Moving on is weird. Part of you feels like it is impossible and you will never be able to “move on”. I don’t even like the term but for lack of a better one that’s the term, I’ll use. When my son passed away, I didn’t think I would make it a week let alone a year. At first, there wasn’t a single moment that I didn’t think about him, not a day, not a second. He consumed my thoughts.

The months following our loss were intense and tough, I was shattered and it seemed that every effort I made to be put back together was in vain because it didn’t work. I could fall apart at any moment. As you live through grief, you learn that grief isn’t linear, that people want you to get over it, that most don’t understand, that you will NEVER be the same, and that you have to go at your own pace.

Like I said earlier, there were many days where all I could think about was my baby, and then days where I only thought about him 50 times. Now there are days where I think of him and don’t break, but there are still days that break me. In this process, you’re hard on yourself when you spend hours thinking about the person you lost and then you’re unforgiving when you don’t. As if you’re somehow betraying your loved one’s memory when you aren’t thinking of them. Grief doesn’t teach us much about balance, grief likes it to be one way or the other.

I won’t let grief tell me what to do, I will learn how to live and grow through my grieving process. No one can tell me what it looks like; no one can tell me how long. Moving from one stage of grief to the other (and then back again) is weird, “moving on” is weird. I have been forever changed by my losses and therefore I will carry the effects of them forever.

This post is part of Stirrup Queens #Microblogmondays

It has officially been a year since I CHOPPED my hair! What a year it has been! Cutting my hair so drastically has allowed me to get re-acquainted with my hair, which has fostered a deeper appreciation of my curls and coils.

In my culture, a woman’s hair is a BIG deal and typically, the longer the better, so when I told my lovely and talented hairdresser that I wanted a big chop her eyes opened wiiiiide and she let out a concerned/disgusted/shocked WHY?!?

Before the Chop

Without waiting for a response, she proceeded to bombard me with questions as a way to figure out if I had lost my mind… Is it giving you trouble? Is it taking too long to style? Is it falling out? is it tangling too much? Your hair is so healthy and beautiful, why are you cutting it? You have great length, why do you want to cut it?  In essence, what she was really asking without using words was “what could possibly be driving you to make this absurd and insane decision”?

I wanted to answer truthfully and say that a person I love with an intense passion left me too soon, that the one we were waiting for finally arrived but is now gone. However, I knew that neither of us was prepared to handle what I wanted to unpack. I wanted to say that the immense pain inside was driving me to make a change. I was no longer the same and I needed my physical appearance to match that change.

To change my furniture, the color of my walls, and my wardrobe wasn’t enough. The change also needed to be reflected in the luscious curls I pride myself. Those curls and coils of my Dominican hair passed down through centuries of African, Taino, and European genes, those curls that were an extension of me needed to be cut.

Somehow I was able to bite the tears back into my eyes and simply whispered that I needed a change and wanted to try something new but she had no clue how deep and heavy my answer was. Cutting my hair was an opportunity to express and show what was missing me.

A year later and I don’t regret a thing because I look DARN good!

My first social outing since our loss. #curlsbepoppin

That length tho!

first Salonaso

Highlights for the win

The past three weeks have been a complete whirlwind! I work in a school district and the beginning of the new school year is always intense. Even in the midst of the whirlwind that was work, my emotions and time were at a standstill. As if I could hit the play and pause button anytime I wanted to. The fact that it has been a year since the most tragic days of my life is surreal. There were moments where I didn’t think I’d make it. Days where I would pray for death.

At first, I couldn’t see anything past the moment, then it became hours and eventually days or weeks. I was recently asked to describe a picture of what that time was like, I had no other words but darkness. I look back and things were a complete haze. The months after were just as rough, but then I learned to cope with my new reality.

I still can’t believe it has been a year since I delivered my beautiful baby boy and a year since he passed away.

When I look back at the dark months it feels like I am watching a movie, like a slow-motion scene of destruction, like I am watching my life unfold through someone else’s eyes. It’s weird. I guess what I am trying to say is that this past year has been one of the most difficult years thus far, I truly did not believe I would make it. Nevertheless, I’ve made it, and that means something.

I enjoy Facebook memories, there is something about them that makes you reminisce about where you were and thankful for where you are.

Today’s memory brought me back to such a happy day. We were pregnant at the time and had reached 16 weeks, which for us was HUGE. We had gone in for an ultrasound and saw our baby move, saw him moving his hands and feet he was dancing in the womb.

By that point, we had not officially announced our pregnancy and only a handful of people knew, I still wanted to commemorate that day so I went on FB and posted the update below.

We had gotten further along than any other pregnancy before it, so it was important to remember that and be grateful for that.

Today it serves as a reminder that even the little things deserve recognition. I know that it will help me during my next pregnancy. Maybe I will adopt that as my motto the next time I am pregnant. Every milestone deserves to be celebrated.

-JT

I’m the type of girl that LOVES planners. I don’t like putting things on my virtual calendar I like the old-fashioned way of pen and paper. Having a physical planner helps me remember important dates and it helps me jot down important thoughts. Throughout each of my pregnancies I wrote down dates from my Doctor’s appointments, future and current milestones, and I kept pictures of each ultrasound. After my last loss, I couldn’t bear to continue using the same planner I had and it made no sense to buy a planner in October.

2019 started and I could not come to terms with buying a new planner, the pain stung too much. So, for the better part of the year, I went without my hand dandy planner and I decided it was time. After shopping online, going to Walmart, Target, and Barnes and Noble I finally found the one. I bought a planner that I love and that takes me all the way through December 2020!

Although it is just a planner, for me it is much more than that. Buying my planner is a sign that healing is occurring; it is a sign that in that moment I decided that my pain would not hold me back in that area. Though it may seem small, buying my planner was a huge step and a sign of growth. I like planners and had put that part of me on hold, I am glad some parts of me are slowly coming back while others have evolved.

-JT

They say that time heals everything. I would have to disagree. Some things heal with time, such as a cut or a broken bone, and others leave scars that last a lifetime like a skinned knee from that summer when you were seven years old.

I don’t think grief goes away with time, you just learn to live with it. As time goes by you get better and better at the aftermath. I cannot say that at this moment I feel the same way I did 10 months ago. The depth of the pain is still there but it is something I am now accustomed to.

So no, time does not heal everything, but they do say practice makes perfect. Every day is another chance to practice living life, another chance to learn how to live after loss.

-JT

There are two conflicting thoughts. The one that you know is a lie but feels like truth and the one that you know is true but feels like a lie.

Oftentimes it feels easier to walk and live in the lie. The lie does not often require us to grow, believe, or to be challenged. The lie helps us be complacent and stationary. The lie becomes familiar and we choose to accept it as truth. I am not comfortable with that anymore.

Truth No. 1: I am NOT ashamed of my grief! It is not an easy topic to talk about and people sometimes treat me as if I am someone that needs to be “fixed”. I am not. I am going through the grieving process.

Truth No. 2: People treat me different because I am vocal about my grief and how I got here.

Truth No. 3: I will no longer let people’s comfort level dictate how I share nor how I process.

The truth may be harder to walk out, but in the words of Jesus, “the truth shall make you free”. Truth requires growth, movement and sometimes a leap of faith. Accepting and living in the truth may bring about elements of things unknown and take us places we never dreamt of. The truth regardless of how uncomfortable it may seem is where I want to be.

Below is a little something I wrote 5 years ago on my way home from visiting my parents and my hometown.

If I could, I would go back in time and tell my younger self to stop wishing for the day when she could leave home…

For little does she know that a few years down the road her greatest wish would be to be back in that little two bedroom apartment she wanted to leave so fast

 She does not know that there will be a day when her biggest dream is to be home with her family for more than a weekend at a time.

That every time she leaves home her heart is shattered over and over

In the rearview mirror, all she will see are her memories and the faces of loved ones

I would tell her to cherish it, to revel in those moments minute by minute. To hug a little longer, to hold her sister through the night. To kiss her brother good night.

I would tell her to lay on her mami’s lap and wait up for her Papi to come home from work

To soak in every smell that comes from the kitchen and to embrace the sound of every syllable spoken in her native tongue

I would tell her to slow down

-JT

Some days are bad, some are terrible

The good days, well they are far in between

They have come with more frequency and with them so does hope.

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I have not been posting as much as I would like to but when I do I try to be as honest as possible. Is there anything about our journey that you would like to know? If so please leave your questions in the comments or e-mail me and I will try to address them in my upcoming posts.

-JT

Part of #MicroblogMondays Click here to learn more.

I LOVE celebrations, absolutely love them. I love to celebrate people and their milestones, holidays, anniversary, and just because. My ultimate person to celebrate is my husband, I absolutely adore showing him how much he means to me on a regular basis and special occasions.

Whether it is Valentine’s Day, his birthday, our anniversary, Christmas or regular days in between, I love celebrating my one and only, which is part of the reason why Father’s Day is so hard for me. Mother’s Day is hard but I find that my emotions are harder to deal with on Father’s Day. It feels weird not knowing exactly how to celebrate his fatherhood. I imagine that once we have babies earth side, I will do this grand gesture in celebrating him so right now it feels a bit empty to do that.

I find it hard to celebrate, as if celebrating is entirely too uncomfortable for me to handle. How do you celebrate amid loss? How do you celebrate when what or who you once loved has been lost? One thing I can say is that it ain’t easy. Saying “happy Father’s Day” comes with a huge sting, with a feeling of drowning while you are trying to get the words out, it comes with sadness. Despite all that I celebrate because even though our children are in heaven, he is a great father. In our circumstance I don’t like the term “you will be a great dad/mom” because it negates the fact that we are already to kids you can’t see.

In order to celebrate I focus on the now. I focus on the fact that he truly is a wonderful father, caring, loving, forgiving, selfless. so, although celebrating may be hard, I won’t let that keep me from acknowledging my husband as the amazing father he is. In the midst of my emotional discomfort I will choose to highlight him in a day that I know it is not easy to be a grieving father.

Fathers are important too, in every aspect and every step. Fathers are important in the process of grieving, sometimes fathers can be forgotten but I see you.

Babe, as a father you inspire me. I am grateful for the children we have made, and I look forward to raising great kids with you. I love you more than words can say and more than I can express.

If today you are like me, finding it hard to celebrate on Father’s Day (because of infertility, pregnancy loss, the death of a loved one) I hope you take comfort in the good, in the memories that were built and the ones that are to come.

-JT