Lindsey: White Signs of Grief - We Need Your Sign

After the death of my daughter to stillbirth at 40 weeks and 4 days pregnant with her, I was immersed in grief and shock, but most of all, I felt alone.  I thought "Your children are not supposed to die before you; they are not supposed to die before they are even born."  I initially thought no one could understand my pain, but then the sympathy cards came in and people started to reveal their own deep pain and silent losses to me.  Losses that were kept secret.  Losses I felt like I should have known about.  Miscarriages, late term pregnancy loss, stillbirth, SIDs, cancer, playground accidents, drunk driving, and more.

I wanted to know why it seemed that everyone keep their grief a secret, why didn't I know about these childless mothers, fathers, grandparents, aunts, uncles, friends, and family members?  I decided I needed to see their faces, to connect, to hear their advice, their words of truth about the pain and the anguish, just as much as I wanted to hear their thoughts about hope and love they still feel for their deceased child. That is why I started White Signs of Grief. It's a place to honor your child who has left this earth too soon while sharing your words of wisdom about the grief journey after child loss in effort to give permission to others to grieve openly and honestly while still living.

It's a tough journey we are on as mothers, fathers, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, siblings, and friends who know the pain of living with a forever whole in our hearts left by children we will not get the chance to see grow.  It is important for us as grieving family members to know there are others who have traveled the path before us and have made it out the other side.  Maybe they are different now, but they are still holding on, still living, and still honoring their children who have passed too soon by helping others with their wise words.  Giving permission for us to grieve, maybe for the rest of our lives.

So If you are a grieving mom, dad, grandparent, aunt, uncle, cousin, sister, brother, friend, or other family member to a child that has died too soon, we invite you to share your 'white sign of grief' with others at www.whitesignsofgrief.blogspot.com or e-mail your photo to whitesignsofgrief@gmail.com.  You can also like us on Facebook.  We look forward to seeing your face and your words of hope and truth about your grief journey after child loss in an effort to heal our own grief and help heal others through our words and faces.

I look forward to seeing your sign.

May peace find your heart,

Lindsey Henke

Founder of White Signs of Grief & Stillborn and Still Breathing the blog.

Nicola: Life After Loss

Is there life after the loss of a child?

I breathe, I am a mother to my children, I am a wife, I work, I can function on daily basis so there is life... but it's not the same life.

We lost our beautiful little boy when he was 2 years old. Our first son, Ethan: our world, our reason for being. He was born early at 33 weeks and due to NEC he became extremely poorly. He suffered numerous medical complications and, as a result, many life-saving operations before he was 10 weeks old. He was left with Quadreplegic Cerebal Palsy and other medical conditions. We embraced life with our son. Living a happy family life with a fair few visits to hospital. Ethan always bounced back, he was such a fighter. In May 2010 he contracted Parafluinfluenza type 3. The specialist told us even healthy children can't fight this this. Although in my mind I knew this was the end, my motherly instinct was stronger and I knew we had to give him every chance. And we did... until I could see that he was so weak and had fought so hard that he was exhausted.

I made the decision to let him go. To let him die. Me... his own mother... At the time I was disgusted with myself... angry. A mother protects her children, she doesn't let them die. I always vowed I would do what was best for Ethan. Now I can see that it was the best decision for him. The other option would have been to ventilate him and I knew he wouldn't survive that. The specialist said he wouldn't survive that. That would take away all our choices for him. He would die in hospital instead of at the hospice where he had friends, who were like family.

Ethan passed away peacefully in our arms in the hospice, where we stayed with him until the day of his funeral: protected, nurtured and loved. We were lucky, we were so lucky. The minutes, hours, days that followed are so blurry. Do we all count in that time frame at the beginning? I am now at years and they have passed so quickly. I am further away from my last kiss, my last cuddle, that last smile. His clothes have lost their smell of him. Realising that was a very hard day.

Is there life after loss? I guess the answer is yes. Yes there is. However, it's a different life. A life that will always be bittersweet: where every happy moment will be filled with that sadness that Ethan isn't here with us. Although no longer is every day filled with that heart-wrenching feeling; the feeling that my throat will close over and that my heart and head will burst; that feeling of never ending sadness, I still grieve every day. I just grieve differently than at the start. I have always grieved openly, cried when I am sad, spoken his name, included him in everything we do. From lighting candles to making pictures on the sand. I write his name in cards and have baubles for him at christmas. He will always be our son, he isn't with us but is now all around us.

In the past few years since Ethan's death, I have went on. It was hard at first, it was so hard. I cried every day and night. I went back to work whereas before I was his main carer. I focused on going to university and gained a BSc. I now work as a nurse in children's palliative care. Maybe I can offer parents something extra. Maybe... I can listen better and help them create memories. Maybe if I can help just one family our terrible loss won't be in vain. Maybe I can change all the negative about the experiences families have. In my heart, I really wished Ethan would be the last child ever to die.

There is a different life after the loss of a child. There are dark days still but I embrace them. They are dark because I loved my little boy so much. I loved him and no matter how unfair it is, no stamping of feet will bring him back: no amount of screaming, sleeping, shouting, swearing, bargaining and begging. I know, I have tried all of these until my throat hurt and my eyes felt like sandpaper.

So what now? Now I will live my life without my son. I will continue to include him in everything, even including him in our wedding with a special candle and a poem.

These are our children, our precious children. We are allowed to grieve openly and honestly. We shouldn't be afraid to grieve or be told how to grieve. It will always hurt... I just hope that someday you to will be able to think of your child and smile in your heart. You hurt because you love them so much. We now walk a different life... but we walk it together with our precious children in our hearts.

Lindsey: Transformed by Grief

©Priya Saihgal

I have evolved.

My grief has transformed me.

Like a caterpillar I have become a butterfly.

I anticipated this transformation.

But transformation into the joys of motherhood,

Not by the death of my child.

Nora’s birthday was her death day,

And my rebirth.

I live my life for my daughter now.

Not in the way I had planned in attending to her every need,

Resulting in sleepless nights and dirty diapers.

But by embracing the beauty of the little things.

The complexity of the snowflake.

The power of the written word.

The fragility of the butterfly wings.

The comfort of a cup of tea and warm blanket.

The kiss of the sunlight against my face.

By embracing the beauty of the little things,

I have broadened the horizon of my understanding of this world

And thus have been transformed.

I realize that my daughter will never be able to experience this world’s splendor

And I have pledged to take it in for her.

To live the life she will not be privileged to.

My eyes see more clearly now

The magnificence of the earth.

It’s as if my eyes are hers

Taking in the world for the first time,

As only a new soul can do.

My grief at times still clouds my vision,

But then something inside reminds me to appreciate this life.

Maybe it’s Nora showing me the world through her baby eyes,

Through her pure soul.

So I will accept my transformation.

I will embrace the new light that shines from within

And burns with a passion to live life to the fullest.

Like the caterpillar who turns into a butterfly,

I will embrace my new form

In order to spread my wings and fly.

~Still Breathing…Lindsey

To read more of Lindsey's story visit - www.stillbornandstillbreathing.com

To see more of Lindsey's friend Priya Saihgal’s photography please visit http://www.flickr.com/photos/30247062@N03/

Joanna: The Robin

I think when something dreadful happens,

You go a little mad.

Your brain shuts off and stops to function-

Better mad than sad.

You see things and you genuinely

Believe them to be true.

Like the Robin in the garden,

Who I felt was really you.

Your little soul had passed away,

Somewhere it had to go.

The Robin's ruby red breast,

So bright against the snow.

Maybe it was the colour red,

So vibrant next to white.

The reminder of the blood

And the previous sleepless night.

Maybe it was the grief,

And the sadness and despair.

My mind looking for anything

Which my heart it might repair.

But maybe just the madness,

And a fight for something real.

A place for your lost soul to live,

Some hope for me to feel.

I watched the Robin fly away

As tears welled in my eyes.

And there I decided your soul went,

To soar up in the skies.

So when I see a Robin now,

I sit and stare a while

I think of you flying high above

And that thought makes me smile.

Joanna wrote this poem following a miscarriage and has kindly allowed us publish it on Loss Through the Looking Glass. Joanna writes about her motherhood journey on her blog My Little Rays of Sunshine. You can read more about her experience of miscarriage on her post 'Our Baby's Angel'.