grief awareness day 💜

It's National Grief Awareness day today. If I could neatly summarize what these past 6 months have been Iike, I would, but there's nothing neat and tidy about grief. It hits you hardest when you least expect it, and teaches you a whole lot about life and love that you would not learn otherwise. Our journey with grief began what feels like a lifetime ago. At 11 weeks gestation, our little girl was diagnosed with a health condition that we were told would likely result in a palliative pregnancy, and then her death before she ever saw the world. I thought that was hard. It was. But nothing could possibly have prepared me for what happened when Gabriella actually died. The hope that we had strongly experienced, believing and hoping that she would be healed earthside, was suddenly snatched away with the horrible news that she had no heartbeat. 💔 I had no idea how much joy that hope had given me, till it was gone. The first few weeks after her death/birth were a mix of shock, dismay, and relief. No longer did we constantly wonder  if she was still alive or if she had already passed. No longer was I at risk of a life-threatening condition called Mirror Syndrome, where a mother's body mirrors the symptoms of her hydrops-engulfed baby. There was definite relief. And then a few weeks later, the finality of it all hit me hard, and despair set in. My baby was really gone, and she was never coming back. There was no glimmer of hope that maybe she would make it, and land screaming in our arms in a few weeks or months. She was gone. Dead. Cold in the ground.. .and all I had to show for it was a clump of squishy fat on my stomach, endless tears and exhaustion, and arms and a heart that literally, physically ached. Like a sick adrenaline rush. I never knew grief would cause physical reactions like that, but it did. Still does. For weeks after, my body still thought it was pregnant, and every twinge I felt would make me so excited, thinking she was moving... And then I'd remember. She was gone. I had no idea that grief becomes part of you, wrapping its tendrils into every part of you, and it's impossible to escape it. I've learned/am learning to cope with it, but it doesn't go away. I've learned to smile through the tears and go on living, even though I've often wished that I could have died along with my baby. I've also learned that often people are super unfamiliar with and uncomfortable with deep grief. They don't know how to care, even though they have the best of intentions. They're afraid to say her name... maybe for fear of reminding me of my pain? News flash: my grief is always with me. You don't remind me of it; instead, I'm honoured when Gabriella's life is remembered and honoured in that way. Not with pity, but with celebration! Telling me how much you wish you could watch her grow up, or that you're sad you never got to meet her, lets me know that I'm not quite as alone as I feel. Grief is so isolating and lonely. Not that we don't have an amazing community surrounding us, but no one is as affected by her passing as we are, and it's impossible for anyone to know just how we're feeling. Watching other women be pregnant with and give birth to healthy, live babies has been incredibly, incredibly hard for me since we lost Gabriella. They have what my heart desperately wants, and it's so traumatic for me to watch. It's forced me to take a step back in socializing, and hide social media accounts of pregnant women. When you've lost a baby, suddenly all you see is pregnancy announcements and baby bumps. And while there's nothing wrong with either of those, and it's cause for celebration, I've learned that it's okay to let someone else do the celebrating right now. I've also learned that a lot of people are unaquainted with this level of grief, and we're all so capable of hurting other people with our words and actions. Usually it's unintentional,and we're actually trying to help and make things better. If there's one thing I'd like the world to know, it's that no one can make grief "better". Offering clichés and "explanations" as to why my child (or anyone else's loved one) had to die does not help. It only hurts, and makes that person 'unsafe' to confide in. Especially in the early days of grief (and that can mean months, btw😊), there is no reason good enough or valid enough to merit my child dying. By now, I can see some beautiful things that have come about as a result of Gabriella's death. I can see blessings coming out of this broken mess, but that doesn't mean it's easy or "worth it all". Frankly, I'd still rather have my daughter with me and have those blessings come as a result of something less painful. 🤣 Do I believe that God is sovereign, and that His heart can still be trusted? Yes, but often I just know that in my head, and my heart needs to catch up. So, please take it from me and don't try to "fix" your grieving friends and family. Just sit with them and hug them tight. Bring them meals or coffees or gift cards, and don't assume they're 'okay' after 1, 3, or 6 months. They will always appreciate those gestures, and remembering dates like birthdays, anniversaries, due dates, etc, will mean the world to them. Honouring their loved one will always warm their hearts, I promise. Also, don't be afraid to ask how you can help. Don't tell them to 'let you know if there's anything you can do', because they won't. Ask them what would mean a lot to them right now, and understand that needs change on a daily basis sometimes. 😊

Today, on national grief awareness day, I met my amazing friend's beautiful newborn daughter. We were pregnant together, and dreamed of our babies growing up together (they were due 8 wks apart). We dreamed of playdates, and of our kids marrying each other if she had a baby boy. 😍🤣 Her daughter is beautiful, and as I sat and held her, sobs of deep loss wracked my body for the warm, chubby baby I never got to have and hold. My baby is dancing with Jesus, and the depth of this loss is something I wrestle with every day. I don't talk about it much, because putting myself out there makes me feel exposed and vulnerable. Unsafe. But here I am, trying to shed some light on and normalize grief. Please don't shy away from it. Please don't be scared to love this post instead of crying over it. Grief is the only form of love I get to express for my daughter, and I don't want pity. Understanding, yes, always, but not long faces and pitying looks. Celebrate my daughter and other babies gone too soon; celebrate the incredible strength of all the mamas and daddys who have had to say goodbye to their babies way too soon. Hug your loved ones tightly, always. 

Today, on #nationalgriefawarenessday, let's normalize grief and let people know it's okay that they're not okay. It's okay for them to be walking this road, to experience joy and sorrow simultaneously, to wrestle on the hard days, and craugh (cry+laugh😂) on the days when they have no idea how they're doing, and to just embrace those moments when they  feel a genuine smile cross their face. Because trust me, it feels like a million bucks. 💜😊


Edit: Since I wrote this last night, something has weighed heavily on my heart, and that is to make sure that I let our family and friends know that we could not be more thankful for the extravagant love that's been poured out on us in the past year. My family has been right here with us, and we have so many, many incredible people who have stepped up to the plate and loved us well. I can tell when someone genuinely cares and is trying to love me, even if the attempts aren't perfect. Trust me, I've blundered my way through countless situations too, so I'm learning right along with everyone else. Some day I'm going to blog about how we've experienced the hands and feet of Jesus in all of this, but this post was dedicated to the things I wish I had known before this grief journey, so I could have loved better. 😊 Thank you from the bottom of my heart. This post was not meant to criticize or point fingers, but to inform and empower. So please accept my thanks, and my apologies if I came across as ungrateful or critical.
Also, some day soon I'm going to talk about what God's been doing in my heart through all of this, so stay tuned! 💜