#Unblessed by Chris

This blog post was written back in early May, just prior to us finding out the news that Holly was pregnant again.  I was in a pretty dark place at the time, and we decided not to publish this post.  Looking back on it, many of the underlying themes are still present in our lives and we figured what the hell – let’s post it.  I’ve offered some updated thoughts in bold.

As I sit here in the waiting room of the hemotologist, waiting for my wife to been seen by the doctor in another attempt to try and find an answer as to why my daughter died suddenly other than “fluke” or “bad luck,” I had some free time to put some thoughts down regarding pet peeves.  Maybe it is the place in life I’m in, maybe it is spending Friday afternoon waiting for the inevitable “no reason” answer, but this post will come off more preachy and whiney than intended.  My apologies.

Ever since everything happened back in late January with Quinn, both my wife and I have been searching for answers.  “Why” seems to begin most sentences.  “Why did this happen to Quinn?” “Why did this happen to us?” “Why do bad things happen to good people?”  The day I went back to work, I rode the elevator up to my floor with my boss, who is a very quiet, intelligent person.  He asked how I was doing and I replied, “We are hanging in there.  Right now, we just want answers.”  His reply has stuck with me to this day.  He simply showed a soft, knowing smile and said, “You’ll never get all the answers.”

At the time, his answer hurt a little, as I was not in a place to fully grasp his reply.  But in the days that have passed, we did find out some answers – but deeper questions remain.  Now that we have an underlying cause as to why Quinn was taken from us, we can’t help but turn to the deeper questions – the ones my boss knew we’d never get the answers to – the “why did God (or whatever you believe in) let this happen,” and “why us?”

Since January, my wife and I have made significant progress towards moving forward through our grief.  There are good days and bad days, and not a day (probably even hour) goes by without thinking about Quinn and what should have been.  (As we have come to accept, grief is not linear.)  Through our journey, we have dealt with almost every cliché imaginable and we have dealt with the judgment of others and a generalized lack of empathy for our healing process.  An often said cliché that makes me wince is the “God doesn’t give you more than you can handle.” Is this really the God you want to believe in – that he allows terrible things to happen because you can handle it? Yet another cliché we’ve heard one too many times is “When you have another child, it will all be better” (umm, are we going back in time to bring Quinn back?)  Unless and until that happens, it won’t all be better.  Ironic that I had no clue what was in store for us.  This cliché has only be amplified since we found out we were pregnant. My thoughts on this haven’t changed at all.  For those holding their breath thinking that I will go back to being the person I was before Quinn died now that we have a second child on the way – spoiler alert – it’s not happening.   Speaking of, Holly pointed out to me the other day that we live life in a world of “ifs” while the rest of our friends and family live in a world of “whens.”  Everyone around us talks of “when this baby gets here” and we always say “if this baby gets here.”

 

While I’ve stated before that I’m not a religious person (some might use the Catholic term “Chreaster”), I was raised Catholic and spent 12 years of my life in Catholic education.  I’ve always believed in free will but with a romanticized version of a preferred path being out there with signs leading you to it.  I never fully believed in the Catholic mentality (something about telling a priest I swore and broke some rules but would be forgiven after 5 Our Fathers, 5 Hail Marys and 5 Glory Bes never struck a chord with me). However, since Quinn died, I’ve developed a new pet peeve regarding religion – the people who think everything that is good is “God’s will.” (Following this post, my boss suggested I read William P. Young’s The Shack.  While my own viewpoints have changed dramatically from B.Q. to A.Q., I am still unsure what I believe in.  I would echo my boss’ recommendation and suggest anyone struggling with loss or religion should pick up a copy and read it with an open mind.) 

Also, the need for people to share their good fortunes on social media bothers me to no end.  If I never see another #blessed, it will be too soon.  Do the people who hashtag “blessed” even understand what they are insinuating?  Oh, you’re blessed by God for getting a job, for passing the bar, for getting a raise, for _____ (insert trivial shit here).  What am I?  What is my wife?  #unblessed I guess.

Again, I’m not super religious (still haven’t been to church since Quinn died) but I don’t remember the Beatitude that stated “blessed are those who share their good fortunes on social media, for their statuses will be liked and shared.”  One I do remember is “blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.”  The people that feel the need to share their good news on social media and who live and die by the “likes” or “retweets” wouldn’t be able to understand why someone else like myself isn’t overjoyed with their good fortunes.

I stopped writing here – thinking there was no way I would ever post this   I never concluded the original post, so I have the renewed opportunity to conclude it with the benefit of hindsight.  As we enter the holiday season and the inevitable “what are you thankful for” question gets asked this Thanksgiving, I know that my answer is an easy one.  I’m thankful for my wife.  Even after this post, some would use the #blessed if they were in my shoes.  While I am very fortunate that my path crossed Holly’s, I think she’ll be ok if I stop at simply saying I’m fortunate to have married her and thankful that I get to spend my life with her.  Also, for the many out there who are experiencing their family’s “firsts” this holiday season, try to be empathetic and understanding for those like Holly and myself who are also experiencing our “firsts.”  It will be our first thanksgiving without Quinn and our first Christmas without her.  While we do have some hope on the horizon, it doesn’t take away the emptiness we have in our hearts for what we are missing.  Happy Thanksgiving and holiday season to everyone out there, especially the #unblessed. 

We are doing the best we can

**Pregnancy talk

 

Fall is winding down here, the holidays are fast approaching. Life events are happening all around. I will start with an update on baby C. Her growth ultrasound in the beginning of October went well. She was in the 80^th percentile for her gestational age, in large part to her abdomen that was measuring a week and 6 days ahead of everything else. We have another growth ultrasound tomorrow morning. I have begun going to the doctors every 2 weeks now as I am 2 days shy of 30 weeks. Non-stress tests will start at 32 weeks. I started to bring up delivery timing at my last appointment and got shut down pretty quickly. The MFM I see is pretty set in their ways with the 39 week induction. They said the generally won’t induce before that and, if they do, they will require an amniocentesis. I will ask about it at every appointment until we can hopefully agree to a middle ground. Daily kick counts are in full swing, but let’s be honest, it’s not one 2 hour kick count per day (like the PA at my office naively told me is all I need to achieve). I am hyper-acutely aware all day everyday about kicks. My anxiety has been ramping up for sure, as I am approaching the time when I lost Quinn and it is weighing heavily on Chris and I. We are hopeful, but we are scared, which is something that I feel should be pretty easy to understand. I have had people tell me that more frequent appointments, more frequent testing, and making it past the point that I was with Quinn will provide me relief. To an outsider, that may make sense, but it is in fact false when speaking to someone who has experienced a stillbirth. We will be on high alert up until the moment we hear her cry, which we are so hopeful we get to hear.

Baby C had a name picked out originally. From about 15 weeks to 26 weeks she was going to be Charlotte. The more we talked about her name the more we weren’t quite sold on it so we went back to the drawing board. We have settled on a name now but we decided to keep it our little secret. We think it will be perfect for her and it goes with Aubrey as her middle name.

Onto the heavier stuff. As I said, the holidays are fast approaching, and all around us people are experiencing life changing events. I received this week’s Refuge in Grief newsletter from Megan Devine which couldn’t be more appropriately timed. “The pain of your loss simply needs to be tended to; it can’t be fixed. Suffering is different. Suffering is all the extra added stuff that gets heaped onto your pain: family politics, social stressors, holiday stressors, as well as physical challenges that decrease your capacity to tend and withstand your pain.” She goes on to say, “Reducing your suffering while tending your pain is, in my opinion, is the real work of grief.” Megan, I couldn’t agree more. I wish I could shout those statements from the rooftops, or rent an airplane and fly it over the country. If only we could get the outside world to better grasp this concept. Chris and I have spent the majority of the last 9.5 months explaining and justifying what we are experiencing. We feel as though we have to explain ourselves because there is so little understanding. I keep reminding people that we are doing the best we can.

We are taking baby steps, but unfortunately it takes several baby steps to get to where many think we should already be.  As I wrote before, grief isn’t linear and we anticipate the holidays, which would have been Quinn’s first, to be especially hard. We ask that this holiday season, if someone you know is suffering, be kind to them. Help them tend to their grief, try not to increase their suffering with expectations that they may not be able to meet, and always remember, we are all doing the best that we can.

Wonderful words written to the non-bereaved parents around you

This post was sent to me by a friend from Still Standing magazine. It speaks so truthfully to life these days…

 

Dear Non-bereaved Parent

Reflections on the month of May

It’s June already. Another month has gone by without Quinn. Time has gone by painfully slow, yet at the same time, it seems hard to believe it is summertime. Today is my birthday – definitely not how I envisioned my day to be months ago. Today was harder than I expected it to be. I had a good cry on my couch this afternoon for no real reason. I actually couldn’t stop crying for a little while (I’m crying as I type this if I’m being honest). I miss Quinn every day, but sometimes it takes my breath away. This was one of those times. I sat here picturing how things should have been. She should be here, sitting in a rock and play and being the center of attention. Instead, I have a bear with her ashes in it sitting on an end table. I’m writing because the month of May has been hard and I have found myself reflecting on it. Please excuse me if my writing is scattered, my thoughts have been scattered as of late.

May started off with Mother’s Day. I was pretty mum about the day, because frankly, I was choosing to ignore it. There was a commercial that was running around that time that could freeze me in my tracks. It said something along the lines of how your body and your life changes when you are pregnant but it is so worth it. Thanks for that.  I have a daily reminder on my body. I was one of those people who got the dark line on their stomach when pregnant. Four months later it is still there. Now I know some will just say I am over-sensitive to it because I had a loss. You are damn right I am over-sensitive to it. I delivered a lifeless baby; I reserve the right to be sensitive to whatever strikes me. You never know what may trigger you. I mean a Grey’s Anatomy episode made me cry for a solid 2 hours. In any case, I didn’t have strong feelings about Mother’s Day. I had several sweet friends send me cards reminding me I am a mom and several others who sent me texts on that day. As much as I said I didn’t want any sort of acknowledgment that day, it was nice that people did.

I wrote about my multiple doctor’s visits in May. I am certain that the maternal fetal medicine appointment had a lot to do with my wave of emotions. It is hard to hear that the standard of obstetrical care failed you. Just one ultrasound could have changed the course of my pregnancy. I know there is nothing that can be done now, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less. Knowing that all of this happened with no real reason why makes it scarier. I don’t have a clotting disorder, don’t smoke, didn’t have hypertension, proteinuria, etc. I had bad luck and a crappy placenta. Now I have a heavy heart and a lot to carry on my shoulders.

Then there was the clairvoyant coworker. I was at my casual job back home, minding my business in the supply room. One of the unit’s techs came in and was asking me about where I stay when I’m in town, etc. All of the sudden she says, “you know I couldn’t tell you about death.” Now let me back up a minute. When I was pregnant, before we knew the gender, she told me I was having a boy. After we found out we were having a girl, she goes I must have confused you with Jill (who was also pregnant at the time and later found out was having twin girls). So back to the present day, when she’s telling me she couldn’t tell me about death. I said you knew Quinn was going to die? She goes “I saw black when you were pregnant but I couldn’t tell you that she was going to die and by the way your next baby will be a boy.” I realize how ridiculous this story sounds as I am typing it but it caught me so off guard. Next thing I knew I was standing in my coworker’s room sobbing saying, who says stuff like that? I was telling this story to my friend and she said, “oh yea, I was pulled up to work in your unit 2 weeks after Quinn died and she was telling me that. She said she saw you having a boy not a girl and she knew something bad was going to happen.” My question is, do people not know to keep those crazy things to themselves? I mean even if you truly believe you are some sort of clairvoyant, just keep that shit to yourself.  If I wanted to seek out a medium or a psychic, I would have. I had to spend a few days making myself become a rational human again and telling myself just how outrageous the whole interaction was.

We rounded out the month of May with my husband’s birthday. He and I have one week between our birthdays so we decided to do a weekend trip in Chicago to celebrate. I have to take a minute to say how truly wonderful Chris is. I knew when we met that I had met a really special man. I know that together, we can face anything. He is my whole world and I am so thankful to call him my husband. It was nice to escape from reality for a little and go out of town. Our only trips recently have been to and from our hometown. We stopped at the Notre Dame campus on our way to Chicago and went to the Grotto. We lit 3 candles and said a little something to our Quinny girl. While I wish I was holding my baby, not lighting a candle in her memory, it was a nice moment for Chris and I. We continued on to Chicago and took one of the city boat tours that night. As we were cruising along Lake Michigan, I found myself staring out into the horizon and my mind wandering. Next thing I know I’m crying (thank God it was a sunset tour, I’m fairly used to crying in public these days, but it doesn’t mean I enjoy it in the slightest). Thinking, wishing, and wondering-all of these things typically lead into tears-so it’s no surprise anymore.

Our therapist spoke of how grief comes in waves. The waves have been strong lately after receding a little bit in April. I imagine that this summer will be filled with a lot of these waves since I found out I was pregnant June 30, 2015. Then will come all the milestones we hit, hearing her heartbeat for the first time (which is still on my phone), our first ultrasound, etc. I have been feeling a little bit isolated lately; it’s hard to put my thoughts and feelings into words and have them make sense/feel as though they are understood. I guess I just have to ride the waves…

The Questions-A Dad’s Point of View

One of the hardest things about losing a baby is the questions that are asked following the loss.  I’m not talking about the people who ask the questions about what happened.  I’m talking about the people who knew we were pregnant but didn’t know the baby died, or, maybe even worse, the ones that didn’t know we were pregnant and ask if we have kids.

Quinn was going to be our first child.  I talked about the upcoming baby and all the nervous emotions I had with anyone that would listen.  I probably didn’t go a day at the office without someone asking if I was ready for my life to change (ironic, huh?).  When Quinn died, I let my boss know I’d be out a few days and I let the one secretary I’m close with know so she could pass word along to the others I worked with.  I didn’t realize how much I had talked about Quinn until I came back to work 3 days later.  Most people I worked with offered their condolences and awkward clichés.  I smiled and clung to my favorite reply to the “how are you doing” question: “hanging in there.”

It became readily apparent if a person did not know what happened.  Instead of the sad eyes, head down, somber tone, their questions were asked expecting the happy answers I gave before we lost Quinn.  I could feel my heart race as they asked their question, “How’s Holly doing?”  When I always replied “hanging in there,” I hoped there wouldn’t be a follow-up.  A few times I was lucky, but often the follow-up question asked if she was ready to have the baby yet.

Other times, I was talking with a group of people where some knew what happened and some didn’t.  One of the people who knew asked how Holly was doing, somber tone and all.  I replied with the usual response, and another person, one who didn’t know, asked if we had any kids.

There’s no good way to answer those questions.  My answers depend on the mood I’m in as to how much detail I give.  Usually, if it’s apparent that the line of questions will continue until the baby is discussed, I tell them briefly what happened in general terms.  The horror fills their eyes and I know I immediately ruined their day.  I’m the one that ends up apologizing to them because I’ve had months to come to terms with what happened; they can’t even process it in the few seconds I give them.

I’ve answered the “do you have any kids” question multiple ways.  Some days, I just give a “no” and change the subject as fast as I can before the “do you want them” question comes, or, worse, the “good for you” type response comes.  Other days, especially when I’m feeling down, my answer is, “yes, I had one.”  Again, I know I ruined that person’s day with a just a few words.

Do I feel bad?  Sometimes.  But really, this is my reality.  If you want to know me, you need to know what I’ve been through.  Your experiences shape who you are as a person, and sometimes, it’s better to be blunt (like my wife) than pretend it didn’t happen.  By pretending it didn’t happen, you only end up feeling guilty later on.

When Your Innocence is Lost

I have found myself looking at old pictures a lot recently. There is one picture in particular that I look at almost nightly. This picture, one from our engagement session in 2012, is so striking to me that I am not sure why it took me so long to really pay attention to it. It is black and white and shows my husband and I sitting on a bench at his alma mater. We are looking at each other and laughing, there is something so genuine about it. It doesn’t look like someone was following us around all day photographing us, it looks like someone snuck up on us and snapped this picture. We look so happy and carefree. I long to be able to feel that way again.

Now the reason I spoke of the picture first is because I look at our life now, completely turned upside down, and wonder how can we go back to that? That innocence before life jades your outlook. I have said many times that I feel like we were robbed of our innocence. Just 2 weeks before losing Quinn, I was telling someone how awesome being pregnant was. “I love it! If every pregnancy was like this I can now understand why people have 4 and 5 kids.” How naïve of me. I was so innocent then. I think back to being pregnant and it seems like a lifetime ago; sometimes hard to believe that it ever actually happened. I wish I would have taken more pictures of my belly, and of Chris and I together. I wish I would have told myself to stop complaining about having a placenta that was posterior (the reason why I could feel her kick so early, the placenta was towards my back giving her free range to kick me with no cushion) because I would give anything to feel her kick again.

I remember walking into her room the night we decided to pack things away. I sat on the floor folding and packing while Chris unloaded the closet. Daddy’s girl onesies were like a knife to my heart while all the “firsts” got to Chris. First Thanksgiving, first Christmas, the Halloween costume I bought at the end of the season. All reminders of what we had lost. Then there were the books. Most had little notes to Quinn about how loved she already was. We packed all of our hopes and dreams into a Rubbermaid container and a box that now resides in our storage unit. Our innocence forever stolen.

I speak of these things because I know that the world didn’t stop when ours did. Please understand that we are picking up the pieces of our shattered world and trying to glue them back together as best as we can. We are very happy for all of the people in our lives and we love them all the same. If we don’t react to a happy announcement in the manner that you would expect know that we are sorry for that. We are happy for you but sad for us. We are not the same people we were before January 28, 2016. Our innocence is lost.