The One Where Rachel Rambles On About Death

We returned yesterday from spending a couple of days with Paul's family in Wisconsin for Thanksgiving. It was great to see Paul's family. They are a lot of fun (and I would say that even if none of them read my blog :) Despite it all, I frequently thought of Felicity's absence and how different the festivities would have been if she'd been with us. Everyone would've doted on her and we would've been so happy!

In speaking with my mom-in-law and my sisters-in-law while we were there, I found out more about my mom-in-law. She's in her seventies now and hasn't had an easy life. She lost four babies of her own and had two miscarriages, I think. All of her babies were born around the eighth month and many of them had kidney problems. She had a daughter in 1958 named Mary Elizabeth who lived 11 days, then a son, Joseph in 1959, another son, Gerard in 1960, and a daughter, Geralyn in 1963, all who died soon after birth. I can't even begin to imagine my mother-in-law's grief during those years and beyond. To lose three babies in three years is a horrific thought. Back then she was pretty much alone in her grief. They had a service for Mary Elizabeth, but not the other babies. People didn't talk about death and believed that if you didn't talk about it, you'd get over it sooner! Can you believe that line of thinking? My mom even remembers around that time being told that her grandfather had "gone to sleep" when he died. Not that 50 years later we've gotten much better talking about death, but at least there's been some improvement.

I look at myself and my response to death. I haven't had a whole lot of people die in my family and those who have died, despite illness, were old and had lived out their lives. So to have a child die is a whole different experience. I found that it took me a couple of weeks to say Felicity "died," rather I'd refer to "after Felicity" or something similar. Now that I'm comfortable with saying "Felicity died," I'm actually finding healing in talking about her death. I cry when I talk about it but I also gain strength from talking about what happened. My poor mother-in-law probably suffered in silence, thus she never really healed from losing her babies. While we were there in Paul's hometown, we went to the cemetery and I saw the place where my mother-in-law will be buried. Her living children bought her a headstone with the names of her dead babies and the years they were born on it. I cried for her because I know she is still grieving those babies.

I've had thoughts of wanting to scream from the highest hilltop that I had a daughter and she died. I play out how I might add the topic of Felicity to conversations I have, even conversations with strangers. I want people to know about her. I want to wear a sign that says, "I have a daughter, but she died." Maybe that's one reason why blogging is so helpful right now. I can write about Felicity and people who don't even know me will read about her if they come across my blog. I feel that if more people know about her, her existence will have more meaning. I want so badly for her life to have some lasting impact on others!

Pray for us during the next five weeks or so. I keep hearing how hard the holidays are after the death of a child and I'm sure they will be. We're missing her already and I know we will miss her even more as we try to celebrate Christ's birth and carry on with traditions for the boys. I'm looking forward to the busyness I guess, though I don't want to get too carried away with things to do that I forget to grieve for Felicity. Even though I can't imagine forgetting, sometimes I'm afraid I might. Even though it's only been almost 8 weeks since her death, as each day passes I feel like she moves farther and farther away from me. And since I can't hold her close, I have to hold my memories as close as I can.

Obsession

Okay, I have to admit, I'm getting a bit obsessed. The other day, I "caught" Paul recycling a piece of paper from the granite company with a draft of Felicity's headstone on it. I scolded him for wanting to recycle it and rescued it. I'm obsessed with saving anything that has her name on it, to put in her baby book. I also saved the insurance cards we will never use, because her name was on them as well as the letter from the county medical examiner confirming cause of death.

I've saved all the cards we've received (we both agreed on that). And everything from the hospital that touched her body. I am in the process of framing pictures, so that just about every room in the house has a picture of her in it. Minus the bathrooms of course, I'm not that weird.

I also have a new obsession for the color pink. I never much liked the color pink after about two years of having my bedroom painted pink as a child. My birthstone is pink, which I disliked too. But when I got pregnant, I started to get my pink groove on, thinking about the 50/50 chance of having a girl. I bought a few pink things so that if we did have a girl, she could wear pink from the get-go, not yellow and green, which is what Elijah wore as a newborn. (I jokingly referred to these items of clothing as "my stash.") Now I find myself, searching out the color pink. I've even purchased two pink post-pregnancy shirts, adding that color to my wardrobe for the first time in a long time. I'm so sad my little girl is not here to dress in pink. So like Julia Roberts said (with a southern accent) in Steel Magnolias, "Pink is my signature color." It's just another way I can remember Felicity and feel close to her.

I can't believe tomorrow will be seven weeks since she died and was born. I want her here so badly! Everything we do as a family seems lacking since she's not here. I should be struggling to get everything done because I have to nurse her or change her or hold her because she's fussy. She should be sleeping in our bed every night. Ethan and Elijah should be asking to hold her every morning. We should be in awe over our first little girl. Instead we're looking at the only pictures we'll ever have and missing her so much it hurts.

I wish I knew God's plan in this pain. I am comforted by how he worked in my life after my divorce. I thought my life was over then and yet in time, God restored what had been taken away. He gave me Paul, the greatest husband, and more children. So even though I hurt now, I will continue to praise Him through this storm!

Homesick

I'm sitting here on the couch, catching up on the blogs I read, watching the snow swirling outside my window, drinking coffee, and listening to TobyMac's new song, "Gain the Whole World"on KTIS. And I'm having a flashback to the many Saturday nights I spent with my BFFs Joolee and Billi Jo rollerskating. Saturday was Christian music night and we anticipated it all week. (Yes, we were geeks though I like to think we've all risen above geekdom in our adulthood.)

TobyMac's song makes me wish for a carefree Saturday night, being chauffeured by my dad, to the roller rink. (He still chuckles, remembering our goofy antics in the car on the way there.) Life was easy back then, even in my teenage angst. My only worries were what I would wear and whether one of the cute guys would look at me while I nonchalantly circled the rink.

Oh, the things we take for granted in life. Until something devastating happens, we have a feeling of invincibility, relying on ourselves only. I think even as Christians we exert our independence subconsciously. Do bad things happen so we can learn to completely lean on God? There are countless schools of thought on why bad things happen to "good" people.

What I do know is that during this time of missing Felicity and wondering why she had to leave us before we ever got a chance to know her and love her, the Holy Spirit seems so close. I feel His presence while reading the Bible and praying and feel His comfort through my family and friends. I feel His strength in the words I read of other moms who've lost a baby and continue to grow in their love of the Lord. He STILL moves mightily in spite of our earthly sorrows! He never leaves us nor forsakes us! He is all we ever need! Blessed be the name of the Lord! I can wake up everyday feeling sad, but with a perspective that reaches beyond this day, this month, even this year.

For I know that this world is not my home.


"This world is not my home,
I'm just a passing through.
My treasures are layed out
somewhere beyond the blue.
The angels beckon me
from heaven's open door,
and I can't feel at home
in this world anymore."

© 1965 - Albert E. Brumley & Sons

Remembering

Go ahead and mention my child,

The one that died, you know.

Don't worry about hurting me further.

The depth of my pain doesn't show.

Don't worry about making me cry.

I'm already crying inside.

Help me to heal by releasing

the tears that I try to hide.

I'm hurt when you just keep silent,

Pretending she didn't exist.

I'd rather you mention my child,

Knowing that she has been missed.

You asked me how I am doing.

I say "pretty good" or "fine".

But healing is something ongoing,

I feel it will take a lifetime.

~ Elizabeth Dent ~

Thankful

Paul is reading to the boys right now, so I thought I write this post now rather than waiting for tomorrow as I may find myself unable to do so then. Tomorrow marks 6 weeks since Felicity's birth/death. *sad sigh* Every week it seems my body and mind gear up for Monday mornings, replaying in my mind what happened that morning.

I've found myself so interested in all matters relating to stillbirths and especially to cord accidents. I read today that death from a cord accident usually occurs while mom is sleeping as sleep also affects baby's oxygen intake level. In my ignorance, I thought stillbirths no longer happened, when in reality there are approximately 26,000 stillbirths a year in the United States. A stillbirth according to Wikipedia is, "the birth of a fetus which has died in the uterus or during labor or delivery any time after the 24th week of pregnancy." Other definitions use the term stillbirth for any baby 20 weeks or more gestation. My heart aches for all the women I have "met" in the past 6 weeks who have also experienced a stillbirth. Their pain is like mine and so we have become kindred spirits in our grief.

My mom, in her wisdom, told me I should make a list of all the things I am thankful for having to do with Felicity's life, so that when I'm feeling down I can think of those things. So here goes:

I'm thankful for. . .

• beautiful, professional photographs of my daughter and a video of those photographs put to music.
• so many remembrances of Felicity throughout our home.
• the people at the hospital who treated her so lovingly despite her spirit being gone from her body.
• family and friends who have surrounded us with love, prayers, meals, and gifts.
• my own physical health after having a baby.
• a loving husband, who while grieving himself, comforts me with his presence and loving touch.
• Ethan and Elijah, who remind me every moment that life must go on.
• the impact Felicity has had on many people already.
• Jesus Christ, whose shed blood on the cross, ensures our happy reunion with Felicity someday because we believe in Him.
• hope for the future!

"To appoint unto them that mourn in Zion, to give unto them beauty for ashes, the oil of JOY for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness; that they might be called trees of righteousness, the planting of the Lord, that he might be glorified." Isaiah 61:3

Facebook?

Last night as I was staying up WAAAY too late, I finally spent some time on Facebook and found it to be less intimidating than I thought. I signed up for Facebook in Aug. (Before Felicity), but never did anything with it. What a great way to stay connected with friends and find old friends! (That is if I can keep up with email, blogging, and Facebook.)

As I was adding some old friends to my wall/profile/whatever (I haven't yet learned the facebook lingo.) I realized that if they contact me then I'll have to tell them about Felicity. One of those first questions is always "How many kids do you have?" Sure it's a whole lot easier to tell people via facebook rather than face to face, but still I wondered if I wanted to have to tell more people right now. I'm still wondering. I thought I'd jumped over these hurdles already, but I'm finding that more hurdles await me and my body is already aching from this race my life is now on. (Pretty pathetic of me to use a running analogy when I don't run!)

Maybe a better analogy for my life is Before and After. Normally, the After is a better picture; a new makeover, a room redecorated, etc. In my case, give me back my Before. The After Rachel isn't pretty. She's a different person; she's a different wife, a different mother, and a different friend. She wonders sometimes if she's going to make it. These negative feelings don't last because of the hope I have in Christ, but they are part of my life now. Pray for me as I learn to fulfill my roles now that I'm a different person. This goes for all of us - Paul, Ethan, and Elijah as well. We're all different, grief has/is changing us. I pray that when the hurting lessens, these new people we're becoming are an improvement on the Before. But right now, Before looks pretty good.

Trying

It's only been five weeks and I'm already having trouble remembering. . .

remembering the weight of Felicity's almost ten pound body cradled in my arms. . .
remembering the smell of her hair and skin through my stuffed up nose. . .
remembering the feeling of her soft, smooth skin and how chubby her cheeks were. . .
remembering the feel of her hair and her fingers wrapped around mine. . .

I'm trying so hard to remember and yet, I wish I could just forget. . .

forget that this is my life. . .
forget this empty feeling in my body because she's not with me. . .
forget this intense sadness in every moment. . .

But I'd much rather have sadness and pain in my memories than no memories at all!