According to Merriam-Webster, “in the field of communications, radio silence refers, rather straightforwardly, to a period or condition when radios are not transmitting”, there is no communication. I feel like that’s how I’ve been the past 3 ½ weeks; Radio Silent.

So much has happened in the past month that I just don’t know how to update you. I want to tell you all about my most recent adventure, I wanted to write about National Infertility Awareness Week (which already passed), I wanted to write about yesterday the first Sunday in May when International Bereaved Mother’s Day is observed. But instead, there was Radio Silence.

I wish I could say it’s a writer’s block but it ain’t, it’s more of an emotional block. The thoughts of should I really be writing about this? Should I really share what I write about this? Infertility and loss are such taboo and difficult topics, is it really worth writing about? I guess doubt created a block for me.

Either way sometime this week I will be sharing about my Chicago trip and all it entailed, where I am at emotionally and how I have been processing my thoughts regarding loss and living after loss.

This post is part of #MicroblogMondays, if you don’t know what that is and would like to know more click here.

JT

So, if you have visited my Instagram at any point during the past two weeks then you know my next adventure is on the horizon!

I call it an adventure because that’s exactly what it is. The next step towards our goal, plus a fun trip to accompany it all. This new adventure will bring about a major shift in our lives and I am very excited to see it come. I hope you will stay tuned because in the next couple of posts I will be sharing all about our trip and the reasons why.

#MicroblogMondays

Grief is a pit that becomes your home, comfortable, familiar, your own.

But there comes a point when you have to learn to live again, taking baby steps again and again. Until living life with joy becomes your home, comfortable, familiar, your own.

Not that you forget why you’ve mourned, but you pack it away and every now and then you visit with your old familiar friend, you sit with her sharing stories and tea, and what once was a pit is no longer your home. It is something that you carry deep within your soul.

It doesn’t end there, for when you begin to live again every laughter will come with pain, every smile will want to take you back down memory lane to the pit that you called home. You’ll feel a pull towards guilt and regret, but you must learn to live again, live despite the pain.

Living life. Not surviving. Not existing. Living with joy, laughing with love, dancing with peace.

Life will become your home comfortable, familiar, your own.

– JT

I’m participating in Microblog Mondays if you’re interested in finding out more click here. 

Today I miss you the most

I dreamt of snuggling you close and kissing your toes.

Today is filled with memories that never were and will never come

They say be patient, but they don’t know

My tears are not because I am tired of waiting for motherhood

My tears are because motherhood came and it’s different than theirs

My tears are not because I am impatient for that which is to come

My tears freely flow because you came and left leaving a disastrous storm

They say be patient but they don’t know

I grieve the death of my son. I grieve the death of my son

They say be patient but they don’t know

I am barren but not infertile

My tears have nothing to do with being patient

Anyways, today like most days I miss you the most

I miss what I think the sound of your cries and giggles would be

I miss you when I hold another baby wishing it was you instead

I miss you in the mornings when I’d be cuddling you in bed

I miss you and my heart and my soul they ache for you my son

Every day I’m learning what it means to live without you

But now I live in a world where two “me’s” exist, the “me” before you and the “me” after

The second one has forgotten what it means to live… every day I’m one step closer

But not today. Today I miss you the most

– JT

Today I asked her what she’d like for her upcoming birthday and her response was “the impossible”. I beat myself up for a moment knowing that I know better than to ask that type of question. Knowing that “the impossible” is the very thing I desire and long for as well.

I know that she’s broken but she won’t allow herself to be broken. I know the depth and heaviness behind those two words in her response. Those two words mean so much more than I can express.

“The Impossible” could mean for this to be a terrible dream, “the impossible” could mean that we could turn back time, it could mean that instead of our babies being in heaven they’d be in our arms.

The impossible. Oh, how many times have I asked for the impossible? Too many to remember, too many to count. “The impossible” could mean a million things that will all give us the same results: to bring our babies home.

I’d do anything to give her the impossible. To mend her heart and fulfill her desires, to wipe her tears and give her that one thing, the one person she longs for. But all I can do for now is walk with her, hold her hand and her heart through this heart-wrenching journey. All I can do is reassure that she’s not alone, all I can do is have hope for us both.

-JT

Last week I posted a rather emotional and raw video of some of my emotions throughout this journey. It was a difficult video to share because it was so personal and intimate, in the same way, I understand it was just as difficult to watch.

I recorded the video a couple of months ago and I couldn’t help but notice the paradox within; two things can be true, there can be two simultaneous truths, I don’t have to choose. I can ask questions and be angry, I can be sad and mourn yet still have hope, in the midst of pain I can still keep the faith.

Going through seasons of loss and despair is difficult especially when it seems that everyone wants you to move on. But who said moving on means you can’t grieve, that you can’t cry, or that you can’t express your inner brokenness?

Two truths can exist. I don’t have to choose.

#Microblogmondays

To find out more about Microblog Mondays, click here.

I decided months ago that on this journey I would opt for transparency in many aspects. The journey of pregnancy loss and infertility is ugly and lonely, but if I can help others not feel as lonely I will do so.  Below is a short video of one of my ugly days, it’s real, it’s raw, and it’s open. It’s me.

Twenty days into the second month of 2019 and I still haven’t written my first post. Mainly out of fear and avoidance. Avoidance because I do not want to deal with all of the complex emotions.

The beginning of a new year brings about desires for new resolutions and goals for the fresh start. This year I find myself with none of those desires. In the past I entered into each New Year with some new goals and some of the same ones. Whether it is saving more money, getting closer with God, reading more, or buying a new car, resolutions often change from year to year but there are some that remain the same and don’t change. I can tell you that for as long as I can remember one of my constant goals have been to lose weight, some years I meet my mark and others I don’t and I am ok with that. However for the past four years one of my goals has remained, to get pregnant and have a baby. I remember entering 2018 full of hope, praying and wishing that 2018 would be the year that would bring me new life in the form of a child…another year broken and unmet “goals”.

2019 is different, I find myself with no desire to think of my goals for this year or what our family plan should look like. All I know is that even though I haven’t decided on what my resolutions/goals (or whatever you prefer to call them) I haven’t given up. Though I am at a place of great loss and pain I choose to still see the light, I choose to believe that this is not my end, I choose to remember the words of an old song “He has not brought me this far to leave me”. So although this year a baby isn’t on my list I have chosen to focus on things that I can “control”, things like my prayer life, what I consume (literature, TV, music, food), travel, my spending, and my outlook on life, posting on a regular basis.

2019 is different. The difference is complex and I cannot unwrap it’s complexity in this one post but I promise if you stick with me we can unwrap it together and you can join me on my incredible journey.

I was personally dreading the upcoming holiday season, the 2018 Holiday Season was supposed to be different. I was supposed to be big and round with a belly sticking out. Thanksgiving weekend we would have traveled home to NYC for my first shower and the weekend after would have been my second shower, where we live. Those weekends, they came and went. The sadness stayed.

This Christmas would have been different, I had dreamed of taken amazing silhouette pictures by the tree, of wearing cheesy outfits and of snuggling my growing bug. This holiday season won’t be as expected. I have spent the holiday season wrestling with myself regarding how I feel and I have come to the conclusion that two contradicting truths can exist and often go hand in hand.

I can be in a place of grief and mourning yet still be thankful. I can have an attitude of gratitude and still be sad. It doesn’t have to one or the other, it can be both. In this season of grieving, I have learned a lot, I have learned what works for me and what doesn’t. I have learned to put the process of my emotional healing first and I have learned to be unapologetically me, despite the ugly things this type of grief brings out.

I have learned to be kind to myself and that it may look different for everyone and may vary from day to day. So what does “be kind to yourself” mean to me?

• It means to not beat myself up for how I feel. It means to embrace where I am for the moment, to cry when I feel like crying and to laugh when I feel like it. It means to not feel guilty for feeling happy or embracing moments of joy. Often times when you lose a child you feel like you are betraying them if you feel happy, laugh or sing. But I’m not betraying them. I’m embracing life and living it.
• Being kind to myself sometimes means giving myself a gentle nudge to get out of my funk, sometimes it means to force myself off the couch and do something else. But sometimes it means staying on the couch and do nothing else.
• Being kind to myself means treating myself with love and respect, to be patient with myself, to understand that I need to make this journey my own.

In this holiday season I have learned to embrace that my normal will no longer look the same, I will have a new normal, my life has been forever marked by the loss of my child. In my new normal I need to learn how to have joy in the midst of loss and that is a task that is not easily attained. So this Christmas we decided to start new traditions, traditions that we would have hoped to start once we had kids, but why wait?

I’ve never had a real Christmas tree before and this year we decided would be the year to start. We went to a beautiful tree farm, spent an hour in the cold and snow to find the perfect tree for us. So let me tell you, even though we don’t have our baby with us we were able to have found and enjoy the start of something new!

This Christmas I would encourage you to embrace your season, dig deep within yourself and don’t be afraid to live!

After what seemed like an endless week Friday finally came and I went to see my doctor. Thankfully the bleeding had slowed down and the pain was responsive to painkillers so I no longer felt like I was dying.

SN: I gave a urine sample at the beginning of my appointment.

I explained to the doctor how I felt and gave her all the excruciating details only to have her tell me that she didn’t think it was a miscarriage and there was no way to prove it. She assured me that it was probably a heavy period and that I would be ok. She also asked if I was interested in birth control and I said no because even though we weren’t actively trying I would like to get pregnant soon. At that point I felt a little hopeless because it was as if my miscarriage didn’t happen and as if my baby didn’t exist. The doctor says bye and tells me to schedule a follow up in 3 months in case I need “help” getting pregnant. So I go to the check-out window and as I am about to walk out they ask me to step back into the room. The Dr. explains that they used my urine sample for a pregnancy test and when the nurse checked it was negative but she forgot to discard it. When she walked by it again it was positive which meant that either I was pregnant or still had HCG[1] in my system.

Hello dreaded bloodwork (more on this later)… in order to see if I was still pregnant or miscarried I had to do a series of blood tests to see if my hCG was increasing or decreasing. If it increased I was still pregnant and the pregnancy might be ok, if it decreased I miscarried. After 96 hours of waiting it was confirmed that I miscarried which brought on mixed emotions; relief because at least I knew and sadness because a baby that I never knew existed but yearned for died. At least I knew that I wasn’t crazy, and I knew that I could say with certainty that everything that happened was not “normal” it was a miscarriage.

Had I known it was a miscarriage I wouldn’t have thrown the tissue out, I would have tried to go to the hospital 1) For confirmation 2) For closure and guidance 3) For pain management. I have ideas of what I think the tissue was but I really have no clue…could it have been skin from the baby (I think the baby had been decomposing for over 2 weeks but I won’t truly know), could it have been a part of the placenta[2]? or I don’t know I don’t think I’ll ever know. . .

Looking back at that day I feel sorry for myself, I wish I could tell her to breathe and not be ashamed of going to the hospital for herself. I would hug her and hold her tight, I would tell her to take time to heal and to slow down, she was stuck in a whirlwind. To not just pummel through this because she might think she’s getting rid of her emotions but she is simply burying seeds of sadness that will in turn produce trees of depression, anger, self–doubt, isolation and fear. I would tell her to grieve. I would explain to her that what happened was a traumatic event in her body and her soul so she must treat it as so. I’d tell her to seek help and sometimes to seek help outside of the church (not outside of Jesus). I’d tell her that her body just went through labor and that those terrible “cramps” were contractions, I’d tell her to invest in self-care and that her and her husband needed to be kind to one another. I’d tell her that she’s a warrior but that it’s ok to cry. I’d tell her to buckle up because the journey had only begun.