1 | How would you describe your relationship to fear before and after the loss of your baby?
Before losing Tess and Oliver I was ignorant to what true fear feels like. Lying in a hospital bed hoping, praying (to anyone that would listen) and waiting. Wanting so much to believe what everyone was saying to me :: be strong :: pray :: these babies are meant to
be Heather, everything is going be ok :: And then they came. Silently. Even though moments before they were tumbling inside of me. They were gone forever.
Now there are times when fear grips me at the most unexpected moment. I can visualize the worst happening again, though in a different way. Even while I hope the worst has
already happened. I fear the other shoe dropping again. Once you've been in the 1%, the unlucky side of one percent, 99% will never ever feel safe. Fear.
2 | Is your lost baby/are your babies present in your life? In what way?
Two small stars tattooed on my wrist where my pulse can be felt. Little hearts beating within my own. They are also alive in my living daughter's laughter and smile. Mostly a happy feeling though lying underneath that pure happiness is a longing to hear and see in triplicate.
3 | Tell us about something said or done after your loss that left you feeling nurtured or supported.
So many wonderful words and actions. One that stands out was a coworker who came into my office on my first day back to work. He just came into my office with a small, quietly sincere smile and kind of shrugged his shoulders. There was nothing to say to make it all better. It is still amazing to me that this nothing meant everything. I felt completely understood. My pain acknowledged perfectly.
4 | Tell us about something said or done after your loss that left you feeling marginalized or misunderstood.
One. A friend compared the loss of my children to the loss of a parent in trying to explain away extremely hurtful actions and words. While I cannot imagine what it will feel like to lose either my mother or my father I do know that one day I will. I do not look forward to this day but I hope it happens in this order, them and then me, because no parent should ever know the pain of losing a child. I would give anything for a memory of what my babies' voices sounded like, what their smiles looked like, what their hugs felt like. Losing a parent vs. losing a child. Apples and oranges. My (ex)friend. Apples and oranges.
Two. Husband of (ex)friend above, 10 weeks after the birth of his child as well as 10 weeks after the death of my own. (This is an excerpt of a long email. Not that I'm making excuses.) "You can hang on to what you've lost, or hang on to what you have but the reality of it is, it's been difficult having friends be so negative during out happiest moment." No further explanation needed.
5 | What's taken you a long time to do again? How did it feel, if you have?
To let go. To stop asking "why?" and/or second guessing everything that happened in regards to Tess & Oliver dying. I haven't stopped yet. I'm not sure that day will ever fully come. Thankfully the once constant conversation in my head has softened to mostly background noise, though there are still moments where the signal comes through loud and clear.
6 | How would you describe yourself as a partner before, and after?
Before :: Strong. Constant. Present. Loving.
Immediately after :: Weak. Needy. Distracted. Lost. Unreachable. Unpredictable.
As the days, weeks, months and years have passed :: Circles and waves of, Awareness. Strength. Weakness. Love. Disconnection.
