Sympathy

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Sometimes we try to trick our mind and our heart into feeling better by thinking these words…”it could be so much worse.” Sometimes other people may think they are helping us feel better by saying those same words. Somehow trying to put our pain and our sorrow into perspective.  I find myself jumping between my own memories of loss in my life and thinking about the life-altering challenges other people I care about have had to face. And yes, it can be worse. But then I stop and remind myself that the loss of my pregnancies and the sorrow I am experiencing right now is my tragedy and it is my sadness all on it’s own without having to make a comparison to anything else. I know from experience that making these comparisons will sting deep in my soul. It gets in the way of healing and can make us question our own process of getting through it. It can question the validity of feelings that are supposed to be raw and clutching and that must be experienced as they happen without the pressure or distraction of diminishing them. If we can feel it all and not hide from it, or lessen it, we will be able to replace the invasive thorns of grief with a soft, peaceful, protective aura; bringing the calm of acceptance and the ability to live with hope and happiness again. But we don’t have to get there on our own. Sympathy and comfort from our loved ones is a blessing. Pure compassionate sympathy showing simply, that I am here with you in your grief and that I am here with you as your heart breaks and I am here with you until you see light again is the most healing gift. Expressing no time limit on someone’s pain, no comparison to another’s suffering and no limit on the love that is shared in these difficult moments helps to pave the path to recovery. I am very fortunate to have people in my life who can give this to me and I was reminded of that fortune by the card pictured here that I received a couple of days ago. Thank you for your love. You are giving me the gift of healing.

Photo by CJE

Strength

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The photo posted with this entry was written to me by my husband. He quickly replaced what had been written before we got the sad news about losing our second pregnancy. Before he wrote this, we had started a list of names for the twins and had some favorites listed. It’s just too easy to start dreaming about the day we would hold them in our arms and give them these cute names. Both my husband and my best friend recently told me these words…”you are the strongest woman I have ever known.” It’s quite amazing to hear those words when strength feels like it’s gone into hiding and crouched in a hole covered by confusion, loss and heartbreak. Thinking about my own strength, hiding in there somewhere, I am reminded of a story I read in another blog a few months ago. It was around the time I was going to start another embryo transfer cycle that I ran across this touching story about a woman who lost her sweet baby girl. To me, it was the most beautiful story of a mother’s love and quiet courage. In reading her story, I could feel every word so deeply and relate to her experience so strongly. While she experienced a much more difficult journey than I had faced with my first loss, the feelings in those very raw moments are so intensely the same. Her words brought amazing beauty to her daughter’s brief life and touched so many of us who needed a way to understand our own pain. And I could make more sense of my own loss through her words. She gave us all a gift by writing her story. Her name is Danielle Walker and I have never met her. She is the author of several recipe books that I really enjoy and I follow her on Facebook. What I found so incredible about her is her amazing spirit that shines through in her writing and how she endures through this loss by truly living. I see her posting updates on Facebook about her book tours with a smile on her face and interacting with so many people. But also at times, admitting to her followers that she misses her baby. And she just amazes me. To me, she is STRENGTH. And she just might be able to help me find mine. I’ve attached a link to her story about her baby, Aila.  http://againstallgrain.com/2014/07/24/life-after-aila/

Photo by CJE