October (My most clever title ever, right?)

I’m taking on a project this month that I feel kind of strange, yet strangely good about.

October is most commonly known as breast cancer awareness month, and everywhere one looks, there is a sea of pink. Everywhere, we are bombarded with everything from pink grocery bags to pink kitchen gadgets to pink wine bottle labels. This year, I keep hearing about pink light bulbs to put in your outdoor lights. What most people don’t know however is that it is also pregnancy and infant loss awareness month, signed into being by Ronald Reagan in 1988.

It’s no secret to anyone that I have experienced four miscarriages. They were many years ago, and I don’t think of those babies as much as I used to. I don’t often talk about what I went through, but there are times at work, especially this time of year, that thoughts of them are just right there, the memories and details as clear as if they happened only last week. Fall has always been the time I think of them the most--my first loss happened Labor Day weekend, the second was late in September a few years later, the third happened on New Year’s Eve, but I had gotten pregnant in September, and the fourth…well, that baby was due on Halloween.

Back then, I didn’t know about Share, I had no support whatsoever, and I had nothing tangible to remember those babies by. I had no ultrasound photos, no nothing. Not even a card because no one sent me one. I went on with my life like I was expected to do. I had more kids like I was expected to do. I was happy, and if thoughts of sadness found their way too close, I quickly pushed them away. Not only did I push them away, but I thought I must really be crazy for  still having those thoughts.

What I didn’t expect when I began volunteering at Share years later was how forcefully some of those long-buried feelings would come rushing back at me and that I would no longer be able to easily push them away. The first few months I spent at Share were rough, and I often drove home in tears, wondering how I would be able to go back. They were rough, but healing--healing in ways I never realized I needed to be healed. Part of that healing was realizing that I really wasn't crazy, that almost every other woman who had lost a baby, no matter  how far along in pregnancy, had most of the same feelings I had experienced. Something else I learned in those early months so many years after my miscarriages is that grieving cannot be avoided. Whether you do it at the time, or years later, you have to eventually do it; there is no way around it.

 Not long after I began volunteering at Share, I spent the day with a huge group of women preparing the newsletter to be mailed. It was mid-October, and the newsletter was the holiday edition. A few articles caught my eye, and after everyone left, I began reading. I was so intrigued by the different ways parents memorialized their baby, even babies who had died in the first trimester. The thought had never crossed my mind to do something tangible in remembrance of my miscarried babies.

In the many years since those long ago early days at Share, I have become very passionate about helping grieving parents come up with unique and meaningful ways to memorialize their babies, and I even teach a workshop on the topic. Whenever a parent calls to talk who has had an early loss, I always ask them if they have done anything special to memorialize their baby and try to give them ideas. One of my favorite things about my job is the memorial/burial service for miscarried babies that we do four times each year in collaboration with one of our local funeral homes. It is so touching to see the outpouring of support these families have, and the ceremony always leaves me with a warm feeling in my heart as I go about the rest of my day.

While I still haven’t done much to memorialize my own little ones, the love I have for them shines through in the things I help others do. I kind of feel at times like I am doing these things for myself as well as the parents I help, and I often wonder who is really being helped…me or them?

Which brings me to my project for the month of October. Someone who is prominent in the online world of helping grieving families has set up what she calls “Capture Your Grief” in honor of pregnancy and infant loss awareness. The idea is to take a photograph each day for the entire month and post it on a special facebook page that she set up just for this purpose. She posted a list of topics on her blog—suggestions for what to take photographs of for 31 days. Many of the topics don’t really seem relevant to me now, but I decided to take part in it anyway. I really don’t want to share what I take pictures of on the facebook page, so I decided to post them here.

Sooo….here is my picture, a day late, from day 1, of the sunrise on October 1, 2012. That was right up my alley since I love watching the sunrise and I often take pictures of it anyway. Unfortunately, yesterday was gray and gloomy, so there wasn’t a pretty sunrise. I took a picture anyway

 

 

And I loved it. Then, about 20 minutes later, I happened to glance out the kitchen window, and there must have been a small opening in the clouds and the sun was illuminating the trees.

 

I love that photo, and I see so many things when I look at it. For one, we have been hearing that the fall color would not amount to much this year due to the extremely hot, dry summer. Yet here are these beautiful golden trees right outside my kitchen window; they are the only trees in our neighborhood that have really changed color yet. The other thing I couldn’t help but be aware of is the juxtaposition of those bright, golden trees against the gray, ominous sky. It almost seemed perfect for the beginning of this project; it made me think of how even in the midst of grief, there are bright spots, even though they are often hard to notice.

 I can honestly say I no longer grieve the loss of those four babies. I do think of them, yes. I do wonder how different my life would have been if they wouldn’t have graced it for the short time they did. When I look back upon that time of my life, it is hard to believe I survived it. I look back now and think of the numerous gifts I feel I was given by their brief presence. They changed me in ways I would never have imagined years ago. At the time, I only saw the negative changes—the anger and jealousy I felt when I had never in my life been an angry or jealous person; the loss of innocence that I wanted to have back; the loss of joy and happiness that I just knew would never be mine again; the fear that permeated every aspect of my being. So many negative things that I couldn’t envision myself ever getting past. Yet I have. I read somewhere years ago that time doesn’t heal all wounds, it only teaches a person to live with them. I believe that with all of my heart and soul. I look at the years since my losses as a gift of time…time that has enabled me to see not only the negative ways I changed, but also the positive and good ways my life changed that I would never have imagined. While I used to think I must be nuts for always remembering those babies after so many years, I have now come to accept that I will always remember, and I wouldn’t want it any other way. So much of who I am is because of them, and I accept that.

That is why I decided to take part in Carly Marie’s Capture your Grief project.And like I said at the beginning, I feel strange about it, yet strangely good. I don’t know how many days I will capture, but I’m looking forward to trying most of the ideas. And I am curious where it will take me and how I will interpret her suggestions for each day.