Author: Through the Heart

A friend posted this recently and it really impacted me.

“38 years ago this month I lost twin boys. I was two weeks shy of my due date. They were my fifth pregnancy and the only one to last past five months. It was devastating. I think about who they would be often. Life is wickedly wonderful. Now I’m a Nana and a GiGi. Life has a way of being more beautiful than tragic. Hold on to what gives you joy then spread that joy to whoever you can.”

Yes, this journey called life is full of twists and turns. But it is full of hope. We need to have the courage and strength to believe that things will get better. In the midst of dealing with loss it is often hard to crawl out from despair, but we do because we must. We do because we believe and trust that better days are ahead.

One feeling we should rid ourselves of is guilt. When the clouds start to lift, we often feel guilty that we are beginning to experience some joy and happiness. We can remember our lost ones with love, knowing that they are at peace. We are honoring their memory by living our lives to the fullest.

I just love the phrase “wickedly wonderful.” In spite of, or perhaps because of, the difficulties and hardships we experience in life we often bounce back stronger and with a renewed zest for life. We genuinely appreciate and are thankful for what we have. We want to help others get through their pain by giving them hope and encouragement. My friend realizes this, and I do now as well. I was so devastated when I lost my grandson. All I could see was the pain and anguish in my son’s and daughter-in-law’s faces. But a little over a year ago, she gave birth to a healthy baby boy. To see the joy on all their faces when they come visit just fills my heart with happiness. Yes, our grief may be strong, but eventually it will be joined by joy.

Deborah experienced the loss of her grandson, Liam, in January of 2019. She has two grown children, both adopted, and two grandchildren. Deborah lives with her husband, Keith, and dog, Kovu. Now that she is retired Deborah volunteers with several heart-health focused organizations. She is the author of the book “A Journey of the Heart: Learning to Thrive, Not Just Survive, With Congenital Heart Disease.

It can come out of nowhere. You’re doing fine and boom, grief hits you like a ton of bricks. And it can hit you during happy times as well as sad times. I find holidays particularly difficult, as I grieve not only for the loss of loved ones but for past times and what could have been. While I looked with love and joy at my two grandkids Winry and Rory this Easter, I still grieved for my stillborn grandson Liam.

People talk about “waves of grief,” but I think it is more like an ocean, always present. Sometimes the waves are choppy, and we feel grief intensely. Other times the water is calm, but the grief is still there.

We grieve not only death, but intangible things such as loss of family traditions as our elders pass, loss of health, and so on. We need to acknowledge and work through our grief when it hits — not doing so can affect us physically and emotionally.

One grief poem which speaks to me is “For Grief,” written by John O’Donohue. For me, it addresses the choppy seas and calm seas of grief.

For Grief
by John O’Donohue

When you lose someone you love,
Your life becomes strange,
The ground beneath you becomes fragile,
Your thoughts make your eyes unsure;
And some dead echo drags your voice down
Where words have no confidence
Your heart has grown heavy with loss;
And though this loss has wounded others too,
No one knows what has been taken from you
When the silence of absence deepens.

Flickers of guilt kindle regret
For all that was left unsaid or undone.

There are days when you wake up happy;
Again inside the fullness of life,
Until the moment breaks
And you are thrown back
Onto the black tide of loss.
Days when you have your heart back,
You are able to function well
Until in the middle of work or encounter,
Suddenly with no warning,
You are ambushed by grief.

It becomes hard to trust yourself.
All you can depend on now is that
Sorrow will remain faithful to itself.
More than you, it knows its way
And will find the right time
To pull and pull the rope of grief
Until that coiled hill of tears
Has reduced to its last drop.

Gradually, you will learn acquaintance
With the invisible form of your departed;
And when the work of grief is done,
The wound of loss will heal
And you will have learned
To wean your eyes
From that gap in the air
And be able to enter the hearth
In your soul where your loved one
Has awaited your return
All the time.

Deborah experienced the loss of her grandson, Liam, in January of 2019. She has two grown children, both adopted, and two grandchildren. Deborah lives with her husband, Keith, and dog, Kovu. Now that she is retired Deborah volunteers with several heart-health focused organizations. She is the author of the book “A Journey of the Heart: Learning to Thrive, Not Just Survive, With Congenital Heart Disease.

Another January has come and gone. This particular one marked 4 years since my first miscarriage.

I went nine weeks feeling pregnant. I had morning sickness. I gained a pound. My breasts were sore. I had so many typical first trimester symptoms. I went to the doctor for my ultrasound and there was nothing inside me. I had a blighted ovum.

I will never forget lying in the hospital bed awaiting the D&C. The inauguration of President Trump was being televised.

This year as I watched another inauguration in the midst of a global pandemic I couldn’t help but think about where I was 4 years ago. I felt so lost and confused and I think a lot of the country did too.

This year I was with my two babies, my mom, and two of my nieces. I thought about how far I had come physically and emotionally. I thought about how much I have learned. As I watched my babies play with my nieces, I felt a feeling of hope that I recall not having four years ago.

Four years. It’s crazy to me to think that I’ve been pregnant four times in the last four years.

Recently I have had three friends reach out to me to tell me they had miscarriages. Talking them through their feelings took me right back to where I was four years ago. I’m grateful I can be here for them and I am also grateful I can direct them to Through the Heart. I sent them Comfort Kits and each one of them so appreciated it.

I have told them I hate that they have to join this club, but to know that they are not alone and they have the support when they’re ready for it.