Remembrance Jewelry

Parents who experience the death of a baby often yearn for ways to weave the baby into the fabric of their lives and are often comforted by collecting items to commemorate their baby. Especially at this time of year when everyone is celebrating moms and dads, finding a special treasure such a garden ornament or piece of customized jewelry can help you feel close to your baby and is a wonderful way to honor yourselves as the parents you are. Share keeps an extensive resource list of online places to purchase special memorial items, and you can view this list on our website (http://www.nationalshare.org/online-memorial-resources.html), and following are a few of our favorites that offer unique jewelry for both moms and dads.

I am a MOTHER and that's a Fact

This beautiful poem was written by Marilyn Hartman about being a Mother.

I am a mother, although some might argue this fact.
I may not know my child’s gender, but I am a mother none the less.
I may not be able to hold my child in my arms, but you can bet

I will always hold my child close to my heart.

I am a mother, although some might argue this fact.
I may not have issued a name, but I am a mother none the less.
I will never see my child’s little face, but you can bet
I will always treasure this child in my heart.

I am a mother, although some might argue this fact.
I will never see my child grow, but I am a mother none the less.
I will never hear my child’s first words, but you can bet
I will always hear the silence in my heart.

I am a mother, although some might argue this fact.
I will never see my child take a step, but I am a mother none the less.
I will never hear my child cry, but you can bet
I will always hear the cries in my heart.

I am a mother although some might argue this fact.
I will never change a soiled diaper, but I am a mother none the less.
I will never have 3 a.m. feedings, but you can bet
I will always long for them in my heart.

I am a mother, although some might argue this fact.
I may not have carried to full term, but I am a mother none the less.
On Earth, I won’t be blessed with my child, but you can bet
In Heaven I have an angel who I love with all my heart.

Father's Perspective vs. Mother's Perspective

The following provide perspectives for both Father's & Mother's, as both approach the sentimental holidays. 

A Father’s Perspective…
Submitted by John Stuart, Daddy to Kieran

My story is probably no different than anyone reading this newsletter. Our only child, Kieran, was born premature and only saw one sunrise. There were many hopes and dreams that went with his passing. He was our only successful conception in over 4 years of trying. So when we were originally informed of our good fortune, much of our life during those 22 weeks was focused on his arrival and preparing for our new future.

How people experience their grief and how they cope is as different as snowflakes. The losses we experience are very personal and often difficult to quantify. I was devastated by the prospect of not seeing him every day and not being able to watch him interact with the world. For the first several months, I coped by immersing myself in other distractions and withdrew from all of life's optional dealings. I lost the ability to focus on all but the simplest, singular tasks. And it hurt to experience most any emotion, good and bad.

Father's Day was just 17 weeks after Kieran's birth. As it approached, I was keenly aware of its meaning and that I was now among the honored. This was not how I envisioned joining the ranks and I felt uncomfortable. This was compounded by wanting to acknowledge my own father. My child could not do the same for me.

It's difficult to express how I came to grips with my emotions. I felt sorry for myself and I knew that was destructive. I needed to alter my perspective. I realized that the honor of being a father was not an external acknowledgment but in my own, internal perception. I am happy to have a son. Although he was not physically with me on Father's Day, he was with me in spirit, as he continues to be. The world doesn't have to acknowledge that I love my son, because he knows and I know.

My wife also knows, and loves our son and me. We managed to make it through Mother's and Father's Days because we respect that the world is full of complex emotional triggers and these holidays are very big triggers.  Our reactions to the triggers are usually different, but we're able to look beyond the reaction and see the underlying response as emotions of love and loss. Outward expression of these emotions can be manifested in negative ways.  But we remember that what the other person is reacting to is valid even if the reaction seems irrational. We need to vent our emotions even if the emotional release is misdirected.

There are many holidays on the calendar that are intended to cause you to pause and consider how a particular group of people has affected your life. For me, Father's Day has taken on multiple facets. I think about my son, for without him, I would not be a father. I think about my wife, for without her, I could not have a son. And about my parents, for without them I would not know what it means to be a parent. I love and am grateful for all of them.

 _________________________________________________________________________

 A Mother’s Perspective...

Submitted by Suzanne Phillips, Mommy to Kieran

Mother's Day has been a hard, complicated day for me for many years.  It's the annual reminder that, “I don't belong in the mommy club.”  My husband and I struggled a long time to become parents, only to lose our precious boy.  Although I am Kieran's mommy, because he lived so briefly, my “mommy credits” fall short.  I feel left out of the club when I see other mothers and babies – in the park, coffee shop or congregation.  I know first-hand about sleepless nights, but I don't have stories of Kieran's firsts:  the first time he held his head up on his own, rolled over, pulled himself up, crawled, teethed, babbled or stepped.  It's hard for other mommies to listen to my baby's short story. He's not wiggling around, demanding attention.

For a long time, I avoided Mother's Day. I avoided the saccharin cards, speakers and mother-daughter banquets which celebrated motherhood. Then my husband and I began to do something special that weekend without it being “mother” or “father” focused.  We have gone camping, picnicked at an outdoor jazz festival, and attended local arts festivals.  For me, camping has been the most successful because most families don't camp in May.  It's easy to enjoy nature with our dogs as we set up camp, hike and are buzzed by local hummingbirds.

Last Mother's Day (2007), the first without Kieran, friends invited us to go sailing.  The focus was on friendship and catching up. They talked about Kieran.  At the end of the day, they gave me a Mother's Day card – the only one I received.  I cherish it as recognition of our friendship and Kieran.

There are no Share support groups in our area.  However, the local Children's Hospital sponsors an annual Memorial Service for bereaved parents between Mother's and Father's Days.  This service is a safe place to openly remember and mourn our babies.  We are not isolated.  This recognition of our loss validates the pain and grief we feel, particularly when it seems the world celebrates parenthood as only having living children.

Whether or not you chose to participate in Mother's or Father's Day, I recommend you take steps to care for yourself on that day.  It's OK to simply avoid the whole event.  It's OK to ask others for what you need.  If it feels right, find a moment to remember your baby and honor yourself as your baby's parent.  For these two days, my husband and I each created our own bracelet with Kieran's name, his birthstone and his animal.  This creative action honored our child and our new title as parents, despite other's conflicting opinions of our parental status.  In honoring ourselves as parents, we also honor our babies. 

Mother's Day: Bittersweet for Some Women

When I think of Mother’s Day, a wealth of images comes to mind. I see women in restaurants wearing corsages and red roses and baby’s breath pinned to their dresses, close to their hearts: Visual symbols of motherhood. I see my mother in the 1960’s, wearing a flower-covered puffy hat and a cream-colored coat fastened with buttons the size of half dollars, three children trailing behind her on Mother’s Day morning. As usual, we are late for church. 

But I also see women who are not wearing corsages, who are not necessarily walking with children. These women carry in their hearts a quiet, lonesome sadness. Some are women I know by name; most are strangers to me. They are everywhere:  In office buildings, in grocery stores, in libraries, in movie theaters, in airplanes, traveling to new destinations. They are women who have had miscarriages. I am one of them:  Part of the sisterhood of unspoken sorrow.

Miscarriage is common, but not talked about much. Though part of life, it is often a taboo topic. Even women who have miscarried aren’t sure if they should mention their loss to anyone. Pregnancy, childbirth and menopause get more public attention. Women are often not prepared for the complex feelings of loss and grief they must cope with when a baby dies within the first 20 weeks of pregnancy. According to Fran Rybarik, former director of Bereavement Services in LaCrosse, WI, when a pregnancy ends in miscarriage, “The whole person is affected—physically, emotionally, socially and spiritually.” A parent invests in a child’s life long before it is born.

One day a woman is pregnant, the next day she isn’t. She has nothing to carry in her arms. Unless she has had multiple miscarriages, usually she never finds out the reason for the unsuccessful pregnancy. Even then, medical staff may not be able to give her answers. Sometimes, only a few family members and friends know of the pregnancy;  sometimes, no one knows except the father. Through tangled emotions, it is hard for a woman to say, “I was pregnant a few days ago, but now I’m not. This is terribly sad for me.” Society doesn’t often acknowledge miscarriage as a death that can-and should-be mourned.

People easily sympathize with the death of someone visible, someone whose passage has been marked in legal records, someone with a name. People say, “I’m sorry.” They expect mothers and fathers to grieve. They encourage them to talk. They are compassionate listeners. They offer tangible solace:  A gift of food, a lilac bush to plant in the backyard, an appropriate book.

On Mother’s Day, it is appropriate to acknowledge a woman’s loss—particularly if the miscarriage was recent. But even for women who, with the passage of time, have come to terms with their loss, Mother’s Day can bring back a sadness. A simple note written on a blank card and sent in the mail is an act of kindness on this day.

For women who have miscarried, thinking about the lost child is inevitable. They are confronted with rows of greeting cards in gift shops, restaurant advertisements urging early reservations for Mother’s Day brunch, phone companies reminding people to call mothers who are far away and bouquets of long-lasting carnations delivered to neighbor’s houses. The day of celebration is obvious. As women think about their own mother, they again are reminded of the child or children they do not have. It is bittersweet.

Mother’s Day, though, can be a day of healing.

Women who have a miscarried child should give themselves permission to grieve. They can read about miscarriage, putting themselves in the company of others who have experienced this common, but often publicly unspoken loss. They can talk to family and friends. Given the chance, people will reveal the circumstances of their losses with vividness and compassion. A woman can write about her miscarriage. Through writing, no matter how informal it is, she can put some sort of control on the uncontrollable. Because it is spring, she can plant a rosebush, a maple tree, or a deep red peony in the yard:  a visual symbol of “almost” motherhood.  On Mother’s Day, I think about women whose lives have been affected by miscarriage. Perhaps their hearts—like mine—have been mended over time. Perhaps the pain is fresh and their heartache needs to be acknowledged by family and friends.

A Special Dedication… To You, on Mother's Day and Father's Day

This article was written by Lisa Weber, RN.

Society, in general, is experiencing an evolution in recognizing the significance of the loss parents and families feel when an unborn child dies. From our silent tears of pain to our shouts of anger and resentment, bereaved families are making others sit up and take notice of our grief. The impact of the death of an unborn child is not going unnoticed by those open enough to bear witness to our struggle. Mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, grandparents, whose empty arms long to hold a live baby, whose voices speak of the sadness of death, whose minds sometimes wander off to dreams of cooing babies, whose nurseries remain untouched and whose lives will always remember the promise of new life, are testimony to this struggle. 

 

The journey through grief is filled with ups and downs. The “up” moments don't seem to come around often enough. The “down” moments are exhausting and seem to last for days. Bereaved parents are forced to learn patience. You can't rush grief; the healing process takes time. We learn ways to accept, embrace, and even understand that death is a part of our lives. Grieving moms and dads do not “get over” their loss.

We do not deny our feelings; we learn to incorporate them into our lives. Gradually, we focus on our future, as a person, as an adult, and always as a parent.

Our identity is determined by many factors:  What we do, the job we have, where we live, and many more factors. For some, being a parent is a major part of our identity. There are those of us who have no living children. I do not believe that makes us any less parents. We nurture our children even before they are conceived. We have dreams of the glow of pregnancy, delivering a healthy baby, the impact a child will have on us as a family, as partners raising a toddler to young adulthood. We nurture the expectations of parenthood, of being called “mommy” and “daddy.” Even though the differences in a family who have experienced death and those who have not are complex, the similarity of our desire to raise a family cannot be denied.

I have a son. I have a daughter. I am a mother. I am a father. I do not take my child to the park like some parents do—but I take my baby everywhere in my heart. She was denied this earthly existence. I don't know why. He will play catch in the stars, not on the ball field. She will never shop for a prom dress at the mall, and he will never ask for the keys to my car. But they are our children nonetheless. I will wear her birth stone around my neck. I will think of him everyday.

Acknowledge me on Mother's Day. Wish me a pleasant Father's Day. I need that support and acceptance as much as you. I am a parent. Mother's Day is to honor all mothers. Father's Day is to honor all fathers. As spring brings forth new life following the quiet healing of winter, let us welcome a rebirth of hope in our own lives. In recognition of childless parents, and those who have loving children but also have felt the heartache of the death of a child, this Mother's Day and Father's Day, my wish for you is one of peace, love, and to call to mind the dignity of parenthood.

Share this newsletter with family and friends. It may help others understand our struggle to be recognized as unique parents.

Join us for the 10th Annual Angel Ball: One Night in Tuscany

Please join us for the 10th Annual Angel Ball on Saturday, April 28 at the St. Charles Convention Center Grand Ballroom in St. Charles, MO. The cost to attend is $100/person. 

Don't miss the Guest of Honor, Richard Paul Evans, NY Times Best Selling Author. 

The evening will begin at 6pm and includes dinner, drinks, live music and an auction.

For tickets, please call the National Share office at (636) 947-6164.

Caring For Yourself

This article was written by Rose Carlson, National Share's Program Director. 

When you are grieving the death of your baby, just getting out of bed each day can seem like a monumental task, and most likely, the farthest thing from your mind is taking care of yourself and your own needs. You will likely begin to recover physically well before you begin to heal emotionally, but the stress of such a tragic loss can quickly take a toll on both your physical and emotional health. Grief can be a long, lonely and challenging journey. While taking care of yourself may not be a priority, especially in the early days, taking care of your physical, emotional and spiritual needs can help you grieve in healthy ways, heal, and eventually find joy and hope in life again. Following are some suggestions and ideas; hopefully, some of them will resonate with you and you will find some ideas you had not thought of.

 

*Lean on loved ones who care about you

Your friends, family and other loved ones are likely worried about you and want to help, even if they do not always know the perfect way to go about it. Friends may want to help with the care of your other children or bring you a meal. Even a short visit with a friend over a cup of coffee can be uplifting. While many bereaved parents feel very isolated after their baby dies, sharing your feelings with others who care about you can be comforting and help you feel less isolated.

*Find strength in your spiritual beliefs

You may pull away from your church or other beliefs, and that is not uncommon. However, others do find solace in their spiritual beliefs. You may find it beneficial to talk through your feelings and thoughts with your priest, minister or other spiritual advisor.

*Find a support group in your area

Some grieving parents find it a relief to connect with others who have experienced similar losses.

*Find a creative outlet

Many bereaved parents find it comforting and relaxing to find a way to do something creative in memory of their baby, and the possibilities are endless. Even something as simple as keeping a journal can be therapeutic as it gives a written record of your baby's life as well as your grief journey; looking back on what you have written can not only help you see how far you have come, but it also gives a written record of your baby's life. Making a scrapbook can have similar benefits—not only do some parents find it healing to work on the pages, but again, you will have a tangible record of your baby's life.

*Pay attention to your physical needs

Studies have shown that grieving has a physical component as well as an emotional one. People who are grieving are more susceptible to colds and other illnesses, so it is important that you take care of yourself. While returning to the doctor can be difficult and heart-wrenching, it is important to make those follow up visits.

*Try to do some sort of physical activity

It is important to get exercise a few times a week, and even a short walk can lift your spirits. It can also be therapeutic to take part in physical activities such as hitting golf balls at a driving range, baseballs at a batting cage, or even a punching bag at the gym.

*Continue to do things you enjoyed before, even if you have to scale back on them

*Consider finding a way to “give back”

Many bereaved parents find great comfort in making blankets, memory boxes or other items to donate to the hospital. Dads who enjoy woodworking may want to consider making caskets to donate to the hospital or a local funeral home.

*Take a few minutes each day to unwind

Listen to music, a relaxation CD, or a book on CD. Even a few minutes of quiet time can be of great benefit

*If you are having an especially bad day, give yourself permission to scream, cry, etc.

Set a timer to give yourself a time limit.

*Get plenty sleep

If you are having trouble sleeping, try listening to some soothing music, drinking decaffeinated tea, or meditating. If you need to, don't be afraid to ask your doctor for something to help you sleep

*Talk about your baby with someone who is willing to listen

*Try to stick to your daily routine as much as possible

However, allow yourself downtime when you need it too…sticking to your routine helps you feel some control over the situation, and can be comforting. This is especially important if you have other children.

*Treat yourself gently

Don't expect too much of yourself, especially in the early days and weeks—give yourself permission to avoid situations and events that you know will be difficult, such as baby showers, birthday parties and family events. Be patient with yourself and know that in time, you will gradually feel up to resuming your normal activities.

*Avoid drugs and alcohol

*Try to put off major decisions for at least six months

*Create a sanctuary in your home

Having a quiet spot to read, relax and/or listen to music for a few minutes can be soothing.

*Plan ahead for special days

Days such as your due date, holidays, and other meaningful days can be difficult to get through. If you plan ahead for ways to spend those times, you won't feel blind sided by them when they arrive.

*Find something special to do in remembrance of your baby

Many bereaved parents find it healing to create new rituals and traditions, plant a garden, start a collection of something meaningful, or even purchase a special piece of jewelry. Not only do these things help you preserve your baby's place in your family, but they also give you something positive to focus on.

*Do not feel guilty when you have good days

Laughter is therapeutic, though bereaved parents often feel guilty when they laugh or begin to enjoy aspects of their life again.

*Know that there is no specific timetable as to when you will “feel better”

Try not to let others make you feel guilty for the way you are grieving. Some parents find it helpful to write a letter to their family and friends explaining what they are feeling and experiencing. Remember that it is okay to cry.

Taking care of your own needs can be a challenge, but it is so important that you do. Attending to your physical and emotional needs can help you feel as if you have some control over a situation that is mostly out of your control. Whatever you decide to do, let your heart and feelings guide you.

Share Hosts Training

The National Share Office hosts Sharing & Caring Trainings twice a year, to care givers, bereaved parents and professionals nationwide.  The training is hosted in St. Charles, MO and had 20 attendees last weekend.  Here is a video from an attendee, reflecting on her experience - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fT6bZwsvWek&feature=share

Lost Soul

The below was written by Trudy Laughlin.
After I had my 3rd miscarriage, I was a lost soul. I could barely drag myself out of bed each day, and to think about going to work was more than I could take. I had two weeks of vacation time saved up, and even though my boss thought it was not necessary to take so much time off work for “just a miscarriage,” I had the time available, so I took it anyway. Having so much free time on my hands was a blessing and a curse at the same time. I was glad I didn't have to put on my happy face and go to work for those weeks, but being home by myself wasn't such a good idea either. I had too much time to think and cry, and the first few days, I didn't even get out of bed except to go to the bathroom. I spent hours reading message boards and blogs on the internet, laying in my bed, eating ice cream and crying many tears into my pillow.

I had joined a gym and started working out just before I got pregnant for the second time. My first miscarriage happened very early in the pregnancy, and my doctor said it was a fluke, that these things just happen and we don't know why. I was upset about the miscarriage, but I believed him when he said it was a fluke. I wasn't feeling very healthy at the time because I was overweight and working at a job that left me stressed and exhausted. After the miscarriage, I decided I was going to try to get my weight down before my husband and I tried again for a baby. My neighbor is a personal trainer, and with her encouragement, I joined the fitness club where she worked. She promised to take it easy on me and help me ease into exercising in a way that would make me feel good about myself and not discouraged. Her club employed a dietician who I met with several times also. After a few months, I had lost some weight, was eating healthier than I ever had, was feeling great, and we decided it was time to try to become pregnant again. We became pregnant right away, and I was thrilled. I felt good about the pregnancy, and my doctor assured me it was perfectly okay to continue my workouts, that they wouldn't be harmful to the baby. I felt so good the first few weeks of that pregnancy! There was another pregnant mom who I saw regularly at the gym, and she had worked out throughout her pregnancy and was close to delivery. I envisioned myself in the months ahead exercising and nurturing my growing baby. I had never felt better in my life.

Everything was going great until one day, I arrived at the gym and my friend told me that the other mom's baby had been stillborn a few days before, that the cord had wrapped around her baby boy's neck just a few weeks before he was due. I was stunned. I never knew such things happened! After that, I was terrified of working out. I left the gym that day and didn't return. Unfortunately, I miscarried again at the end of the first trimester, and I just couldn't bring myself to return to the gym after that. It was wintertime, and while most people head to the gym and make New Year's Resolutions to lose weight and get in shape, I didn't care. As the winter wore on and the sights and sounds of spring filled the air, I gained back every pound I had lost in my months of working out, and I felt worse than ever. I also knew that I never wanted to become pregnant again.

I did however. By fall, heavier than I had ever been before, I was once again pregnant and scared to death. We decided not to tell anyone, and as the weeks went by, we slowly became cautiously happy. I would be at the end of the first trimester at Christmas, and if everything went well, that is when we decided we would tell everyone we were expecting again. Once again, our excitement was short-lived, and just before Thanksgiving, during an ultrasound, we found out that our baby had no heartbeat. We were devastated.

After a few days of staying in bed, not showering, not caring if I lived or not, my doorbell rang. I ignored it, and it rang again. I put on my robe and went to the door to discover my neighbor holding a pot of delicious smelling soup.  Trying to be polite, I invited her in for a cup of tea which turned into an afternoon of tea and tears. She mentioned to me that I might feel better if I got out of the house and did something for myself, and she suggested I come back to the gym. I had no intention of going back, but I told her I would think about it. As fate would have it, that evening, our local news had a story about the many benefits of exercise. They interviewed a woman who had lost her son and her husband in a car accident, and she talked about how running helped her deal with her grief in the months after their death. If I had met her on the street, I would never have known what she had been through because she looked happy and well. I caught a glimpse of myself in the darkened window and I looked anything but well or happy. I looked a mess. I hadn't washed my hair in days, or even gotten out of my pajamas. That was a turning point for me, and I thought to myself, “If she can suffer what she has and come through it, so can I!”

The next morning, I took a shower, got dressed and walked over to my neighbor's house. I told her I was ready to come back to the gym, but I would need her help. I was so afraid to go back to the place where I had felt so good and empowered and happy, but I did it. It wasn't easy, but I did it. Slowly but surely, I began eating healthier again, and I also began to not only enjoy, but even look forward to my workouts. Late that spring, I once again found out a baby was on the way. With close supervision from my doctor, I continued to work out, kept my weight at a healthy number, and am now the mom of a healthy and beautiful one year old little girl. I continue to work out, eat healthy, and take care of myself. Those dark days after my miscarriages still haunt me, but thankfully, I had a friend who encouraged me to take care of my physical needs because taking care of those, helped with my mental needs as well.  

Requiem for Robert

Requiem for Robert was written by Dr. George A. Hays after the loss of his newborn  on March 2, 1963. Dr. Hays was very active in his community, charitable work  and even completed mission work in Guatemala.  George passed away in 1989.

After 31 years of teaching, the Kingsburg Elementary School’s library was named after Mrs. Hays, the Carolyn Hinton Hays Media Center. Mrs. Hays currently resides in Memphis, TN and allowed Share to publish the following several decades after the death of their son.

Little one, so sweet in sleep

Rest, though mother’s arms

Entwine you not.

Yours was a life so brief,

Its silver whiteness, like a lightning flash

Across an ocean’s sweep

Was a blaze of purity

In a worldly storm.

Poor weary traveler! The light

That still remains upon your face

There in death, is like the echo

Of palest moonlight, cool and gentle.

Like a little doll you wait

The tender warmth of an embrace,

The sunshine of a mother’s face!

Wait you there in peace, beloved son.

Our cries are but the antiphon

Of love, The song of eventide

That broke upon the dawn of your short life

Now mocks us while we grieve.

The candle’s snuffed, but one wee ember

Glows afar. Oh, Cherub, our love

Must warm you through an endless night.

Our eyes are fixed upon a tiny light

From yonder star!