. It’s what feeds my soul past the hurt, past the pain, past the grief. Because my child died my understanding of people has grown. I used to be judgmental and it wasn’t until I was the person having a breakdown in the middle of Kohl’s for me to truly understand that we’re all fighting a battle of some sort. We’re all going through something that we don’t let the world know. I try to approach every situation and person with that in mind. I remember crying in the Walmart parking lot one day because I ran there to get out for a minute and to grab something and I literally looked like death. I’m sure my clothes didn’t match, I couldn’t remember the last time I showered, and some people really took notice. Two girls were even clearly talking about me, laughing, pointing, whatever. As soon as I shut myself inside my car I burst into tears. My eyes were already swollen, my face was pale with red patches, I felt like all I did was cry. I wanted to run back inside and yell at those girls, ‘Don’t you know my child is dying?!?!? I look like hell because I’m living in hell!’ But I didn’t have the energy for any of it. I barely had the energy or desire to speak to anyone. As people walked around living their lives, enjoying the sunlight, going about their routines, I was about to drive myself back to the nightmare I was living in. Their lives were continuing while I felt mine was ended. It’s experiences like this that make me want to smile at everyone, smile all the time now – what if it’s what one person needs? Before the life and death of Parker I rarely cared about more than myself, now it’s quite the opposite. Because of Parker I’m a better daughter, sister, and friend (still working on the friend part because my grief can interfere with my friendships sometimes). But most importantly I’m a better stepmom and partner to my husband- as a family we have gone through what should have and could have easily torn us apart and only came out stronger in the end. 

I’m still broken, a part of me will always be. My heart is so broken because I was able to love so deeply. My eyes can cry so hard because I’ve witnessed a true miracle. I can stand so tall because I’ve felt the deepest despair and survived it. I can smile so big because I gave birth to an angel. I know I’m a much better person than I was before Parker entered my life and I’m a better person because I had to give her back to God, but I’m still not as good as I’ll be. Though I’m working to get there. 

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My untold secret 

(So late – my hardest one to write) Day 9: FAMILY- What is my family like now- after losing Parker? My family definitely consists of people with and without my same blood. Like all families our ties between us can loosen and tighten throughout time, often returning to the tight bond at some point. I’ve lost and gained more than a handful of people that I’ve considered family. Child loss changes lots of people – not just the parents and siblings.   
One of the hardest things I’ve had to accept is that my immediate family (Phillip, myself, and the boys) will never expand. That we will forever remain just the four of us. That I might always feel we’re somewhat incomplete. I’ve never openly spoke of this and try to avoid most questions regarding another child. Please know this is an extremely hard topic for me. A topic that runs through my head a lot, with my mind changing, understanding, not understanding, having baby fever, enjoying the freedom of no small children to care for, each day can bring a different emotion. After I had Parker I was certain I wanted no more children. I was afraid of ‘replacing’ her, for that couldn’t happen. I was afraid I would be unable to even handle a child, especially if the child was ‘normal’ development. I would be like Ricky Bobby not knowing what to do with my hands. (Talladega Nights reference) 

  
A little before Parker’s second angelversary something inside me became at ease and tormented at the same time – for once I was unsure about what I wanted when it came to children. Some days I would yearn so deeply and others I would thank the stars above that it wasn’t our situation. Teenagers can greatly subside lots of baby fever. Knowing that our situation is very complicated, would be costly and lengthy, help me to accept that this is what it is. That I will forever be an angel mom, stepmom, and grandmother one day but nothing more. That I fear my parenting job is over, but what if I’m meant for more. That I will never hear the words ‘I love you mom’ from a tiny person. I will never experience those young years of exploration and learning. Or see the years I’ve missed 3-13 (Parker passed at almost 2.5 years and I met the boys when they were 14 and 15). I’ll never experience lots of things that I know I once dreamed of when growing up – when you picture what your life will be like. I have to have faith that this is my path, this is where I’m meant to be, meant to do. I know there’s a reason for my situation, that my journey was carved out long ago by Him. 

I’m not putting this out here to be encouraged to have a child, it won’t happen, adopt, foster, or anything like that. Nor is it to have Phillip and I looked at any differently. Honestly, this is probably one of my deepest secrets, what’s never spoken of. I’m putting this out there in hopes it helps me to heal, to know I’m not alone, to openly share what it’s like for a mother who has lost her only child. Maybe another parent can relate, because a ‘rainbow baby’, as they’re so often called, isn’t always the way it goes for so many reasons. This picture always brings such raw emotions for me. 

  
So while my family is great, the best support system there is, I feel something is missing – my daughter, part of me, maybe something else too. Ugh. Grief is hard and these feelings are my hardest to explain.