The month of April is over. I’ve made it through two of the hardest days. I should be relieved.
Yet, I am completely broken-down exhausted.
It was bound to happen. I don’t take care of myself properly in April. I eat when I remember to, and sometimes I can’t stop eating. My sleep patterns are laughable. My desire to face the outside world is almost nil.
Of course, I push through, because Madeline and Annabel deserve it, and I would do anything for them.
But when the lovely month of May comes around, I am adrift. I’ve been singularly focused on making it through April. So now what?
May is a brutal reminder that the world kept spinning, and my grief is still here while Madeline is not.
I’m starting to realize that grief isn’t something I live with, it’s something I have to survive.
And even though the relief of surviving a difficult month should be enough to raise my head above water, the knowledge that I will have to do it all again in a year (a year, another year without her) batters me with waves of sorrow.
I will hold my breath while I cling to my life-preserver, and hope the tide takes me back to land.
InDueTime says:
(((Hugs))))
Elle says:
I’ve been going through grief, although it’s nothing like what you’ve experienced, and it’s so strange when I manage to go out. I see people acting like nothing’s wrong (not that would know) and there are times when I feel like screaming “I’ve lost such a beautiful person in my life, it’s not okay. I’m not okay”.
I think how in the world can people be smiling and doing their day to day business when I’m feeling so crushed that my Aunt is no longer here.
I wish I could somehow take your pain away. xx
Penbleth says:
You’re doing really well Heather and you make a wonderful honour and tribute to both your lovely daughters. I wish there was something I could say or do to make things different. Love to you all.
Lynn
Lisa says:
It is completely understandable that after a month like April you feel a bit adrift, completely exhausted, sorrowful. The month takes a lot out of you, requires a lot from you, and naturally leaves you a bit battered. Take the time this month to regroup, recuperate and survive.
Grief sucks, living with loss and sorrow suck. Just take it one day at a time, that’s all any of us can do.
Love and hugs sweetie.
Lynn from For Love or Funny says:
We are cheering for you. Consider all of us your Internet buoys whenever you find yourself in the Sea of Grief.
Jenn says:
OOHh Sweetie,
I so wish I could wrap my arms around you and make all of your hurt go away but, the truth is….I know nothing I can do or say will even talk a third of your hurt away. I’m so sorry for that.
Yesterday we received the Maddie t-shirts we ordered. My daughter was off of school b/c she’s been having a difficult time with her Asthma so, receiving them yesterday was truly a wonderful gift. She walked into my room, proud with her new t-shirt on, looked at my computer and saw a picture of Maddie (I was checking your site for your daily posts). As soon as she saw Maddie, she burst into tears and as she collasped into my arms said “It’s not fair mommy”!!! “Why did Maddie have to go”. I hugged her with my own tears as I cried not only for Maddie but also for you and Mike.
Grief is truly a messy, personal process with NO right or wrong way to go through the it. I would except you to be exhausted after all you’ve been through in April.
I guess the best thing you can do is truly just take one small step at a time. Please try to remember you are NOT alone in your grief as I think everyone YOU and Mike have introduced and/or shared your little girl with is hurt by her sudden loss.
I am only an e-mail, call or tweet away. If you EVER need a friend, I AM HERE!!! For whatever it’s worth, I AM HERE!!!
Sending yourself, Mike & Annie friendship, love and support.
Love,
Jenn
edenland says:
Heather, after reading your blog for so many years … I felt this, that this one was the hardest. That you had to endure, push though. I think of you constantly, you beautiful, extraordinary woman. You are a magnificent mother.
Go gently. XOXOX
Erica says:
Dearest Heather,
I just wanted to tell you that you have so many people to cling on to near and afar. I am thinking of you from afar and holding your hand from afar as you walk this terrible path of grief. I can only imagine how difficult your path is. I think of you every day and every day ask why your darling girl was taken away from you. I think of your World Famous Maddie every day and just like her Mum and Dad she reminds me every day to be strong and courageous and to always, always try to smile. You and Mike are such wonderful parents to Maddie and Annie and such an example to all of us. You keep the memory of your darling girl alive and continue to do so much good for others. You are all such inspirations.
Thinking of you, Heather.
Lots of love Erica
mccgood says:
Amazing post I wish I had those words to express myself. I feel as though you were a fly on the wall in my therapist office yesterday.
I just went back to work after a personal leave, healing after our second miscarriage. Going back to work was hard it was “oh I was here once before but pregnant” Seeing the other pregnant teachers, and talking with some parents. I have yet to enter the infant room. ( I work in a child care center) Admitting that life is going on, I am getting stronger but yet I still have this grief that is like a cloud over my head that I will have to face harder days and have reminders that I still don’t have a baby.
Thank you so much for being so honest with your feelings. It’s so helpful to know I am not the only one thinking some of these thoughts.
AmazingGreis says:
(((hugs)))
XOXO
suzanne says:
I sense your exhaustion in this post especially. You have said it before, but for some reason these words conveyed it to me more strongly — that you got through the hardest moth, and the reward is…more tests of your endurance. More months, more years of yearning for her. Its so unfair. You have come so far, yet you know there is far to travel. You and Mike have amazing strength (I think it takes a lot of strength to admit when you feel broken down), and we are grateful that you both share your journey. I am always your loyal reader.
Lamb says:
Yes, Madeline and Annabel deserve it. Also, don’t forget all those other babies you helped in April alone. The amount on your March of Dimes sponsorship bar keeps jumping up, and I’m sure there are many people who marched this year (and previous years) but wouldn’t have if it weren’t for you and your family. Thank goodness for you, Heather Spohr!
And, side note, my most recent post is about me being in an insomnia-induced, zombieish (yes, zombieish, even though Google doesn’t like it!) state and laughing hysterically at old Peeps. I’m curious if the photos will have a similar effect on other sleepy souls.
Lisa says:
Grief is a journey, not a race. There is no finish line. And it is exhausting. My daughter would be turning 16 next week. It’s been 16 years since she has died. Not a day goes by that I don’t think of her and wonder what kind of person she would be today. Even after all this time I still dread May 13th coming around.
Hang in there Heather.
Jen says:
When it feels like too much and you feel yourself drifting away WE will always be here for you to hold on to. Always.
Barnmaven says:
Heather, aside from the keen sense of grief I feel from your post, two words stood out to me. Well, one word, actually, used twice: “should”
There is no “should” in grief. There is nothing you are “supposed” to be feeling other than what you ARE feeling. Your grief over the loss of your beautiful Madeline will be with you always, sometimes greater and sometimes easier to bear. It just is, and I hate to see you beat yourself up because of it. Let it be what it is and make sure you take care of yourself the best you know how and take the word “should” out of your vocabulary. You’re doing the very best that you can, and really, that’s good enough.
{{HUGS}}
Elizabeth says:
Not sure what to say really but just know my heart is with you and your family. Sending hugs as well!
Gale says:
Surviving your grief IS living with it. And you do it every day. I don’t know how, but you do. Don’t sell yourself short.
Nicole says:
No words of advice, other than to be gentle with yourself. Know that there are many of us out here wishing you peace.
Rebecca says:
Heather, I wish I could do something. I wish that I was so much better with words, I wish that things were so much different for you. Your family is amazing. Annie is perfect and you and Mike are wonderful parents. Just keep going.
Debi says:
Just know that you have people all over the world hugging you, loving you and keeping you in their thoughts and prayers every day.
Jana says:
I think you are so brave. I also think you have a million people on your side fighting for you, Mike, Annie and Maddie. Just keep fighting and when you can’t reach for one of us and we’ll fight for you. Wishing you happier May days.
Trisha Vargas says:
Living it or surviving it, both hard to imagine for me. I look at you as being one of the bravest, strongest Mom’s I have the privilege of knowing; whether in real life or not. The courage to continue to share your heart with us as you and Mike both battle through your grief is inspiring.
Always thinking of you all and wishing less stormy seas ahead!
(((HUGS))) from Florida
Kristin (MamaKK922) says:
(((HUGS))) Thinking about you, and sending my love.
Rumour Miller says:
Sending hugs from Canada.
Megan says:
Oh, Heather…I so wish the end of this month meant your fight was over and Madeline would be in your arms again. I’m so sorry you have to keep enduring. Cling tightly to that beautiful, buoyant life-preserver of yours.
Kelly says:
So sorry…keeping you in my thoughts.
Malou's Mama says:
I think grief is both a lifetime exercise in survival and something you just live with, every day, because sadly there is no choice – it just sits there, side by side with everything else – including the happy things – in your life. And the challenge of course is to make sure that it doesn’t overpower all the good things. Because it would be so easy to do.
It struck me when you wrote that May is a brutal reminder that the world keeps spinning…because for me, May is the time that the world stopped spinning 3 years ago. And I too remember so clearly looking around afterwards, wondering how in the world everyone could just go on with their lives as if nothing had happened (even though, of course, for them, nothing had happened). Sometimes now I think how every day is a day of grief for someone. Every day on the calendar marks the day someone – a child, a spouse, a parent, a sibing, whoever – died and left a big whole in the world for a group of people. So athough it seems that the world keeps spinning mindessly for everyone, it isn’t really true. And in some small (perhaps disturbing?) way, that gives me comfort. That we are not alone. Yes, it is true that each person experiences their grief in their own way , so we are alone in that, but we are not alone in the difficult work of living and loving after loss.
My neighbor lost her 10-year old daughter in a tragic accident in 1970. My neighbor is now in her 80s and was just showing me pictures of her beautiful little girl, whose birthday is May 12th. She told me life got good again, even though she didn’t think it would happen. And now, over 40 years later, the mother-daughter love still shines through so very clearly…it is beautiful. Your love for your girls is also so strong, so powerful, I have no doubt that it will also be just as clear 50 years from now as it is today. And I believe Maddie can feel it too.
My wish for you is that the tide genty delivers you on the soft sand, and that the waves stop battering you. Of course, storms can’t be avoided but as I read somewhere once, the weight of tomorrow’s grief is too heavy a burden and will weigh anyone down…so try just to get through one day’s grief at a time. Easier said than done, right?
Big hugs to you.
Pattie says:
I am in awe of your strength. I am amazed at how you get up and face each day knowing that your precious Maddie cannot physically be a part of it. You’re a wonderful mom to both Maddie and Annie. You are stronger than you know and continue to be an inspiration to so many of us. Know that you do not stand alone in your grief for Maddie.
Joanna says:
Dear Heather & Mike,
My name is Joanna. I have followed your blog for almost 1.5 years now. I want you to know I know exactly how you feel.My son Quinton Reese was born on 2/27/10. I delivered him via emergency c-section after my water broke at 24.6. He weighed 1lb 6oz and was 13 inches long. He survived for 22 hours. The way you talk about how you guys feel gives me goosebumps. And brings me to tears. I too have had another child after Quinton. Our son Carter was born 1/1/11 @ 36 weeks. Perfectly healthy just a little small. I absolutly dreaded this past february. As i knew Quintons first birthday was approaching. I remember being overwhelmed with the thought that i was one day closer to “that day” Some days I think im fine. And i push through for my 3 earth Babies. But then something will happen. SOmething as simple as seeing our youngest starting to roll over or giggle. Or our 5 & 2 year old playing and wrestling around. And ill flash back to that day. And wonder what Quinton would be doing at this very moment. I have started to write many times to you but I never finish it. I guess for me by acknowleding that there are other parents going thru what we did, it makes it to real, to common, to painful. I just want to personally thank you for being a voice for not only other parents, but for all NICU babies. Whether they came home or not. Thank you for everything. You to are truly angels. And I know Maddy is watching and is very proud of her mama and daddy. Thank you for being a voice for all angel babies.
mccgood says:
First let me say I am sorry for your loss. Second you are so right about the flashbacks they come out of nowhere, they come so fast and blindside you that you don’t even have time to prepare. In fact they hit me so fast I don’t have any good examples but I know what you are talking about regaurding flasbacks. I flashback to that damn ultrasound where the ultra sound tech said “oh dear” I flashback to the operating table where they performed my d&c . Life can be way too messy for my liking sometimes.
Kristin says:
“the knowledge that I will have to do it all again in a year (a year, another year without her) batters me with waves of sorrow.”
I’m so sorry. I weep with you and for you. I wish I could do a whole lot more than that. I cannot fathom the amount of pain you are left to deal with. I can’t breathe when I try. You are so very strong. The sadness of this world is just too much to bear sometimes. I pray for your peace and think of you always.
Much love,
Kristin
Kristin says:
Oh Heather, my heart just broke for you all over again. {{{Hugs}}}
Brooke says:
I remember you wrote at one point that you were told the first year would be the hardest, but nobody said how impossible the second year would be, too. I can only hope the subsequent years get a little easier.
In Joyce Carol Oates’s memoir about being a widow, she has a chapter called “A Widow’s Handbook.” There’s only one rule–on the first anniversary of her husband’s death, the widow should think, “I kept myself alive.”
The same goes for those of us living without our children, I think. You might not be eating or sleeping, but mercy. You’ve kept yourself alive. And your marriage. And Annie. Grief is huge, but it’s not everything.
amourningmom says:
I am glad that you made it through April and I am sending you good thoughts for May. I always think to myself why some days/months are harder than others when I miss my sons every day. I do know that certain days/months are more difficult. And, I can still never figure out how the world keeps on going.
Thank you for sharing your story. Sending you hugs.