soooo tired

I am absolutely exhausted. I've been trying to get out of bed for the last hour, but everything within me says to stay put. I'm writing this on the laptop lying down. I'm gonna listen to my body and take it easy today. If I'm not coming down with something perhaps it's a combination of being both emotionally tired and physically tired.

King and I went to another session at the perinatal bereavement group last night. That was helpful to be able to listen to people and weep and rejoice with each other. At our first meeting we were told that the group would start to feel like family because there is such a strong bond that connects us. This is becoming more true as we continue to go.

Also, for the past two weeks I've been trying to get back in shape and start to lose weight, so I've been going to the gym and also going running/walking with the hubby. Physically, getting my energy out just feels right and it's great when the endorphins kick in. I think it's helping me not feel like I'm going crazy because of the roller coaster of grief I'm on. I'm doing this also because I'd like to get pregnant in a few months and want to be as healthy as I can.

I don't wanna push it, but if I'm drained for the reasons above (and not getting sick) then it's worth it. Alright, time to rest again. Good night.

i carry your heart with me

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

ee cummings

Malaya, Mommy and Daddy carry your heart in ours. We love you.

Losing a child

When you lose a parent, you lose your past.
When you lose a spouse, you lose your present...
But when you lose a child, you lose your future.

-Author Unknown

A wife who loses a husband is called a widow,
A husband who loses a wife is called a widower.
A child who loses his parents is called an orphan,
Yet there is no word for a parent who loses a child,
That’s how awful the loss is.
-Author Unknown

Out of nowhere-tears

A friend of mine sent me this song via Facebook. It brought me MUCH comfort.


I just finished a time of bawling a few minutes ago and it was right after someone sent me a text message that simply said that she is praying for me.

The first thing I thought while I was crying was, 'Is it because I'm sad that she has to be praying for me in this way? or Am I crying because I haven't been crying too hard lately and it's a buildup of emotion?'

Who can really know why?
I let those thoughts go as they turned to asking my baby to come back. I know in my head that she's not and that she can't, but somehow it just feels so right to say those words out loud.

This whole timing of when I'm going to cry is a mystery to me. That bout of tears was definitely unexpected. It's strange because sometimes the times I think I should be crying (like when I'm looking at her pictures) I don't always cry. Sometimes, I cry just from one thought of my baby. I'm going to give up trying to over-analyze the exact reasons for me crying. If I feel like it, I'm not going to hold it in. And I need not be ashamed of my tears.

One thing that helped me last week was realizing the truth of this verse - Psalm 56:8

You have taken account of my wanderings;
Put my tears into Your bottle;
Are they not in Your book?

I somehow misconstrued this verse to think that the writer says, "put my tears in my bottle". I would tell people that since I'm just naturally a crier that my bottle is SO big. What a comfort to know that I won't have anything to with my tears after I cry them...that God is so wonderful that HE takes care of all that.

The dress she'll never wear

I went to Target for the first time the other day and I was looking for something to wear because I'm in between sizes. The maternity clothes are a bit loose and the pre-maternity clothes are still too tight. As I was looking around I ended up walking through the maternity section. I stopped and asked myself, 'Am I sad?' and 'Am I ready to be here?'. I walked through it and did it. I wasn't as sad as I thought I would be.

I asked myself the same questions because I then found myself walking toward the baby section to get to another part of the store. 'Should I take the long way and walk around?'

I weighed it out in my head and thought, 'When am I ever going to be totally ready? I can do this. Help me, God.'

I thought of how at the GriefShare support group (yes, we're going to two support groups) they said that at some point we would have to start taking risks...steps of faith even in spite of the fear of pain. They talked about experiencing "firsts" where we would have our first time doing things. Like the first night alone without Malaya...that was painful. In time, there would be a type of layering as we do this activity over and over. They weren't saying it wasn't going to be difficult at times, it just wouldn't be the first time of going through it.

It has been 28 nights of sleeping without her since we came home from the hospital. The first few days I would cry myself to sleep. Now, sometimes I still cry, but it's not like the first night without her.

This would be the first time I would go through the baby section of a store without her in my tummy. Before, I would meticulously look through everything making mental notes of what I wanted to register for. That day, though, I just kept pushing my cart slowly through, longingly looking at the car seats from afar and passing by the little outfits knowing that she will never get to wear anything there. I almost got through the whole section until I came across this pretty dress:
It was the same type of material as the outfit that King picked out for Malaya that we put on her at the hospital. This one was cute and summery and the only one that caught my eye. I stood there for a few seconds touching the dress, thinking of my daughter and what she would look like with it on. I thought this would have been so cute on her for the summer, but felt a sadness because she will never get a chance to wear it. I wonder what she is wearing in Heaven...

Part of me wanted to buy the dress...for her...and then I thought, 'What am I going to do with it when I get home?' and then 'Maybe I'll have another daughter in the future and maybe she could wear this.' I decided against buying it. There was a heaviness in my chest as I let go of the dress and walked on to get my face wash.

So, anyway, I made it through. Then I went home and cried. I think this was a good day of grief.

First support group meeting: Perinatal bereavement group

Someone said last night,

"It's not going to get better, but it will get easier".

In looking ahead, that makes so much sense.

Every 2nd and 4th Mondays of the month Long Beach Memorial Hospital (where we had Malaya) has a group for parents who've lost a child during pregnancy or shortly after birth. We were invited by one of the chaplains, Sharon, who showed a great deal of kindness toward us while I was in labor. Even though it was somewhat far for us, King and I decided to give it a try. We were both blown away during the session.

Because we want to respect the privacy of the people there we will not mention any names or go into details about their stories. We will say, however, that it feels so good to have people who understand our pain and have been through a lot of what we are going through. Our loss is the most recent, at three weeks, but we saw how deep grief runs as tears were still being shed from people who have been there for over six months.

There were a lot of nodding heads when we told our story. I've never thought of putting our entire story about Malaya into a few short minutes, so I was in a little blur when I told it. It's okay, though. Apparently, because we will be coming back, we have more chances to tell it.

There were so many wonderful things about the night, but here are a few things beautiful:

• No matter how long they've been there, every time this group meets each has the opportunity to tell their story about what happened to them and their baby. How awesome, because sometimes people who haven't been through the death of their baby think that talking about the lost loved one might be inappropriate after a few months OR are just plain uncomfortable and don't know exactly how to listen or what to say. And of course, we want to be able to talk about Malaya when we feel like it.
• Our babies lives were honored and definitely humanized. (This is a real loss for all of us. Sometimes, because they didn't get to know our babies, there are people who might not place as much value upon these little ones versus those whom they knew well or who simply just lived longer...even unconsciously...it shows in their words.)
  
• Some said this was like a second family. There was an instant sense of camaraderie and safety for me.
• People were not ashamed or afraid to cry.
• King said on our way home that it was so great because by sharing like that people are able to help each other and at the same time they are being healed.

Lately, more and more people have been focusing on asking how I am doing and not always asking about King. I guess that's how our society is, but He IS Malaya's daddy. I'm glad that King has other fathers who can relate to what he is going through.

One of the things that I felt sad over was that someone told me about "a new normal". They said that all of us would never be the same people that we were before we lost our baby. And that made me sad because I honestly like the old me and the old King. In an instant, though, I realized that yes, we do have to let go of who were once were and learn to accept the new people that we are becoming because Malaya isn't with us anymore. So, I guess some questions we both might need to ask ourselves are, "Who was I?", "Who am I now?", and "Who are we as a couple?"

It was our first time with these amazing people, yet we can already HIGHLY recommend this type of support group for people who are dealing with miscarriage/stillbirth/the death of their baby. When we got home both King and I felt emotionally exhausted, yet quite emotionally satisfied.

Hands and Feet

Our dentist and his wife, who happen to be dear friends of ours as well, took time out to be with us right after Malaya was born. He told us that he was willing to make molds and cast her hands and her feet. Thanks Doc Mike and Ate Tatie...
When they gave us the box with the castings inside of them we opened it up and were so surprised at how detailed they were. The little wrinkles, fingernails, and toenails were defined and just so beautiful. This has been one of the most precious gestures and gifts that anyone could ever give to us. These are things that we can hold and look at anytime we want. People at the commemoration service commented on how precious this was. Today I carried the box to the couch and held each hand and foot and cried aloud. I told her how much I have loved her ever since I found out about her and will always love her. I told her how beautiful she was. I kept touching her second toe, which was significantly taller than her big toe (especially on the right foot) and laughed at how much they looked like King's. I held her hands in mine and looked at each fingernail and wrinkle and sobbed with all the pain of missing her.

I told God that I was grateful that she never knew she was "broken" and was okay to be the one hurting instead of her. I thanked God, for these were the feet that did such a great job of kicking me. Oh, how special was the time that we had together.
Needless to say, these casts are helping me and I will treasure and take care of these precious hands and feet because they show me how wonderfully she was made and remind me of the time I had with her.