Looking Forward to May

As we turn the calendar to another new month…May…it feels as though death is creeping back in. I know that we should look forward to May. Each new day is a gift. Each day and month, however, can feel like another day without Grace…another day farther away from her memory. Instead of feeling so distant from Grace’s memory as time goes on, we want to see this as one day closer to being with her and all of our loved ones again. Most importantly, we long to be with Jesus. At times, it continues to feel as though our lives changed just yesterday. Turning the calendar to 2012 was difficult because I could no longer say “last year”. Coming into another May, I’ve expected to “feel better” by now. Some things have changed, but there continue to be moments where this feels just as bad as her birthday.

Last Sunday, we sang Psalm 118… “This is the day the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it.” I see and say those words several times each day, because they hang in our kitchen. I couldn’t sing those words last Sunday. They actually made me angry. I felt as though I shouldn’t think about what happened almost 2 years ago. Instead I should suck it up, deal with it, and get over it. “Look forward to today, Wendy.” I do, but my “today” will always have someone missing while I’m on this earth. This is what keeps me looking forward to heaven.

I know that I’ve talked about this before in a previous post: My pastor said that I should focus on today…not the past. I try to do this. If only it was that easy. I feel that it’s necessary for me to put myself in those early moments to see the blessings that have come because of the pain we continue to live with. The “seasoned veterans” told me from day 4 that “time heals…things will get better.” I’m still waiting for that. Did they forget how difficult it was for them when their lives changed? Time has allowed me to learn to process things. Sometimes it takes a few minutes; sometimes it takes several days. Time has also changed how I think and how I listen. I also react differently. When I hear of someone whose life has changed, I put myself back to our first moments of grief, as difficult as it is to do, and try to reach out.

I want to keep my focus on Christ and what He did for me…for Grace, not on what happened to our family.

Yesterday in church, we sang “I am Jesus’ Little Lamb”…a song that will probably always bring me to tears. When I was pregnant with Grace, I remember frequently singing this song with Heather as I pushed her on the swing. At that time, Heather was 3. She knew all of the verses from memory. The day that Bob and I came home from the hospital without Grace, our friend, Angie, told me that Heather was singing this song at the top of her lungs as she was swinging outside. Angie told Heather that Jesus was holding Grace in His arms in heaven. Heather said, “But I wanted to hold her, too.” Our Sunday School children sang this song at Grace’s memorial service. The last verse includes these words...“And when my short life is ended, By his angel hosts attended, He shall fold me to his breast, There within His arms to rest."

I braved Sunday School after church yesterday. I was quickly put back into “survival mode” as we discussed King David’s sin with Bathsheba. I struggle with this section in so many ways. To me, it seems as though David was being punished for his sin of adultery. His son died as a result of his sin. We discussed the difference between punishment and consequences of sin. The punishment of sin is death, but Jesus took that upon Himself when He suffered and died on the cross in our place. Sin also has consequences while we live on this earth. Grace’s death feels more to me like a punishment than something done out of love for our family.

We also talked about David’s reaction after he learned that his son had died. “Then David got up from the ground. After he washed, put on lotions and changed his clothes, he went into the house of the Lord and worshiped. Then he went to his own house,…and he ate.” 2 Samuel 12:20 He said that while his son was still alive, he fasted and wept hoping that God would be gracious to him and let the child live. “But now that he is dead, why should I fast? Can I bring him back again? I will go to him, but he will not return to me.” 2 Samuel 12:23 It sounds to me as though David was able to accept it, deal with it, “get over it”, and move on immediately. I wonder how Bathsheba reacted? Do others refer to this section of Scripture when offering their well-meaning words of comfort to those who have lost a child? David made it look pretty easy, so those who haven’t been through this must assume that it is. During class, someone said that David figured there was nothing he could do about the situation, so he moved on. Is this why I’ve been asked, “Why is your grief so much more…?” Is everyone supposed to act like David? The last thing that I wanted to do was eat. I wasn’t even feeling all that thankful, but we did and continue to worship God.

I’m pretty sure that this isn’t all there was to David’s grief. I’m certain that he missed his son until he saw him again in heaven.

On Saturday, May 5, my dad gets to celebrate his birthday in heaven with Grace. When I was a child, I remember having races with him from the house to the barn and vice versa. He was so fast. Grace won her race only hours after being born. They would tell us that it feels as though they’ve been living in heaven forever. I look forward to that day.

One of Many Tough Days ~ 2 1/2 weeks

June 7, 2010 ~ Monday

I started off this morning saying, “This is the day the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it.” Psalm 118:24 I opened my Bible to Psalms and began reading. (Bob ordered me a new Bible and had Grace's full name imprinted on the front. It's the only Bible I'll use, and I'm not afraid to write in it. I've already begun underlining words that bring me comfort.) I find that I want to hear these words of comfort from Scriptures, but when they bring tears, I feel anything but comfort. In church yesterday, a friend gave me a card, said how sorry she was, and that she had just heard about Grace. I thanked her and turned away with tears. A few weeks later, I would learn that she lost a 6 month old several years ago. I want people to know about Grace, but I don't like the sad, sick feelings I have when I think about her short life.

She'll never suffer with sunburn, like Maddy had last week. She'll never suffer with cancer, like my friend is facing for the second time while raising her children. As parents, we'll never worry about the possibility of cancer like some of our friends face several times a year when they take their little girl in for her cancer screenings. There are so many wonderful reasons why we rejoice that Grace is in heaven wrapped in the arms of her Savior. A consequence of our sins is enduring pain and suffering. Grace will never know what that feels like. The pain and longing that I feel for her is unbearable at times. But these are just my own selfish earthly desires...wanting her here just so I can hold her.

We spent the morning doing some painful yet necessary things. First, we went to a printing shop to have some Thank You cards made. I cried most of the way there. Bob wrote a poem for Grace the day after she died. We put that on the inside. It says,

Precious Feet

These precious feet are walking with God

No rugged road will harm them.

He'll guide your way,

With Him you'll stay,

Until we meet again in heaven.

It also includes a Bible passage...

“My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.”  II Corinthians 12:9

I read in a “Comfort from Meditations” the other night that we are to thank God for the tests He gives us. I'm not feeling very thankful today when my head is throbbing and I can't stop crying. I know that God is here. Right now, knowing this doesn't make me feel any better.

After the print shop, we stopped by church. I needed a June calendar because life must go on, and I needed to check on cleaning supplies. A friend came down the hall, and all I remember is her overwhelming happiness. As I was listening to her talk I thought, “I really don't care what you're babbling about.” Later on she asked, “Are you and Bob on a date today?” I quietly said, “No. We're just getting some running around done.” I thought, “If only you knew how much I've been crying already today.”

Part of the tears are frustration. No one wants to say anything. I don't want anyone to ask me how I'm feeling, but then again I do. I just wish they knew what to say and do. If anyone does ask, I always say, “I'm fine. How are you?” I don't want people to forget. It's nice knowing that people are thinking and praying for us, but I wish the cards would stop. No...I really don't wish they'd stop. I wish the words of comfort and Scripture passages would make me feel better right now.

What if they went through something like this? Everyone thinks that I'm o.k. because the garden is weeded and the grass is mowed. If I'm not crying, I must be over it. If I don't keep myself busy, I'd be in bed, on anti-depressants, drinking, eating, or just not wanting to be here. So I have to keep going because I have no choice. I'm supposed to be resting after my C-section, but why would I? There's no baby in our home.

Once we finished at church, we headed to the jewelry store. For Mother's Day two years ago, Bob gave me a necklace that he designed. It's a heart that has a cross going through it. At the top of the heart is my birthstone. The girls' birthstones are along the bottom of the heart. We had Grace's birthstone added to the cross. We wanted to add her name and praying hands or an angel, but it just wouldn't work. I cried all the way home. Through my sinfully, clouded eyes this shouldn't be happening.

Since Grace died, there are moments throughout the day that I have to force myself to find any blessings. Today, I didn't even want to try to find one, but if I had to I'd have to say that there were a couple of moments that the girls made me smile. One time I saw Heather outside on the back patio sitting with one of her kittens picking off ticks. It made me laugh. I worry about how my silence is affecting them. I usually have my back turned to the girls, because I don't want them to see me cry. Bob has been so good about listening to me. That is truly one of the biggest blessings.

Words from "Ma" ~ One week later

Once we left the hospital on May 22, 2010 without Grace, I had a difficult time putting all of my thoughts into words "out loud"...I continue to struggle with that. I physically couldn't speak, except for maybe one or two sentences, but then my mind would go blank. When I had some quiet time, which was early in the morning or late at night, I'd write to a couple of friends. This email was sent one week after Grace died. Bob and Maddy were in WI attending Britt's 8th grade graduation service. They would be back home in 2 days. I considered going up, too but just didn't think that I could face anyone. It was probably exactly what I needed to do, rather than staying home...feeling alone. At the time, I just needed to be able to cry...the "ugly" cry with no one around. When I read these emails, I remember that we did have support. It was offered; however, I shut most people out. Everyone was only a phone call away.


These are some of my words to "Ma," our TN mom. I've also included her words of comfort and encouragement.

Hi Ma,

I was out doing chores with Heather last night when you called. Bob left yesterday morning with Maddy to get Britt. They'll be home Saturday evening.

Thanks for the phone calls. Please keep the prayers coming. I probably won't call back because I'm just having a very difficult time controlling the tears. They come without warning and are uncontrollable at times.

After I put Heather to bed last night, I just stood there looking at her and was so thankful to God that she's healthy, as are our other girls. I've probably never been so grateful for that. It's something I take for granted every day. Then I have to remember that Grace would have had a life of suffering, and instead of allowing that, God took her to heaven where she is now whole. What a wonderful blessing! I have to keep remembering that.

I'm pretty sure that what I'm experiencing right now is mostly hormones. Many women go through this even with a healthy baby. Once I can get back to my garden therapy, I'll feel alot better. (So much for wishful thinking.) Now, I seem to dwell on what happened only a week ago.

If you can send some comforting Bible passages my way, please do so.
 
We really appreciated your visit at the hospital, the beautiful flowers, and phone calls.

Love,

Wendy

I don't think she'd mind me sharing her words...bits and pieces of them. It actually helped me to read them again this morning.

My Dear One,

I have kept this pulled up on my computer all day. My heart has been so heavy. Not just because of your note here but because I too have felt so empty. I really haven’t answered you because I just don’t have the words.

I understand about you not calling. Maybe I didn’t until this note, but I totally understand now. Tears are good. It’s a release that God built into us for such a time as this. Now ain’t that just like God!

I have tried to understand this all but I get so much peace knowing, like you, that Baby Gracie is whole and with Jesus. She’s just another hope for us to be there someday. I hope you don’t mind me referring to her as Baby Gracie. If you do, I will try to correct that but understand that she was Baby Gracie to me before she was Grace to you. I have said her name so many times in my prayers and I am so very thankful that God put it on my heart to be so mindful of her. You carried her for months and I called out her name for months. We can both say that we have been blessed by her so much. How can such a loss be such a blessing? Because that’s how God works. The things that seem so hard and so unfair, God uses to show His love and beauty. Sometimes we don’t see things from God eyes until we suffer things that can open our eyes to see more clearly. As you mentioned here that you were so thankful for having your healthy girls, we do see things dimly when everything seems good for us. God gives us our experiences to draw us closer to Him. We can never get to the point that we are close enough. At least until we are there with Him and them.

I’m so very thankful that Baby Gracie won’t suffer. As Mothers, we had far rather suffer than have our children suffer. To think of the sadness in our hearts if Baby Gracie had lived to suffer really makes me sad. Not only for her but for you especially. A Mother’s heart is different from a Dad’s. They didn’t carry the baby and they didn’t have the baby being there. They weren’t actually connected like the Mother.

One of my prayer buddies e-mailed me back to express how sorry she was to hear about Baby Gracie but also said that maybe God would use you to bring someone else comfort and peace. We really can’t relate to others sufficiently until we have been there and done that. Maybe you can get connected with a group that has experienced the same loss and find comfort in each other. "A cord of three strands is not quickly broken." (Ecclesiastes 4:12)

I would love to offer you my company tomorrow evening until Bob gets back Sat. You didn’t say if someone else was coming in this note but if not, I told God to send me. I don’t want to get in your way if you need your space but I desire to come and I feel you need the help with Heather as well. You can tell me after you ask God to take away your pride and show you what He wants you to do. I haven’t forgotten how hard it was for me to allow others to help me when I had my wreck. I still feel bad but I’m mindful that I didn’t force anyone and they will receive special blessings from God because of their servicing hearts and hands. I too need to serve in whatever way I can for you. It maybe in prayer or it could be in a listening ear. God knows. Ask Him to show you if I can help in anyway and let me know what I can do the most. This is not only for tomorrow and Sat. but for anytime (day or night).

I will have to spend some time with God to send you scripture. God is the only one that gives me the treasures in His Word and I haven’t had a clear enough mind for that today.

With my love & prayers,

Ma

2 Weeks

June 3, 2010 ~ Thursday, 2 weeks

Today, I feel very alone. I still go through the day to day routine. I feel like I'm just existing at times.  It's difficult for me to accept that Bob doesn't cry anymore. At least, I don't see him cry. He said that his tears stopped after the 2nd or 3rd day. I shouldn't assume that he doesn't think about Grace just because I don't see him cry or hear him talk about her. I feel that I keep dwelling on what took place only 2 weeks ago.

I tried listening to the radio again. A Kenny Chesney song came on and when I heard certain words I started crying..."There goes my life...bye bye baby good-bye".

Someone from Vanderbilt called today to confirm that Grace had Trisomy 18. We need to meet with him in August to talk about what all of this means. Someone also called to let us know that Grace will be cremated in July and they'll call when she's ready to be brought home. I told Bob that sometimes it feels like it happened a long time ago. He said that it feels like it never happened at all.

Tonight, we watched “Comanche Moon” and I lost it when Maggie gave birth to Newt. He started crying and looked like a perfectly healthy baby. Our baby never cried. I didn't hear Grace make a single sound.

Bob helped me take off the tape from my incision before we went to bed. Another “scar” gone.

June 5

I wrote out some anniversary, get well, and birthday cards. When I realized that I didn't include Grace's name on the cards, I felt guilty...like I forgot her. Should she be included?

When I got the mail today, it included so many nice cards. I read through them as I was sitting on a log in the shade. I read all of these wonderful words that are meant to offer comfort but I just don't feel comfort, peace, strength, and love while I'm crying uncontrollably. I don't ever ask, “Why?” I never will. I just can't believe that this happened to us. The cards are nice and it's good to know that our friends are thinking about and praying for us; however, they're a painful reminder.

The mail also included a letter from our insurance telling us not to forget to add our new baby to Bob's health insurance. Their inaccurate records indicate that we have an addition to our family. 4 days after Grace's death, we received a letter from our insurance telling us that they needed to review the medical necessity of Grace's ultrasound on May 20. The next day, I received a letter from them telling us that they needed to review the medical necessity of my admission to the hospital on May 20. Thankfully, they agreed on both instances that they were necessary. Should I send them a “Thank You” card?

In today's mail, I also received a letter from Vanderbilt's Genetics Department that said our appointment with them will last more than an hour, so please bring any supplies that your child might need, such as toys, diapers, or snacks. The forms they sent along need to be filled out accurately to avoid repeating tests that have already been done. What tests? And speaking of accuracy...maybe they should get their records straight. What a painful lack of communication!

June 6, Sunday

Today was our second Sunday back at church. Last week, we went to the early service. We prefer this service because there are fewer people and fewer distractions. We went to the late service today, because the girls needed to sing for Sunday School. We saw many friends that we didn't see last week. There were more tears when condolences were offered, but for the most part I think that I did well. Bob was supposed to be at Guard Drill today, but I asked him days ago if he could be excused because I didn't want to go to church without him. Just as he did last week, as soon as we sat down to worship, he put his arm around me and kept it there throughout the entire service.

The congregation sang “Children of the Heavenly Father.” I read all of the words but couldn't sing the song. We also had Communion today. I actually turned to the preparation questions in the hymnal before the service. Everything seems to have more meaning for me now...Communion, Scripture lessons, hymns. I barely got through taking Communion. Bob had tears when we sat back down. Our hymn after Communion was a confirmation hymn--#599 “Our Lord and God, Oh, Bless This Day.” It's amazing how many times Bob and I notice that the word “grace” is said during the church services now. This hymn was another hymn that I couldn't sing. Some of the phrases that brought tears were

“None of your children turn away...

From mother's arms your grace, with love did them embrace...

Baptized into your name...

May their baptismal grace become...”

The spoken words that are supposed to bring comfort, just make me cry. I think that Bob was wiping tears from his eyes, too. He said that it must be something about Communion. He also said that now he counts how many times the word “grace” is mentioned.

We usually sit in the back row in church. Normally, we say “Hi” to those walking out. Today, just like last Sunday, I just looked at the bulletin. I didn't read it, but I couldn't look at anyone. Some friends that we don't see often were in church today. They usually come only once a month because they live so far away. I avoided them because I'm sure they hadn't heard. One of our ushers who usually talks to me as he gives me a bulletin, did a double take when I walked into church. I didn't make eye contact with him. The last time he saw me, I was very pregnant. Why couldn't I face anyone?

Tax Day

Bob and I took our taxes in the end of January this year. I went along with him so I could sign them right away. Last year he went alone. Last year, I was surprised when Bob called me at home to get Grace's social security number. The Federal Government was going to acknowledge that she actually lived. At the time, I was surprised because ever since she died, I had felt as though she never existed. Two days after she was born, I was filling out paper work in my hospital room before being discharged. I filled out a form for Grace's social security card. I checked a box that said we didn't want to receive a card for her. What was the point? She had already died. A couple of weeks later, I was very disturbed to receive her SS card in the mail. Anyway...we were able to claim her on our 2010 taxes.

Our accountant is a dear friend from our church. I watched as he scrolled through our 2010 taxes, reviewing things...seeing if anything had changed. I was wondering about Grace. When he got to her highlighted name he asked, “Grace passed in 2010, right?” We said that she did. His wife was buried the day after we had Grace's memorial service...he remembered. As he was getting ready to delete Grace's name, I was screaming inside “Don't you dare delete her!” When her name was erased with just the click of a button, I had no words. My heart just sank...again. I held back tears...at times, I feel as though I'm getting better with that. Our friend obviously understood what that must have felt like. He had to do the same thing with his taxes this year. I was thankful that the Federal Governemt acknowledged her existence for a year when in reality, she lived for only 11 hours...but she lived. From the moment of conception, she lived. How heart-wrenching for those whose babies die before they're born, before they're able to take their first breath outside the womb. These babies aren't claimed on taxes even though they lived.

In 2011, she never existed...not on our tax return anyway. Does that mean that the feelings I have for her should end, too? Of course not. I just want the triggers, visions in my head, and painful memories that relate to her birth to go away. Writing about this continues to help me sort through the “crazy” thoughts.

This same night, we held our first Grief Support Group meeting at church. It was small, but I really liked it. I didn't have much to say, and would rather listen sometimes than talk. I wanted to talk about Grace being “deleted” from society, but even in a group of others who are grieving the loss of a loved one, I still feel as though my words would fall on deaf ears. I need to stop assuming that I know what the reaction of others will be. Sometimes, I wish that others could feel this and just automatically know when I need to talk. But, how could they know? It's up to me to talk about this. It's up to me to overcome my own embarrassment to show tears.

I was quiet for a couple of days after that. I eventually told Bob that it was really difficult to see her name deleted. He agreed.

Everyone, No one, Always, and Never

I often say words like "everyone, no one, always, never, etc." I don't literally mean these things. At times, it felt like no one was there. At times, it feels as though no one cares or remembers. Everyone gets to move on with their plans. She never said anything. They always reminded me how huge I was when I was pregnant with Grace. You get the idea...

My circle of friends has changed. Bob and I have changed. Some appreciate the "new Wendy", while some may see me as bitter, quiet, and struggling. The rollercoaster ride continues. After Grace died, Bob said that he was on this ride with me. After a few months, he was wondering when he could get off. Bob continues to wait for Wendy to come back. I'm not. I'd rather be looking at things through my new set of eyes...no matter how difficult that is. I absolutely agree with Ecclesiastes 7: 1-4 where it says "...and the day of death better than the day of birth. It is better to go to a house of mourning than to go to a house of feasting, for death is the destiny of every man; the living should take this to heart. The heart of the wise is in the house of mourning, but the heart of fools is in the house of pleasure." I feel that good times generally teach us less than difficult times.

With some, I can paint on the smile and talk about "nothing". With others, I talk about how things really are with no fear of being judged. With many, I don't make eye contact. If we don't make eye contact, then we can pretend that they weren't there. The games we play to survive.

I like the words in Psalm 23..."Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death..." There are moments, even today, that I feel as though I'm stuck sitting on a log in the valley. God continues to carry us through. He's been there and He's leading us through the valley which continues to be dark at times. Thankfully, this is only a shadow of death. The Son is always behind the clouds. Thankfully, the clouds are always moving. Some moments they linger; other times they quickly pass and the days are light...the heavy feeling in my chest is lifted for a moment. Bob and I realize that those storm clouds will come back, usually with absolutely no warning. Nothing can be done to prevent this. Anything can be a trigger. I've finally learned that everything needs to be processed. Some things take a few minutes to get through; others can take days.

Thankfully, God is always here. He is the constant in my life. He hasn't walked away because I make Him too sad. He wants us to take everything to Him...to lay it at His feet. I forget to do that. It's as though He's not enough. He knows and understands my struggles. He is all that I need...God and Bob.

10 Days Later

It's difficult to look back to these first days and weeks after Grace died and read about the thoughts and feelings that were going on in my head. But, this is how it was. Some things haven't changed...almost 2 years later. I pray that saying these things "out loud" will help the healing continue.

May 30, 2010

Today we went to church for the first time since Grace went to heaven. Last Sunday was the only time we missed. We arrived right when church began. I couldn't look at anyone. We sat in the back pew. Bob kept his arm around me the entire service. I cried throughout most of it, especially during the hymns and prayers. It was amazing how every word meant so much more now. We also noticed how often the word “grace” was mentioned. I couldn't sing the hymns or speak the words to the prayers, but I paid attention to every word.

After the service, while we were waiting to be ushered out, a friend came up from behind us, put her arms around us and said, “We love you guys.” That was nice. I couldn't respond.

We had been invited to a friend's home for a Memorial Day cookout later today and asked if things were still on. She said that they were if we wanted to come. I said that I didn't, but I would. I forced myself to go for the girls and Bob. Life goes on, right?

As soon as we drove out our driveway to go to the cookout, I wanted to turn around and go back home. It got worse when we pulled into their driveway. I remember walking into their home and hearing laughter and talking...that was overwhelming to me. One of the teens smiled at me, and in my opinion, was a little too enthusiastic when she commented on what a cute shirt I was wearing. She had no idea that I was wearing the only maternity shirt that I kept. I just smiled and kept on walking. Everyone was in the kitchen filling their plates, getting ready to eat. The women were in the kitchen and I couldn't even look at them. I got my food and couldn't get outside by the men fast enough. I felt more comfortable by them. A friend came out to make small talk. I had nothing to say. I couldn't talk about “nothing”. I was asked about the vegetable garden, because when you're 9 months pregnant you're supposed to have planted one. (Of course, those who know me, know that's exactly what I did, but when your baby dies, do you really want to talk about the garden?) Eventually, a storm came through and we all went inside. Everyone sat in the kitchen and I felt completely closed in. At times, I wiped away tears. I don't think anyone noticed. I got up to begin rounding up the girls. When I started upstairs their 5 year old asked, “So your baby died? That's sad.” My heart sank and I just wanted to leave. I couldn't get outside fast enough. The girls went out with me, but Bob stayed inside. Our friend, Angie, didn't say anything, just touched my shoulder...and that's all I needed. A little acknowledgment goes a long way.

I walked around the car and opened all the doors and just stood there wanting to go so badly. It seemed to take forever to get the girls in the car. I felt as though I couldn't breathe. Bob was still in the house talking and I just wanted to go. Finally, I went in the house and I heard, “...their baby died...” I was getting so mad at him. Our friend didn't even acknowledge me and I went back outside. I stood by the car, yelled for the girls, and saw Bob through the window just standing there talking inside. I mouthed to him, “Let's go!”

So much of this had to be hormones. I was wearing nursing pads, because I was still leaking. I was still bleeding and nobody knew. It had only been 10 days. It felt like everyone could just forget. Wendy was pregnant. Now she's not. It's over. Bob brought out a frame that our friend gave to him. I wouldn't look at it and he put it in the trunk.

(As I remember back to that day, I didn't want to receive any gifts in memory of Grace. When we give gifts, the giver and receiver feel good...I didn't want anyone to "feel good" when they were giving us a gift in remembrance of our baby. That sounds ridiculous to say that out loud, but that's how my mind was working at the time. I just wanted my baby. The picture hangs on our wall and holds a picture of Grace's feet.) It has become one of my favorite treasures.

(I wrote this next paragraph as I was trying to catch up in my journal.)

(7 weeks later as I try to recall what happened, I'm frustrated. It feels as though everyone gets to continue on with their summer plans, while ours have been shattered. The awkwardness is unbearable. No one knows what to say, and Grace is completely avoided. It continues to feel as though she never existed. I think that I expect our family and friends to know exactly what to say and do, but how could they know? We don't even know what to do.)

May 31

All that I can remember of this day is that I threw out all of the flowers. It was a relief to have one reminder out of sight. We were still getting an occasional card throughout the week. They were nice with comforting messages, but I didn't feel comforted at the time. Our well-meaning friends are only trying to help, but have they suffered the loss of a baby? Some might have. For whatever reason, I'd rather be comforted by those who have been through this, too. Not by those who really have no clue.