Her Sister's Shadow

There is a fine line I have to walk - that all loss moms with living children have to walk - that carefully balances my living child with the one who is gone. It's a very blurry line that weaves around constant obstacles. Of those obstacles, the biggest one actually is misunderstanding.

I think...no, I know...a lot of people look at my behavior and think that I am wallowing in grief. That I am unable to "let her go." That I am allowing Kenley to overshadow Piper. All of these are misconceptions.

I will always talk about Kenley. I will mention her when people ask me about my children. I will symbolically include her in family pictures and events. I will hang a stocking for her every Christmas. I will visit her tree and take pictures on her birthday. I will participate in Walks of Remembrance and charity events in her honor, and I will encourage others to join me. I will post links about kick-counting and stillbirth on my Facebook wall. I will miss her every day, and some days, that missing will be so great, I will need to tell someone about it, and it's important that person understand why.

You may be thinking, "Well, it's been almost two years. Aren't you done with that by now?" Nope. I will do all of these things for the rest of my life. No amount of time passing will change that. But, just because I am sad sometimes, doesn't mean I am sad all the time. Just because I post a status about feeling guilty about her death doesn't mean I allow that guilt to consume me. Just because I talk about how much I love and miss my first born doesn't mean I love my second born any less. And it certainly doesn't mean remembering Kenley is more important to me than experiencing Piper. They are actually equally important. And that doesn't make me crazy, or depressed, or consumed by grief. It just makes me a mom.

I know that I have to be careful not to get consumed by my desire to have people remember her. All loss moms do. We want so badly for the world to know the child we love, we can often be very aggressive in doing so. It doesn't mean we have gone off the deep end. We just want our child to be able to make a mark on this world, and since they aren't here to do it, we feel responsible to do it for them. Interpret my posts about Kenley as such. Not as calls for help from the bottom of an abyss of depression, but as a spotlight of pride upon my child who can't speak for herself. I'm not going to just forget about her. I'm not going to stop talking about her. She is my daughter. My firstborn. If one of your children died, how long would it take you to stop talking about them? To stop thinking about them? To stop loving them? Everyone is different in how they deal with loss. If my way isn't your way, that doesn't make it wrong.

I am not missing out on Piper's life because I still miss Kenley. I have been in awe of my Rainbow since the day she was born. I have been in love with her since 36 weeks and 5 days before that. Missing her sister doesn't change that. I can do both. Granted, some days are harder than others...and some days even seem impossible...but I still do it. I still fully understand that Kenley is gone and Piper is here. I know Piper is more than just a "little sister". When I put her in a "Little Sister" onesie, it's not to pigeon-hole her into that role. She IS a little sister. If I died, my little sister wouldn't suddenly be an only child, she'd just be the only living one. It's not different. The "little sister" onesies are simply to honor Kenley. I am not definining Piper's identity through them. Piper is her own person. She has her own personality. She will have dreams and wishes and goals, and I will help her find all of them because I am her mother and that's what I do. I have experienced all 8 months of her life with joy...yes JOY. Sometimes I feel guilty for feeling joy and sometimes I don't, but that's just comes with the territory. It doesn't mean I am not fully appreciating my living daughter.

I have so much more I need to say, but I'm not really sure how to say it without sounding bitter and defensive.

Here's the bottom line:

I love both of my girls.

Remembering Kenley and being vocal about missing her does not mean I am unable to "move on".

I do feel joy and happiness in my life. I am not trapped in grief, but I will deal with this grief for the rest of my life. Thinking two years is enough time is ludicrous. Grief is not a timeline with a beginning and end. It is a knotted jumble that takes a lifetime to untangle. Day by day, I work on that knot. Sometimes, I loosen the yarn and other times, it curles tighter, but I am still working. I haven't given up, nor will I ever do so.

Piper is no more and no less important than her sister, and I am doing my very best to make sure she knows that. I'm not going to let her grow up feeling like she's living in her sister's shadow - because she's not.

 

 

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Christmas One Less

So, a year ago, I wrote this blog post.  Christmas was coming and I was not even the least bit excited.  I was facing a day that was going to be everything it shouldn't have been.   Really, I'm facing a lifetime of that, but it seems exceptionally glaring during the holiday season.  Christmas is a day of light, love, and family.   Last year, I didn't feel any of that.   I felt broken and sad.  I was scared that Piper would never make it out of me alive, and I was worried that Christmas 2014 would also arrive joyless and dark.   Well, Christmas is here again, and while it has much more light around the edges than last year, it's still no bed of roses.

You hear all about how the holidays are difficult for people.   How people often feel the most isolated and the most hopeless than at any other time of the year.  You hear it.   You read studies and articles.  Maybe you even know someone who has lost someone they love and you see them struggle during this time of the year.   But, unless you actually are one of those unfortunate people, you really don't know just how hard it is.     

The holidays are hard.  Really, really hard.  Sometimes, impossibly hard.  Even when more joy has found its way into your life, this time of the year has a way of peeling it away from you.   You see all that should have been instead of all that is.   It often feels like you are stuck in a life that shouldn't be yours.   At a time when everyone else is festive and excited, all you can think about is who is missing and what you aren't able to do the way you wanted. 

This is Piper's first Christmas, and I am trying very hard to make it memorable.   For the first time in my adult life, I have a regular Christmas tree.  With lights and ornaments.   I hung stockings.  (four of them).   I took her to see Santa Claus, which she couldn't have cared less about, but it was more for posterity's sake anyway.  I bought her a "Baby's First Christmas" ornament and onesie with a little penguin on the butt.   I even have a present wrapped and under the tree.  I want to continue my family's tradition of receiving a nightgown on Christmas Eve and opening stockings before breakfast on Christmas morning.  I want to start some new traditions even though I haven't thought of any yet.   I want to be a family.   I have waited so long to feel like a family.   Christmas is the time, right?

And still, we are one less.   We will always be one less.   No matter how wonderful I try to make Christmas - or any day - Kenley will never be here to see it.   It's really hard to not feel completely hopeless about that.  It's hard to muster up feelings of joy and happiness when I know she will not get to experience it.  Ever.  Everything I do for Piper, I should also be doing for Kenley.  But, I'm not.  She's not here.  She won't ever be here.  And I will always put up the Christmas tree without her.  Hang stockings without her.  Open presents and watch her sister play - without her.   Every day is without her, but it feels especially empty on Christmas.

How do you ignore such a gaping hole in your life?

You don't.  

You just string some tinsel around what you can and you hope for the best. 

"God's Plan"

I have been very vocal about Kenley and how I feel in the wake of her death.  I have tried very hard to convey in a very public forum how it feels to lose a child, how the grieving deal with the aftermath, and how to respond to another person's grief in a helpful and productive manner.

So, naturally, I get frustrated when I keep getting the same (unintentional?) hurtful responses from people. 

The one that hurts above all else are the comments surrounding the idea of "god's plan"

Telling a grieving mother that her baby's death is all part of "god's plan" is not helpful, even if you expand on it by adding, "we might not understand."  Here are a few questions I'd like to ask those of you who follow the "god has a plan" OR "everything happens for a reason" mentality:

1. What loving god would let a baby die before taking her first breath?  I mean, what's the point? 
2. What lesson could god possibly want a mother to learn that would necessitate her child's death? 
3. What loving god would sit and think out a map of someone's life and say "oh hey...here's where I want to rip her child from her arms and put her through horrible pain because...you know, reasons"?
4. What could be the reason behind a child dying?   Am I to learn compassion or empathy?   Am I to meet someone through my journey?   Could that not happen another way?  Why does death have to get involved?

You can tell me that I just don't understand those reasons right now and that would be a complete cop out on your part.  

 You don't know what the reasons are because there aren't any.   YOU want there to be a reason because you feel better if bad things have a purpose, and saying that god's plan is too complicated for us to understand is your way of trying to make sense of what's happened.

But what happened doesn't make sense.   My baby tangled herself up in her cord, lost oxygen, and died.   It is horrible and devastating, but it is not part of a plan.   A plan is purposefully constructed.  Telling me that Kenley's death is part of god's plan is telling me god had a willful hand in organizing her death.  How in the world is that supposed to make me feel better?  Would that make YOU feel better?  If it would, then clearly you and I have a very different take on things.  

The truth of the matter is sometimes bad things happen for no reason.  My child died.   There was / is no plan involved.  Please don't try to comfort me by saying that there was.  If it makes you feel better to believe in god's plan, then go right ahead.  I won't stop you.  But, please, don't share it with me.  I don't believe it and am upset by the thought of it.

This is my personal grief journey.  I know I have opened myself up for comment by sharing it with you, but please remember it is still my journey.   What comforts you might not be of any use to me.   What comforts me might not be the same for you. 

And just so you don't think this is just me....here are some links written by other people.   "God's plan" / "Everything happens for a reason" is on ALL of them, among many other hurtful phrases.

http://www.whatsyourgrief.com/what-not-to-say-after-a-death/

http://www.hopeforthebrokenhearted.com/what-not-to-say-to-someone-who-is-grieving/

http://www.care2.com/greenliving/what-not-to-say-to-someone-grieving.html 

http://www.caring.com/articles/10-things-not-to-say-grieving

http://www.mommyish.com/2013/11/13/10-things-to-never-say-to-a-grieving-parent/
 

I know this post might come across as irritated.   I am not going to excuse myself away.  I am irritated.  This post was written out of frustration, but it needed to be written.  I needed to say it.  Some people needed to hear it.  Again.