Category: Blog Posts

It hit me like a ton of bricks. Three years. Three years ago this month since my beautiful grandson was a stillbirth. The memory of that day came back vividly; like I was living it all over again.

I remember hearing the phone ring in the morning and noticed that it was from my son. I thought that was weird since he rarely calls. I answered and all I heard were tears and commotion. “We lost the baby,” he sobbed. My heart sank and I felt numb. I didn’t know what I could do, but I knew they would need all the love and support we could give.

I offered help making the arrangements, since I unfortunately had experience with this having recently buried my mom. My husband and I went with them to the funeral parlor where we met outside the parking lot for a long, tearful embrace. Words failed me.

When I looked at little Liam in the reposing room my heart just broke. He was so very tiny and was dwarfed by the teddy bear lovingly placed next to him. He would never get the chance to play with his older sister or be a big brother. He would never play sports, go to a prom, or graduate from college.

I am in awe of the strength my son and his wife showed during this time. Thank goodness they have a solid marriage and helped each other through their pain. We were overjoyed when they were blessed with a rainbow baby boy the next year.

Thank goodness for organizations like Through the Heart to shower support and love to grieving parents and their families. I was blessed to hear about them through a friend who had lost a child. I also came to know about Angel Gowns, a volunteer organization that creates gowns from donated wedding gowns for little angels. I was honored to donate my gown and my mother’s gown.

A lot has happened these past three  years. I have delighted in seeing my granddaughter and grandson grow. But I still, however, hold Liam in a special place in my heart.

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.

Christmas is the season to believe. That can be  pretty much impossible to do when grieving. I’ve been there. I’ve felt that pain and lived that confusion and anger.

This photo is a picture of my rainbow baby, Lucy. She is marveling at the decorations in her grandmother’s house. I watched her the other day and I was struck by the wonder and belief in her eyes. Her spirit is so full of the season.

I can remember standing in that room just a few Christmases ago feeling damaged and lost. I wanted nothing to do with Christmas that year.

Here I am now, with my spirited little girl. I think this photo embodies what it means to believe in the season. Remember to marvel at the simple things. Take comfort in the warmth and support of a relative’s home. Do whatever you can to keep believing.

-Kate

Autumn is here. I have mixed feelings about this season. On the one hand, Autumn in upstate New York is glorious. The leaves burst forth in color and there is a freshness and crispness to the air that I love. On the other hand, as the season progresses the trees get bare, and darkness seems to take over. Days are shorter and signs of winter quietly appear such as the first falling snowflakes.

In Chinese medicine,  Autumn is considered the season of grief and that is very  fitting. With the end of the year fast approaching, we reflect on the past year and our lives. We tend to think of those we have lost and what might have been. Grief that we long thought dormant may rise up.

I  find the seasons to be a good analogy for life and death. We have no control over them. Every year we have the repetitive cycle of birth, growth, closure, and death. This quote from the Avengers: the Age of Ultron–“A thing isn’t beautiful because it lasts.” –speaks to the cycle of life. Without Autumn there would be no Spring.

Our grief changes over time. I find that my grief surfaces as the seasons change and during the holidays. Many people particularly struggle with grief over the holidays. We don’t just grieve those we lost, but what might have–and what we think should have–been. I find myself thinking not only of the meteorological seasons but of my life seasons. Each season not only brings back both happy and sad memories but provides the opportunity to remember how we got to where we are today. It blesses us with the courage, fortitude, and gratitude to move forward.

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.

On Halloween afternoon, I was sitting with my kids watching It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown, when my husband asked me if I knew the symbolism of a white pumpkin. Nope! He heard on the radio that it was a symbol for pregnancy and infant loss. What? I had never heard of that!

Now I’ve been a part of the pregnancy loss community for 8.5 years and I feel I know a decent amount about these types of things, but this one had slipped by me. A quick search of the internet confirmed that white pumpkins are indeed chosen and set out in honor of the babies who have gone too soon.

Huh.

I am a lover of fall and pumpkins and we currently have 5 white pumpkins in our house, a few of which my younger son picked out at the pumpkin patch earlier this month. Next year, we will look for a way to incorporate white pumpkins into some of our activities. It seems like it would be great to pair with my candle for the Wave of Light.

Did you know about the symbolism of white pumpkins? Do you have any special traditions with them?

Karen Kelly is the co-founder and President & CEO of Through the Heart. She & her husband Sean lost their first child in February 2013 when they terminated for medical reasons at 20 weeks and lost their second due to miscarriage at 12 weeks in June 2015. The couple welcomed a healthy, beautiful baby boy in August 2016. After another miscarriage in July 2017, their second healthy and equally beautiful baby boy joined them in July 2018. Karen is an avid sports fan and enjoys traveling, baking, and 90s alternative music. She lives in Edgewater, MD, with her husband, sons, and 2 cats Smokey and Plinko.  

Every October 15th I participate in the National Wave of Light to honor my two angel babies along with all the babies gone too soon. I love knowing that so many of us that share an unbreakable bond are joining together and lighting our candles. It gives us all a moment to slow down, breathe, and honor our little angels. I recently purchased a Cricut machine that allows me to make homemade vinyl decals. Today I made this decal and put it on the candle that I light every year for my babies. I am so proud of this candle. I’m so glad that I can share this candle with my friends and family and allow the memories of my babies to live on. I have also offered to make this decal for my local friends and family that have angel babies so that they can display it. I just love that one little thing can start a conversation that many of us are afraid to have. So many have suffered in silence and I hope that offering it to those that don’t know how to say the words out loud can benefit from having this decal somewhere special and it can help to either start the conversation or to keep it going.

-Lauren

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.

I am glad to see January come and go. January has become a difficult month for me. I used to greet the new year with anticipation and hope and looked forward to what the coming year would bring. Plans were made, resolutions were set, and off I went.

That changed for me two years ago in January when our grandson Liam was stillborn. It was a phone call every parent dreads—my son calling in tears to let tell us this horrible news. I was frozen. We somehow muddled through the next few weeks and felt the pain and grief of loss.

What helped me during this time was the closeness and presence of family. We were able to cry together, hold each other, and grieve as a family. I can’t imagine having to go through this during the pandemic. I would find the loss of human interaction unbearable.

I find I have to struggle, particularly as I age, to find the glass half full. Every doctor’s visit seems to bring some other issue to deal with. I worry about my children, even though they are now adults. I worry about my grandchildren, hoping they will grow up in a world that is safe, clean, and full of opportunity.

I’ve come to painfully acknowledge that the older I get, the more loss becomes a part of my life. Sometimes it’s expected, like the loss of an aged parent, but sometimes it’s unexpected, like the loss of a child. I realize that I am part of the oldest generation in my family, my uncle having passed several months ago.

I am working on presence and acceptance. I realize that I spend too much time worrying about tomorrow and thinking “what if.” I need to consciously greet each day like the new beginning it is. I also need to accept what trials and tribulations I face and do my best to deal with them.

Practicing gratitude has helped me realize how truly lucky I am. My son and his wife were blessed with a “rainbow baby” this spring. I now have two beautiful grandchildren and one angel in heaven.

To be sure, it’s hard to be hopeful and thankful in the midst of a pandemic. But by staying the course and realizing that there is always darkness before the dawn, I believe we can get through this. I so can’t wait to hug my son, daughter-in-law, daughter, and grandchildren again. This too shall pass. Welcome February, and then hopefully spring!

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.”