Five months

Every now and then, I stop and realise how much life has changed since the end of January. The grief is still with me, it still hurts just the same, but I can think about it less. It's not at the forefront of my mind all the time. And that is nice. People sometimes say to me that I should think about what Ariella would want for me.

Would she want me to keep going with life? Yes. 

Would she want me to get up and go out, even though it's hard? Of course. 

But would she want me to take care of myself, taking time out when needed? Absolutely. 

There are still some things that I find incredibly hard. And to be honest, some of them are things that "should" be easy. But I'm ok with not being ok. It's only been five months. In the scheme of things, that's not that long. Not when my baby's died.

Five months today, baby girl.

This post is dedicated to baby Corbin. He shares the same birthday as Ariella, and

joined her in Heaven two and a half days later. Very loved and very missed.

Welcome

I had the honour this month of sharing Ariellas story in the Sands SA newsletter. My blog link was also shared, so I wanted to quickly post to say welcome to anyone who has come as a result :)

I haven't posted a lot in the past fortnight, but am usually posting regularly. Feel free to look through the archives, to discover more of Ariella's story and our life since her birthday in January. I also have a few posts aimed at friends of baby loss parents (what to say, what not to say,etc) that you might find helpful to show friends.

If you read the Sands newsletter because you have lost one or more precious children, I am so sorry for your loss. It's a club that no one wants to join, but I hope you find some comfort through Sands or this blog.

Larissa

Flashbacks

(Trigger Warning - In this post I'm sharing about my experiences of flashbacks, including flashbacks of a car accident I was in. Please only read further if this will not cause you any flashbacks. I don't want to hurt anyone.)

My first introduction to flashbacks came a few years ago, after I was in a car crash on a country highway. I wasn't injured too badly (which was a miracle) but emotionally I was a mess. It was a long time before I could travel on country roads without flinching or crying, especially if the intersection we were approaching resembled the accident site. It was worse if I was a passenger, as I had been a passenger in the crash. Sometimes all it took was the bump of a car tyre hitting the curb to make me jump. And sometimes I could smell the accident - the rubber of the tyres, the smell of the air bag, etc. It was awful. And while I'm mostly ok these days, I do still struggle at times, especially when travelling on highways.

This year I'm having flashbacks of a different kind. 

Flashbacks of leaving our daughter in our hospital room, of the nerve-wracking drive to the ultrasound where her death was confirmed, of having to tell family that our baby had died. Sometimes I remember the Saturday...day 3, when baby-blues normally set in. Curled up in a ball on our couch, crying the most I'd ever cried and thinking I must be going crazy, only for my midwife to remind me that day 3 is always the tough one, and that of course it was going to be tougher for me. I flashback to the agony of laying our baby girl into her coffin, and walking out of the room.  Of feeling like I'm a failure because I didn't deliver a living baby. 

Flashbacks. Flashbacks. Flashbacks. 

Why is it that I rarely flashback to the better memories? Of seeing her for the first time, the two days we spent with her, or the hilarious moments during pregnancy when she made my belly into all sorts of crazy shapes? What about eating pizza with my husband and our pastor, a nice distraction during early labour? Or the ultrasounds when we could see her happily wriggling about? Why can't I remember THOSE moments? 

Instead I hear a song that was of great comfort in that first week, and instead of being comforted I am confronted by flashbacks of raw grief and empty arms. I drive past the hospital going to and from work, and flashback to just how scary it was to drive there on the Monday not knowing if our baby was alive or not. I see newborns in  their parents' arms and flashback to walking out of the hospital room and funeral home with oh-so-empty arms. 

It's hard. So very hard.

I assume I'm not the only person who struggles with this. So if you also struggle, I want to offer you some encouragement - it is possible to get through the flashbacks.

A few months ago I was really struggling with guilt; I was feeling as though it was my fault she had died. And that is ridiculous. It's not. For me, every single test that was done came back saying her death was unexplained. But that didn't stop the guilty thoughts from creeping in. There's a verse in the Bible that I valued a lot at that time. In 2 Corinthians 10 it says that we are to take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ. When the guilty thoughts came in, I had to take them captive and make it obedient to Christ, which for me meant lining it up against what I knew to be true of the situation and God (He did not say it was my fault, nor did the tests). When I did that, I was able to move past the thoughts of guilt and not get stuck in them.

I think the same applies for the flashbacks. If I take them captive, I am not letting them control me. If I take them to Christ, I can trust Him to comfort me and replace them with better memories.

It's not just positive thinking. That relies on our own strength, and I know for sure that I do not have the strength for that. I'm as weak as can be. But my God is strong. And by taking my thoughts to Him, it is possible to overcome. 

I miss her

I feel like I don't have a lot to write about lately. I've started posts but never finished them, I've even opened up new posts and not written anything. It's as though life has settled into a non-blogworthy (totally a word!) routine. Each week seems the same now, it's as though I have reached an even greater level of the "normal" that I wrote about back in March. Except there's one thing - no matter how normal my life seems, there's always something lurking in the mind and heart. Sometimes it's pushed to the back and at others moments it's so much at the front that I can't see past. I miss her. 

I go to church each Sunday. I go to work during the week. I might catch up with friends. I can smile. I can laugh. When I meet new people, there's no way that they'll know just by looking or observing me that something is always so, so wrong. I miss her.

I never knew I could miss someone so much until I met my baby girl. I never knew I could live with such an ache in my heart. I wish I had something more to say. Something that might encourage you, or point you towards the reason I can continue (Jesus and a relationship with Him). But today I've got nothing. Just I miss her.

She literally backed away

If I wasn't already convinced that we need to break the silence around stillbirth, I am now. Recently I met a lady who I hadn't seen since before Ariella was born. I don't know her very well, and we don't share many of the same social circles. As she was walking past a room, she saw me inside and came over to where I was sitting. She excitedly said "you've had you're baby, haven't you?" and of course, my heart started pounding. I hate having to tell people the bad news, because I feel like it ruins the conversation. So I said to her that yes, I did have our baby. She then asked me what we'd had, and I said that we'd had a girl, but she was stillborn. She very awkwardly said she was sorry, and then starting backing away. Literally. She was still looking at me, but taking backwards steps away from me. It's always hard having to tell people about Ariella's death, but I'm not sure I've ever felt as awkward as I did at that moment, watching her literally back away.

Stillbirth isn't widely talked about, so many people don't know how to react when they hear about it. If you hear about a stillbirth (especially an unexpected one) consider asking what the child's name is, or when their birthday is. If you believe in prayer, maybe tell the parents you will be praying for them (but make sure that if you say this, you follow through and actually pray). Tell them that you are sorry that this happened to them and that you will be thinking of them. Depending on your relationship with them, perhaps you could give them a hug...but ask first! If nothing else, admit that you don't know what to say! 

I know it's hard to hear about a baby who was stillborn. When I hear of a friend's loss, it hits me hard. I feel as though I stumble backwards in shock. It's ok to feel that, just please don't actually do that. Please don't back away...