The day before Thanksgiving, Ger made a comment to me that Thanksgiving was an “easy” holiday. Unlike the anticipation of Christmas or the stigma of Valentine’s Day, Thanksgiving was just a day to be grateful for what you have, in his mind.
I responded “But what about people who are hurting?” I pointed out people that we know who are going through or newly divorced. Families with tensions and forced interactions. People spending a first holiday without a parent who passed away within the last year. And of course, the countless families in our world who are spending the day missing a baby that died. Continue reading
This time, three years ago, were the “early days.” Sixteen days since we learned that Nelle had died. Fifteen days since she had been born. I had already been to see a therapist twice. I don’t remember if I had started working again or not. And Theo’s birthday loomed – a trip to a waterpark hotel, planned months in advance. I was relieved that we were not hosting a party, and simultaneously felt so much pressure to make the weekend celebratory for him – that he could be blissfully aware of the searing pain I still felt every minute of every day. Continue reading
Some things in life cannot be fixed. They can only be carried. -Megan Devine
I spent nearly two years with my first therapist learning how to carry my grief. She let me talk about how I felt and gently probed deeper. She wanted me to identify, label, and learn to be comfortable with my feelings – even if my feelings hurt. We talked through upcoming situations so that I could learn to manage my response. When I lost Iris, she hugged me tightly and said “I’m so sorry, hun. This isn’t what I wanted for you.” Continue reading
By early evening last night, it was quiet in the house. The guests had gone home. The kids were sleeping. The kitchen still needed to be cleaned. The activity of the day had subsided, leaving me alone with my thoughts. Continue reading
Photo: The Seattle Times
I first heard about the grieving orca on Day 2. Her calf had died within a half an hour of being born, and the mother – J35, or Tahlequah as she is known – began carrying her baby, pushing him through the water, refusing to let him go. Continue reading