Category Archives: Grief

titles are pointless sometimes . . .

As I laid in bed this morning it hit me, it was 8:15am and a year ago you were still here. Well, medically you were still here but I think Mom, Bob and I all knew you weren’t really there anymore. This realization hit like a load of bricks. I couldn’t move. I could barely breathe. My entire body had turned to cement and there was no way I could budge even a toe. It’s been a year and I still don’t know why you’re gone. I still don’t understand why on earth God would take you from us, from me. I know heaven is supposed to be just unfathomably amazing, so I understand why you’d get there and never want to leave. You have the best common sense of anyone I know. Street smarts says if you find a good thing, keep it! I know God has already used your passing to His glory and to be honest that’s the only thing ‘good’ I can see in all of this. Just two days later at your memorial at least 6 or 7, by my count and probably more, came to know the man who you found to be the true Messiah. It was the only bright spot in that entire wretched day. Knowing that you’d made an impact so much in these lives that when Garrett made the offer to those willing and ready, many accepted.

Despite that fact, I remain selfish. I remain a little girl, broken-hearted, that her Daddy is no longer here. Wondering why I only got to have you for 25 years when it could’ve, and should’ve in my opinion, been many more. Sure, they were the best 25 years a girl could ever ask for or imagine, but that doesn’t mean I was ready to give them up! I wasn’t ready. I’m not ready. Maybe I never will be. I don’t know and I can’t know that, not right now. I still see a granite blue Silverado or a green Expedition and double check to see if it’s you. I know it isn’t. But I have to check. Just in case. I often expect to hear the garage door at the house open, then the door, and the sound of your boots and scraping paws as Angel excitedly bombards you. But you aren’t. You won’t be coming through that door. Instead, you’re waiting on me, Mom, and Bob. I’m sure when we get there you’ll be thinking “Gee, that was fast!” but for us it is such a long time.

Enjoying chocolate cake, pretty much the embodiment of you.

A year has flown by and yet seemed like an eternity. This post was how I felt a year ago and how I will always feel about the amazing person you are, Dad. Glenn Allen Martin, 56 years on this earth, 25 in my life, and forever in my heart. I love you, Daddy. . .

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Filed under Faith, Family, Grief

Grief for Dummies (apologies to the book since it likely exists)

Last week I had the honor to be a guest poster on my friend’s fantastic blog while she vacationed. Below is the post I sent her. I’ve added in some photos as well! Be sure to check out Building Our Story. Censie has great reviews of baby products, giveaways, and entertaining stories. Give it a read!

Dad and tiny Caleb in the NICU

This year so far has been probably the toughest of my life. Some might look at all that I am blessed with and think, what on earth could be so bad about her life? That is because grief is not something we wear on the outside. There isn’t a scar that people see across a room. There is no sign or mark above my head plainly informing the world of all I deal with daily. I still dress in stylish clothes, fix my hair, and spend time with friends. I laugh a lot and I cry a lot too (which if you know me is entirely normal).
But what most cannot, and some will not, see about me is that I am living in a season of intense grief. On March 17, 2011, after 18 days in the ICU, my dad died of acute renal failure stemming from viral pneumonia. He was 56 and healthy as a horse. This completely blew my family out of the water. No one, not even his doctors expected this outcome.

I am the definition of a Daddy’s Girl. I have rarely ever been truly angry at my dad, though I’m sure I was often a challenge for him! While in many ways I am like my mom, in personality and other innate character attributes I am exactly like my dad. He understands me in ways others cannot. I don’t even always have to fully explain, Dad just ‘gets’ it. We used to talk daily, often multiple times a day because one or the other of us would think of something to call about, creating yet another 30 second phone call before we forgot. Having that type of relationship so quickly and permanently ripped from my life is something I will likely never get over. At 25 years old I was not ready to deal with this. I still had another 20 years before it was time to start prepping myself for that eventuality. Yet here I am, dealing with the death of my Daddy and trying to be a good wife, mom, friend, and daughter. It is a lot to juggle, believe me.

Sadly this is not the only grief I’ve had to deal with lately. I also recently found out that I was pregnant, only to miscarry a week later. This is my second baby that I won’t meet in this life. It stuns me that I am a mother of three but I’ve only met one, my son Caleb. Losing a parent is devastating. Losing a child is different yet equally life-changing. Both types of grief are something that the vast majority of people have no clue how to deal with.

August 29, 2011 - Lil pea here and now gone

It isn’t their fault. If you haven’t been through this type of grief, losing someone so very close to you, you just won’t understand. At the same time, in our culture we don’t talk about grief. Growing up no one teaches you what to say to someone who is grieving or how to act. Most people are just winging it. I’ve been there. I’ve been the one who was winging it and now I look back and pray that I didn’t cause additional pain to those I know who were dealing with the death of a loved one.

Now I’m on the other side. I am the one that people awkwardly spit out condolences at all the while I can tell they are wanting to run the other way. We don’t like dealing with grief and death. Chin up, sweep it under the rug, move on. So, based on my experiences and those of people I know, I am going to share a quick and easy Do’s and Don’ts of dealing with others’ grief.

Don’t . . .
1. Say, “Everything happens for a reason,” “God knows what He is doing”, or especially “God’s timing is not our timing.”

Each of these, especially if it is someone dealing with a miscarriage or stillbirth, come off as rude and insensitive. Sure, they sound good and just what they teach in Sunday School, but to someone who just lost a baby all they will be thinking is, “Really? God had a reason for my baby to die instead of living a full life? He planned this to teach me something because His Plan is better than mine?” All I could think when people told me that about my miscarriage was that MY God would never take a baby’s life. And He doesn’t. It happens, sure, but He didn’t cause it any more than I did. He will use the experience to teach me and strengthen me, but God did not cause my baby’s death just to teach me a lesson.

2. Say how tragic it is. Clearly, death is always tragic. It is heartbreaking and heartwrenching. Anyone who keeps lamenting on about how awful, terrible, horrible, and tragic it is should expect that the grieving person they are talking to will have a look of disgust and a strong desire to dropkick you across the room. Nothing worse for the person who is truly upset to have to listen to someone yammering on about how sad THEY think it is. Really? Shut. Up. I promise the grieving person is fully aware of the situation and just how ‘tragic’ it is.

3. Say you understand. Unless you have lost a parent, spouse, baby, best friend, whatever the situation is, you DO. NOT. UNDERSTAND. But you know what? That is okay. No one expects you to understand what you haven’t experienced. However, claiming that you understand what the grieving person is going through will only cause them to feel as though you are trying to one-up them in the life sucks department. Remember this: empathy is being able to understand and identify with what a person is going through. Sympathy is feelings of sorrow and sadness for someone else’s misfortune. If you haven’t experienced it, you have sympathy for the person. Don’t try to empathize and make them feel as though their grief is less important…aka don’t make it about YOU.

4. Expect me to spill my guts to you if we have never been close. Our level of friendship will not change from acquaintance to BFFs just because someone died. When deep in the throes of grief, those whom you are closest to are the ones you want around. Those who typically are good in small doses or have never been someone you consider your inner circle you typically want far, far away. In short: the people you would usually want to spend time with are the ONLY ones you want around and the people that kind of annoy you normally now make you want to pull out your hair and yell profanities in foreign languages.

5. Expect me to answer my phone, emails, or texts, and do not get angry and offended when I don’t. As soon as the Great Tragedy that is death occurs, the grieving one is flooded with phone calls, emails, flowers, visitors, etc. and it all becomes very overwhelming. First, they are dealing with the death of someone they love and now they are being contacted en masse by everyone they know via every type of communication device. It is simply too much to handle. People fall through the cracks because too much is happening. Do not take it personally and turn it into drama of your own. Likely they either turned off their phone or were so inundated by people that they couldn’t keep up. (When I finally checked Facebook after Dad died I had over 100 notifications….I closed my laptop and slowly backed away).

6. Expect me to call you. If you want to spend time with me, keep calling or texting me because I’m just a bit busy dealing with this new feeling of intense sadness while trying to do day-to-day basics. It isn’t that the grieving person doesn’t want to see you, their good friend, they are just not going to remember to call, or for that matter who it was who said to call. And really, would you?

Do . . .
1. Say how much this sucks. . . Because it DOES. Period. No getting around it. Losing someone special in your life sucks hardcore. Another great thing to say is, “I’m so sorry you are going through this.” If you care about the grieving person at all, you are sorry they are experiencing this hardship. It makes much more sense than saying a plain “I’m sorry” because unless you killed the person, it isn’t your fault and the apology doesn’t do anything.
2. Offer to spend time together. Coffee, dinner, going to the movies. Just because someone is sad doesn’t mean they want to constantly dwell on it. In fact, it is good to get out for a change of scenery and to do something other than sit around in your pj’s surrounded by a mountain of snotballs, bawling your eyes out.

3. Offer to help with meals and normal daily basics. While not everyone completely shuts down in times of grief, usually basic things like eating are not top priority, especially if you have to cook it yourself. In addition to meals, things like laundry, cleaning the house, or even walking the dog can be a HUGE help and relief. Simple daily tasks can seem insurmountable and overwhelming while dealing with the newness of death.

4. Make them laugh! It may seem inappropriate but I promise it isn’t! Even if they start to cry again after a good laugh, that is ok. That short burst of happiness and endorphins as you laugh really brings relief from grieving and is refreshing, even if short-lived.

5. Keep calling, sending thoughtful notes, etc. after the hub-bub of the death and services have died down. So many people think to do and send things when everything first happens. Often so much that you read a ton of cards but later have no idea what they said or remember so-and-so sent it. But then the funeral is over, family goes home, and the weeks pass on. The life of the non-grieving person moves on  and returns to normal while the people deeply affected are just settling in to the realities of their loss. My mom had several people who continued to send her cards in the mail in the weeks and months after Dad died. Just cute and thoughtful little notes to brighten her day and remind her she isn’t alone. I had an amazing group of ladies who sent me all manner of gifts and cards in the weeks after Dad’s death. I had some other friends, too, who sent cards later on that I actually had the presence of mind to read and appreciate. It was nice to know I wasn’t forgotten. I had a friend who was grieving tell me how everyone left her alone to heal but then she felt abandoned. Just a quick call, email, or note in the mail does wonders for the spirit!

6. Talk to me about the person I lost. Obviously for a miscarriage this is a bit harder to do. They never got the opportunity to know their little baby and thus stems a large portion of their grief. But even with a miscarriage it is ok to talk about it, if they are willing. For other situations it helps tremendously to share favorite stories and memories about the person they lost. It keeps them alive and brings back memories they may have forgotten.

I hope this has been an informative and somewhat entertaining tutorial on how to help those you know who are dealing with a loss in their life. I could think of many more things to do or not do, but I’m probably about to lose your attention. I think I’ve covered the main ones that tend to drive me nuts. Don’t misunderstand, the thought really does count. Your friends who are grieving will truly appreciate that you at least tried, since many don’t, but they will love and be grateful for you all the more if you can use some of these helpful hints. Grief changes your perspective on life and people. You do not want to be ‘that guy’ that made it worse. You’ll never escape it in their mind…

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Filed under Baby, Faith, Family, Grief

GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAL!

Nope, I am not referring to soccer, I am more of a baseball girl. I am talking about boobs. More specifically: Boobs as food for baby! I originally planned to breastfeed for 6 months and evaluate from there. 6 months came and went and Caleb and I were still going strong! I made a new goal of 12 months and I can’t believe it is already here. Caleb is down to only one nursing session a day, first thing in the morning, and I’m sure I could easily wean him from it. Heck, most of the time he wails like a banshee between sides for NO reason anyhow. Pretty hilarious to see him sit up in the bed, start wailing, spot the booby, and then awkwardly lean forward for more. He is nothing if not creative! Surprisingly, it is actually me that hesitates to wean him entirely. I know I don’t have to yet and I could certainly keep going no problem. We are not on a timeline and Zach doesn’t care one way or the other. Best I can determine, my hesitancy to be done with nursing boils down to two main things:

  1. Emotional closeness
  2. Denial that my son is growing up

Emotional Closeness – Caleb has never been cuddly. Even as a tiny guy in the NICU he wasn’t nearly as snuggly as most newborns are. We have napped a total of ONE time together when he was about 2 weeks old. He hasn’t fallen asleep on my chest or hardly anyone else’s (Papa is quite comfy though!) since about the same time. Zach and I tend to cherish the rare moment when Caleb will stay on our laps or want to be held close. They are few and far between so we eat them up!  For that reason I have loved the closeness and emotional bond that breastfeeding creates. Perhaps if our guy was more cuddly I wouldn’t think twice about weaning, but that one time in the morning is often the only time during the day I get to be that close to Caleb where he is content.

Denial – On many levels, like all parents, I am in denial that I am now the parent of a one year old toddler, not a baby. Sure, he’ll always be my baby *cue Mariah Carey* but Caleb grows more independent every day. He is already the independent type so every little accomplishment seems more like a leap away from me. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll be pretty darn excited when he can wipe his own booty, but even that I can (and will have to) handle for a while longer. Time is just flying by and somehow I feel like I’m left in the dust. Everyone around is changing, growing, doing new things and I feel like I’m frozen in time. I know I have to let go but I thought that would be in a few years when he starts school, rides his bike, and later learns to drive and moves out on his own. I did not expect to ‘let go’ of my son in any way, shape, or form in his first year or so of life! For me, though, I suppose letting go will soon mean weaning him entirely from nursing. Part of this denial too I believe is roped in to my grieving for Dad. I put off designing Caleb’s party invites for weeks because somewhere in my mind I couldn’t acknowledge that yes, he was turning one, and no, Dad wouldn’t be there to see it. Each milestone Caleb hits is another that I also grieve about because my dad isn’t here to witness it. So often Mom and I look at each other and say how much Dad would enjoy this stage of Caleb’s life, the laughing, silly, easily entertained, innocence of being a toddler. Letting go of nursing will be acknowledging that Caleb is growing up which, 1) I’m not ready for and 2) my Dad is missing out on.

I guess the jury is still out on the exact timing of weaning. My best guess is it will just happen one day when I’m dead tired and I tell Zach to just give him some soy milk in his straw sippy because I am not moving a muscle.

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Filed under Baby, Breastfeeding, Caleb, Grief