Waiting for Wings

“Grief doesn’t change you . . . it reveals you.”
—John Green, The Fault in Our Stars

Since the loss of Knox, I truly believed grief changed people.

When I began grieving, I didn’t feel like myself. And the longer I grieved, the more certain I was the old me was long gone, never to return. But when a dear friend sent me this John Green quote, I have to say that, surprisingly, I agreed: grief reveals you.

It certainly revealed me—the new me. The me that lie dormant, the part of me hidden waiting to spring forth when needed, the part of me I never, ever knew existed.

I have embraced this me. I have finally accepted who I truly am: a wife, a grieving mother of three, a typesetter, a lover of all things vintage, a coffee addict, a music fanatic, a scarf wearer, a catrina/sugar skull enthusiast, and last, but not least, a butterfly aficionado. Through grief, I have discovered these things and I have embraced them. I know who I am, what I want, and I am not afraid to live my life as me.

Before Knox’s stillbirth, I was indecisive and I think I was still searching for myself, but now I’m free. And after two years, I finally feel that my life is clicking into place and I have allowed myself to be happy without Knox in my life. I’m not forgetting about my son or leaving him behind, but life is finally moving forward. I’m no longer standing still.

I’ve made some big changes recently and these decisions have aided me in the moving forward process.

First, my husband and I sold our house, the one that had Knox’s nursery in it. It’s where Knox began to die, it’s where he was supposed to live. And although, the EMDR therapy helped to significantly reduce my emotional stress associated with his room, leaving the house behind was a good decision. I was ready to move forward and that house stood in the way.

Second, I have decided to end my blog. As the time between posts continually lengthens, I find myself putting more energy and efforts into other pursuits and interests. So, I feel good saying this will be my last post, and I am beyond humbled that my words have reached so many bereaved parents and educated others on the painful subject of child loss.

Third, we went to Mexico (my husband and I), specifically to witness the Monarch Butterfly migration in remembrance of our son. These magnificent winged creatures make the long journey every year from Canada to overwinter in the mountains of Mexico; and we saw them. I spent my whole grieving existence for that moment, waiting for wings. It was paradise, millions of beautiful orange butterflies fluttering around me and my husband. With all those butterflies flying about, only one landed on me and it was a male Monarch. I cried and cried and I did not want to leave.

But in a way, it was as though God gave me another chance to say goodbye to my son, and this time it was under better circumstances.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Podcast Interview

I recently participated in an Enjoy True Living podcast interview series called “Ordinary People, Extraordinary Faith” hosted by David Deffenbaugh. I accepted the interview request so that my story could not only offer hope to those in similar circumstances, but also to inform and educate those who are unfamiliar with grief.

You may listen to the interview here.

Broken Road

This much I know is true
That God blessed the broken road
That led me straight to you
—Rascal Flatts, Bless the Broken Road

Sixteen months have passed since my son’s tragic birth and death. Thus, the journey thereafter, in addition to my subsequent pregnancy, has been challenging and wrought with grief, trauma, and so much pain. Yet, the great distance I have traveled on this broken road has set me on a path straight to happiness, albeit bittersweet.

January 28, 2013: 7:00 a.m.
The air in the room was frigid and the IV fluids quickly chilled my body. I sat on the operating table shivering, shaking just the way I did the night Knox died. I could tell by the look in my husband’s eyes that he was worried and I squeezed his hand more tightly. I waited for the panic attack, I waited for something inside of me to shift, to change, for distress to overtake me, but it never did. Apparently, the EMDR therapy that I had previously completed worked like a charm to significantly reduce my distress level. Then, after the spinal block numbed the lower half of my body, my doctor began the c-section, relaying every detail to me as I waited patiently for my daughter’s arrival. Also, my counselor’s suggestion of creating a playlist for the operating room was definitely helping; I heard Mandisa’s “Good Morning” playing in the background and I felt a bit more at ease. And as the playlist continued, I felt strangely happy—the power of music truly is a wonderful thing. “Footloose” by Kenny Loggins began to play and that’s when we met our precious baby girl. I had expected sadness and tears, misery and pain, but when I saw and heard my beautiful daughter for the first time, I was overcome with such joy that crying was not possible. My Zoë Cate was alive, she was breathing. I couldn’t believe it was finally over—this chapter in my life was finally closed. We had our daughter and I was no longer pregnant. It was the ending we had prayed for, it was what we so deeply desired, yet we still grieved our son.

Surprisingly, I shed not a single tear while we were in the hospital. It was a strange feeling because I didn’t expect my emotions to react that way. I was so overcome with joy and happiness that crying never occurred to me. And even though Knox’s picture was opposite my hospital bed, I smiled when I looked at his beautiful face. Those were bittersweet moments—happiness and sorrow simultaneously, almost too difficult to explain.

I look at my precious Zoë now and think, you are here because your brother died—your brother’s death gave you life. And that’s why we chose the name Zoë because it’s meaning is “life.” Honestly, if Knox had lived, we wouldn’t have Zoë, we probably wouldn’t have had any more children. Yet, because he died, he gave us a most precious gift of another child—he gave us his baby sister, he gave her life. The relationship between them reminds me of the Jack Johnson song, “If I Could:”

They say that
New life makes losing life easier to understand
…
One goes out
One comes in

Zoë’s life made it easier to understand losing Knox. And God truly did bless the broken road that led us straight to her.

Leap of Faith

She took a leap of faith and grew her wings on the way down.

A leap of faith—that’s what I took when I jumped head first into EMDR therapy (mentioned previously in Therapy? Yes, Please. as a highly effective form of therapy for the treatment of trauma). I admit I was a little skeptical at my first appointment, but decided, through prayer and support from family and friends, that I would just go for it and take an all or nothing approach. What could it hurt anyway? I desperately desired help for the upcoming c-section day. I was extremely afraid that being back in an operating room would prompt me to relive the trauma of Knox’s birth. And I wanted to overcome the anxiety and distress that I knew would cause my son’s death to overshadow the joyous day of my daughter’s birth. Was any of this possible?

Now, four EMDR sessions later, I have completed the therapy and I am happy to say that it works. And not only does it work, but it is amazingly effective. I can honestly say that I am excited about my daughter’s birth and I am not afraid of being in that operating room again. Can you believe that I actually feel this way? I can’t either. It seems impossible, inconceivable even.

I remember sitting in my third EMDR session grinning from ear-to-ear like a child because I was so proud of myself—I was so happy with my rapid progress. My original distress level of a ten decreased to a two . . . yes, a two. This level is manageable and may even continue to decrease after our daughter is born, but, thankfully, will not increase. And this therapy has not only readied me for the day of my c-section, but has also prepared me for a lifetime of coping with the trauma of Knox’s death. Now, I am confident and I am strong. I feel as though I am taking back my life. I guess I have finally grown my wings.

Therapy? Yes, please.

A fool despises good counsel, but a wise man takes it to heart.
—Confucius

Before my son died, I am almost positive I would have rejected any offer for therapy or counseling if it were given to me. I believed therapy was for crazy people, people who had major problems in their life, and I most definitely did not fit in that category. I was normal and normal people did not seek therapy, right?

Now, however, only fourteen months after my son’s death, I am deeply grateful and supremely thankful for the counsel that my therapist provides. Counseling, therapy, guidance—whatever name you choose—it works. And I am a firm believer in the effectiveness and long-term benefits of therapy. I don’t know how much longer I’ll be seeing my grief counselor, but I am especially pleased with the progress I have made along with her guidance. Sometimes, I think I might be stuck without her, without having an unbiased professional who challenges me to analyze my emotions and who prompts me to search for answers on my own. That’s right, I said, “on my own.” I do a lot of the work myself. I think a huge misconception of therapy is that you can go in and let a professional “fix” everything for you, when, in truth, a therapist only guides and aids in processing your emotions.

Additionally, you must desire to get better, because the therapist cannot do it alone. And that’s where I am today—I desire to get better. I crave having a life that is free of flashbacks, a life that is almost exempt of panic attacks. I want to lessen the distress connected with the trauma of the night Knox died. Furthermore, I definitely don’t want to have that level of anxiety forever. I know I need help and I am willing to admit that. So, upon the suggestion of a dear friend I began a different type of therapy called EMDR (Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing) that will supplement my existing grief counseling sessions.

EMDR is highly recommended as an effective form of therapy for the treatment of trauma. Essentially, this therapy rewires the brain to not feel distress when exposed to triggers related to the actual trauma. With the upcoming c-section of my baby girl, I want to do everything I can to minimize the stress of that day. I am terrified of being in that operating room again and I don’t know how I will react, possibly even reliving that traumatic night Knox died. EMDR should alleviate most of the distress I associate with the operating room and will even help me to feel calm and relaxed. I have already completed one session of this therapy and I believe it will truly help me. And I continually pray that this therapy not only allows me to make it through my scheduled c-section, but also that I will reap it’s benefits for the rest of my life.