December 23, 2015, I came home from work to see Logan and Travis playing in our living room. I greeted my boys with hugs and kisses and played for a few minutes before telling Travis I wanted to take a pregnancy test. I went to the bathroom and left the test sitting on the counter then went back to playing with the guys while I waited for the results. Logan was so close to walking and we laughed and cheered…
Everyone keeps telling me that the only remedy for my grief is time. Time for me to heal, time for me to grow, time for me to get used to the fact that all of this is real. Time. It is one of the stranger things people say to comfort me when I really think about it, because as true as it is, what am I supposed to do with that? Time is just another reminder of one more thing…
I wrote this post a few nights ago and I debated sharing it. Not because it is overly personal but because it is honest and it acknowledges the pain I’m pretending not to feel. I pretend not only for myself but for others. I don’t want everyone to worry about me. Or to think I am a constantly quivering pile of mush that cannot go on with life. I am alive. I am living. But I also need to be…
Last week was Thanksgiving, and surprisingly, this year I felt more gratitude than I ever have before. My first instinct is to say that I’m grateful despite everything that has happened to me this year, but truthfully, I think I’m more grateful because of what happened. Ava’s death gave me the opportunity to see firsthand what I already knew in my heart; I am incredibly blessed. Today I would like to really look outside of my grief for a moment…
This is an essay I recently submitted to a Jewish website about my difficulty in finding meaning in the Jewish High Holidays after the death of my daughter. Unfortunately, it was not accepted because the holidays have already passed and it was “too late to run.” So I share it with you here…
When I was rolled out of the operating room Ava was resting on my chest, and the first thing I did was look at her ears. When a baby is developing in utero the kidneys and ears develop at the same time so often times a congenital disorder with one can be seen in the other. Ava had no amniotic fluid left when she was born which suggested a problem with her kidneys. I traced my fingers over her tiny…
Today I got triggered. I didn’t even see it coming. Since Ava died I’ve been asked no less than a dozen times about my children. It is never phrased quite the same but its usually something like, how many children do you have? or Do you have just one? or Are you going to have more? or Don’t you think Logan wants a sibling? Mind you, these aren’t questions from friends who know about Ava and are asking the informed question…
Have you ever had a really good cry? You know, the one where you just let go and sob and your stomach heaves and your shoulders crumble and sometimes you even lose your balance and have to sit down. The one where the sadness is purged from your body one teardrop at a time until you run dry, and when you’re done you take a deep cleansing breath and suddenly the world feels right again. That cry that is so…
Sometime during the day, after Ava died, a purple ribbon was placed on the outside of my door which would serve as a signal to anyone who passed by my room that my baby had died. I had been marked. I think that ribbon scared a lot of people. I think I scared a lot of people.
I knew before Ava was born that I wanted to pump and donate our milk. Logan and I were milk donors and I felt very passionately about wanting to do it again. I felt like I had been given such a blessing in the form of an over-abundant milk supply and I wanted to show my gratitude to the universe by giving something back. It never occurred to me that this blessing would become such a burden.