The Rumbling

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The first book I read after Nelle died in September of 2015 was Rising Strong by Brene Brown.  It was exactly what I needed at that time.  Brown talks about three parts of the rising strong process:  the Reckoning, the Rumble, and the Revolution.  Of the rumble, she writes:  “The rumble begins with turning up our curiosity level and becoming aware of the story we’re telling ourselves about our hurt, anger, frustration, or pain.”  Continue reading

I Am Going to Run Anyway

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The last time I ran in a 5k was in July of 2015.  I had been a semi-serious runner only for about two years, registering in enough 5k races between Spring and Fall to keep myself in shape.  I watched my time steadily improve and loved the exhilaration of finishing.  My favorite races were in downtown Chicago with thousands of other runners.  Between the city backdrop and the energy of the race, it was a rush. Continue reading

For Better or Worse

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Before I was discharged from the hospital after delivering Iris, I asked the doctor to write me a prescription for an anti-depressant. I knew that losing two babies inside of six months could send me into a dark place. When placed on a six-month holding pattern before trying for a baby again, I became rigorous in my self-care. The medication, weekly therapy, yoga multiple times per week, baths, and natural beauty products became a ritual to stay afloat. I hear the words loud and clear from the grief community: take care of yourself, take care of yourself.

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Sickness Versus Support

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I really wanted to attend my SHARE support group last night.  The meetings are bi-monthly and a chance for me to talk with other parents that have experienced pregnancy or infant loss.  When I attended the last meeting, the group was a mixture of parents with very recent losses (even only a few days prior) and others like me, who were further out.  It is also a chance to see the friends that I have made through this club that I never wanted to be a part of. Continue reading

They Were Included

Last April, my sister got married. I was the maid of honor, pregnant, constantly worried that I would lose the baby, as I lost Nelle and Iris in the two pregnancies before. I did the absolute best I could to be present, participate, while carrying fears that something would happen and ruin her special day. Her day came, and everything was fine. I used the portable heart-rate monitor to listen for the baby’s heartbeat in the morning, tracked movements throughout the day, and smiled through well wishes in the evening. The day following her wedding was the 24-week mark: medically significant because it was a marker of “viability” should something happen. Continue reading