Family in Fonzaso
Before everything happened, Stephen made plans to see his mom’s side of the family in Fonzaso [about 4 hours North of Florence, Italy]. After being discharged from the hospital, we reached out again and agreed that we should be near family. They sprang into action, hopped on the road to meet us at the train station.
Those 2 days with them were filled with so much love. Even with the language barrier, their endless hugs, smiles, face holding, and random reassuring hand holding transcended what words weren’t shared. We knew they loved us and that their hearts mourned with us. We were overwhelmed but grateful for the affection that we were so desperately missing.
That was the first time I had ever met any of them and they continue to hold a very special place in our hearts.
Easier to write than talk
It would take awhile to share our journey. So much has happened. We’ve changed. There were a lot of in-betweens where we struggled. We still randomly find ourselves tearing up. It was hard leaving the house those first few months. When we see a little girl with long, dark hair nestled in her dad’s arms, our hearts ache. When we hear a Father of the Bride speech, we cry. I still find myself tearing up in public when I see little sisters holding hands. Those little heartaches will always be with us and that’s okay.
Below are a few of the Facebook posts I wrote after we came home. Each graphic links out to the original post.
Bizarre is one word to describe coming home. Our house was littered with ultrasound pictures, baby items, memories of being deep in the throes of 1st time parents preparing their home. Denial hit us hard that first week home…we naively talked about how perhaps having Florence overseas spared us, like the actual distance from that trauma would change how we grieved.
I threw myself into projects trying to find the “right path” of taking care of my mental state. I thought that if I did A, B, C… I could avoid the ‘ugliness’ that I felt in the hospital. It’s not that I prevented myself from crying. Believe me. We cried and we talked. But I was skirting around some deep feelings.
the cycle - Anger, Despair, I’m fine… Repeat
Anger. My first breakdown at home was fueled by anger. We were in our bed, when I reached over to Stephen [I might have even woken him up], told him that I was about to fall apart, and I needed a hug.
I yelled out my anger, putting a voice to thoughts I worked hard on pushing down.
I poured out my guilt about how angry I was with myself for not taking better pictures of him holding Florence.
I voiced how angry and pissed off I was at people in our inner circles not ‘getting it’, how angry I was for his hurt, and people not asking if he was okay.
I told him about weighing myself and the stupid scale in our bathroom. I was angry at my body recovering the way it was supposed to after childbirth - like nothing happened.
I was angry that we were in Abilene, a place we weren’t thrilled with getting orders to, where having our baby was “the bright side” of the situation.
I was pissed that after everything I went through in my messed up childhood, we had to endure this.
We didn’t deserve this. We were good people. We wanted her so badly. It just wasn’t fair.
My anger ran deep and it was entwined with utter hopelessness.
celebrating Florence
Anger to Celebrating Life. Making Christmas cards was a therapeutic project. Initially, I was angry. These were supposed to be our pregnancy announcement cards. I wanted a cute pregnancy photo in front of our new home. But instead, I had to figure out how to officially announce the life and death of our daughter on one card. That’s all she would get. This card would be it - it would be all those birthdays, party invitations, graduations …all in one.
My first written draft was long and heart wrenching. I wasn’t happy with it. I decided to work on the front design hoping for inspiration. From that design, I went through all of our pictures of her. I chose the pictures that put a smile on my face. It was from that Photoshop file that I wrote what I could to capture her life through my eyes as her mom. I finished it around 3 AM but I went to bed feeling happy with how others would remember her. I wanted her to be remembered by so much more than her death.
Florence’s Homecoming
It was a process getting Florence back from Italy. After months of trying on our own, Dyess AFB Mortuary Affairs intervened. She ‘came home’ two days after my 31st birthday, 6 months after she passed.
Find your Resources, Connect with People
I have a resources page on this site because it so important to find your path after loss. Aside from connecting to a local group of bereaved mothers, I also sought counseling, and looked to my Faith for comfort. Know that there is community out there willing to listen and offer support, you just need to take those initial steps.
Grief defined
I found this description of grief somewhere online and resonated with me.
“I had my own notion of grief. I thought it was a sad time that followed the death of someone you love and you had to push through it to get to the other side. But I am learning there is no other side. There is no pushing through but rather there is absorption, adjustment and acceptance. Grief is not something you complete but rather you endure. Grief is not a task to finish and move on from but an element of yourself. An alteration of your being, a new way of seeing, a new definition of self.”
Dare to hope
My dear friend, Jada, shared this with me and I’ve been sharing it ever since.
Adapted from Unexpected: Leave Fear Behind, Move Forward in Faith, Embrace the Adventure by Christine Caine.
When we look at the unexpected situations in our lives, we will always find ourselves standing at the threshold of either falling into the chasm of despair, or falling into the arms of a gracious, loving and caring God—a God who wants to carry us over that chasm of despair into a wide-open spacious place of hope.
Hope is unshakable confidence in God. It doesn’t deny the reality of our pain, but it does give us a life beyond our pain. It gives us permission for a new beginning. It is the happy and confident expectation of good, that lifts our spirits and dares us to believe for a different future. It is always looking to God: “And now, Lord, what do I wait for and expect? My hope and expectation are in you” (Psalm 39:7).
We only can do what we are able to do in our own strength, but when we lean into God, when we run to our stronghold Jesus, he promises to overflow our lives with hope: “May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit” (Romans 15:13). He promises to help us become the prisoners of hope he’s called us to be so we can stay hopeful, free to step into a new destiny that we might have never envisioned.
Sometimes I think hope is an act of defiance, one that God wants us to boldly commit. It’s daring to believe in spite of our losses, in spite of our disappointments. It’s refusing to throw away our confidence and trusting God to reward us because we don’t. It’s daring not to give up and instead, to get our hopes up anyway.
When we risk hoping again, we learn how to live in the present with our future in mind. We move our focus forward. We become prisoners of hope who cling to hope, who speak the language of hope, who don’t put off hope, who live in a place of freedom letting God surprise us with a new future. When we become prisoners of hope, then hope quits being postponed, and the desires God placed in our hearts will be fulfilled—somehow and some way.