Today I am on the first day of a 3 day juice cleanse to kick start a pursuit of a more active and healthier life. I have read that you detox both emotionally and physically during this time. There is truth to this I am learning. Today it hit me. A moment of clarity that I must explore further by writing this post.
In short since the birth of Bella I have been unable to return to my career. I believe it is probably a combination of things: no longer finding fulfillment in what I did before, awareness of my obligations to live a more purposeful life and fear of failing if I try. What I did not recognize until today is that I am still hanging on to guilt. The guilt of moving forward without her. The guilt that if I allow myself to "go back to a normal life" it is a betrayal to her. The guilt that at one time I did not balance my work, personal and family life very well. The guilt that I was working on the day that I started having contractions and was admitted to hospital. Guilt can rear it's ugly head in the strangest of places. It can mask itself so well that you do not even know that it is present.
Almost 3 years later it is time to put the guilt to rest. Awareness is a start but now I must deal with it. Then I must take the leap....
Monday, January 13, 2014
Friday, January 10, 2014
The Year of the Firsts
They tell you over and over and over again after the loss of a child not to make big decisions in the first year or two. You hear it and you know that there is truth in those words. Yet as we were going thru the first year and one big decision after another was made we honestly thought it was being done so with absolute clarity. Looking back now I know this was not true. I am not certain why we thought this did not apply to us. Perhaps it was the fact that we did not give ourselves permission to grieve openly or perhaps it was because individually we all grieve differently. I know now for certain that many decisions were clouded by the typical companions of death: anger, resentment, guilt and lack of trust. Each of these gained momentum in our relationships and life in the year that followed her passing.
The week after the funeral we knew we needed rest and solitude. We retreated to the beach. Just us and our son. I could not handle watching the world around us go back to as it was before. I thought that waking up in unfamiliar surroundings would make my brain quit thinking that I had to get to the hospital to check on Bella. Perhaps we thought the ocean would wash away our sadness. And to be honest I needed a reason to just get out of bed. I remember very little from this trip. Yet the parts I do remember I know were monumental. I remember a day that I went for a run. I remember feeling so numb from a combination of anxiety medicine that was used to get me thru the funeral and the natural numbness your body provides as a survival mechanism. I remember looking at the beach and the sunset and not feeling anything at all. I remember thinking that maybe this is how life would be from now on and it scared me. I ran, I ran until I could barely catch my breath, threw up and could feel my legs aching and trembling. Upon my return I threw away the medicine and pretended we were on vacation. The next memory is of my husband and I sitting on the deck after a long day at the beach. I remember feeling at peace and feeling alive. I remember feeling hopeful. A glimmer of hope that life could go on without her here. We talked of this and found that we both felt this way. We talked more and an idea developed that we could in fact feel this way every day if we lived here. We talked more and decided we would move to Florida, rent this house by the beach and stay for one year as we "found our way back"And that is what we did. We went home, rented out our house, put things in storage and returned to the beach just one month later. To many our decision made perfect sense and some were alarmed that we were throwing away our careers and future security (all things that seemed of very little importance at the time). The months that followed provided rest, solitude and togetherness as a family. Our son was hungry for attention after nearly a year of me being focused on Bella. This allowed for me to give him just that. I spent every single day for 4 months with that child. It allowed for my husband and I to find peace again in our marriage, for it had suffered greatly over the past year. But it also allowed us to prolong the inevitable - the grief process. I can't speak for my husband but it allowed me to live in denial. It allowed me to pretend that we were on vacation. It allowed me to think that I was dealing with the grief when in fact I was just hiding from it. Even knowing the truth now I have no regrets about this decision. We would not be here today as a family if we had not done this. It gave me the hope that I needed that life could go on.
Just a few months into our 1 year move we decided to move back home. Another big decision (HUGE decision) in the first year had been made. We had the opportunity to own a concert & event space, a dream that was several years in the making. We jumped in head first, excited that life was moving forward and hopeful that all was well. This is where life as we knew started to come apart....
There is much more to our story of the year of the firsts that I want to share. For now though I must stop. To type these words and recall these memories is to put life into them again. I have learned that revisiting these memories can be therapeutic but that it also has to be balanced with the present. And I must put energy into living in the present for today. Until we meet again may there be beauty in your day, if only for a moment.
The week after the funeral we knew we needed rest and solitude. We retreated to the beach. Just us and our son. I could not handle watching the world around us go back to as it was before. I thought that waking up in unfamiliar surroundings would make my brain quit thinking that I had to get to the hospital to check on Bella. Perhaps we thought the ocean would wash away our sadness. And to be honest I needed a reason to just get out of bed. I remember very little from this trip. Yet the parts I do remember I know were monumental. I remember a day that I went for a run. I remember feeling so numb from a combination of anxiety medicine that was used to get me thru the funeral and the natural numbness your body provides as a survival mechanism. I remember looking at the beach and the sunset and not feeling anything at all. I remember thinking that maybe this is how life would be from now on and it scared me. I ran, I ran until I could barely catch my breath, threw up and could feel my legs aching and trembling. Upon my return I threw away the medicine and pretended we were on vacation. The next memory is of my husband and I sitting on the deck after a long day at the beach. I remember feeling at peace and feeling alive. I remember feeling hopeful. A glimmer of hope that life could go on without her here. We talked of this and found that we both felt this way. We talked more and an idea developed that we could in fact feel this way every day if we lived here. We talked more and decided we would move to Florida, rent this house by the beach and stay for one year as we "found our way back"And that is what we did. We went home, rented out our house, put things in storage and returned to the beach just one month later. To many our decision made perfect sense and some were alarmed that we were throwing away our careers and future security (all things that seemed of very little importance at the time). The months that followed provided rest, solitude and togetherness as a family. Our son was hungry for attention after nearly a year of me being focused on Bella. This allowed for me to give him just that. I spent every single day for 4 months with that child. It allowed for my husband and I to find peace again in our marriage, for it had suffered greatly over the past year. But it also allowed us to prolong the inevitable - the grief process. I can't speak for my husband but it allowed me to live in denial. It allowed me to pretend that we were on vacation. It allowed me to think that I was dealing with the grief when in fact I was just hiding from it. Even knowing the truth now I have no regrets about this decision. We would not be here today as a family if we had not done this. It gave me the hope that I needed that life could go on.
Just a few months into our 1 year move we decided to move back home. Another big decision (HUGE decision) in the first year had been made. We had the opportunity to own a concert & event space, a dream that was several years in the making. We jumped in head first, excited that life was moving forward and hopeful that all was well. This is where life as we knew started to come apart....
There is much more to our story of the year of the firsts that I want to share. For now though I must stop. To type these words and recall these memories is to put life into them again. I have learned that revisiting these memories can be therapeutic but that it also has to be balanced with the present. And I must put energy into living in the present for today. Until we meet again may there be beauty in your day, if only for a moment.
Thursday, January 9, 2014
Our Story...
On May 18, 2010 I gave birth to our daughter, Arabella Ann Cobb. She was delivered 4 months prematurely due to unexpected pregnancy complications. She was given a 1% chance of life for the first 24 hours and very small percentage in the days that followed. She weighed just 1 pound at birth. We lived in the Neo Natal Intensive Care Unit at Centennial Medical Center & Vanderbilt Children's Hospital for 9 months. Her courage, strength and determination became apparent from the moment she left my womb. God's miracles both big and small became a daily occurrence. Prayer became as important as the air we breathed. And our medical staff were our angels on Earth. Her days were filled with more medical treatments than any child should have to endure but they were also filled with pink party dresses, snuggles, cherry chapstick, lollypops, spa days and more love than we ever knew could be felt.
On February 18, 2011 (her 9 month birthday) she passed away in my arms at Vanderbilt Children's Hospital. Our life was forever changed. Not a day has passed that she is not missed in some way. This is our journey with grief as it has happened and continues to unfold. This is our love story about the eternal bond of parenthood. One that cannot be broken no matter the time or distance....
On February 18, 2011 (her 9 month birthday) she passed away in my arms at Vanderbilt Children's Hospital. Our life was forever changed. Not a day has passed that she is not missed in some way. This is our journey with grief as it has happened and continues to unfold. This is our love story about the eternal bond of parenthood. One that cannot be broken no matter the time or distance....
Almost 3 years later
On February 18, 2014 it will be three years since Bella passed. What surprises me the most about this is that she has been gone from this Earth longer than she lived. Yet the effects of her life and death still resonate on a daily basis in every aspect of my life.
Does it get easier they ask? It depends. Some days are easier than others. Coping methods improve. But the craving and aching to hold, touch and smell her still come to me just as strong on occasion. At the oddest of moments a wave of sadness will wash over me, so fresh as if it were yesterday that she was gone. Other days the world I live in now makes perfect sense and bedtime will come before she enters my mind. Yet she always enters. Every day.
Life has changed since that cold day in February that we laid her to rest. Would you find it strange if I said that some days it is for the better? Not her being gone but the world I live in now with a new set of eyes and ears, more clarity. More insight for what is important and what is not. Less tolerance for trivial matters, injustice and wrong doing. More compassion for others and finally more recently for myself. A part of me was buried with her on that day though. The part of my spirit that had always jumped into things head first with absolute confidence they would turn out okay. I can summon that spirit on occasion but struggle to incorporate it into my daily life like I did before. That is the only part of my old being that I still miss, perhaps in time it will return or I will learn to exist without it. I did gain an appreciation for the simple moments, just that very short moment in time be it 30 seconds or 30 minutes where all is right in the world around me. I have learned to recognize those, grasp onto them and etch them into my heart for safe keeping.
I specifically requested a burial because I wanted to have a place to go that I could visit her. We chose a beautiful location that is easily accessible. Yet it is not always there that I find her. Sometimes still that only bring backs the memory of the final moments of laying her in the ground and it is too much. I find her now in the mountains, woods, creek or river. I find her in absolute silence and solitude. I find her while driving down the road and the sun is setting. Or on occasion in my son's laughter I can hear her laughing with him. I find her now as I type these words and she is like a warm blanket of comfort draping over me on this cold winter day. Is it enough they ask? At times it is absolutely enough, at others there is a longing for more....There are no definitive answers in the journey with grief, it is day by day and moment by moment and learning to live with "I don't know the answer to that" becomes okay.
I share my experience not as an expert or with the intent of providing answers, I share in hopes of providing comfort. Comfort in knowing that you are not alone in your journey with grief. Comfort in knowing that grief is not a clinical term or something that should have to be overcome. It is something to make peace with and to accept, allowing it to find a place in your life. Grief can be the tie that binds you for eternity. Grief can be a love story, a love story with a variety of chapters, characters and endings. And a happy ending is attainable. Of this I am certain.
Does it get easier they ask? It depends. Some days are easier than others. Coping methods improve. But the craving and aching to hold, touch and smell her still come to me just as strong on occasion. At the oddest of moments a wave of sadness will wash over me, so fresh as if it were yesterday that she was gone. Other days the world I live in now makes perfect sense and bedtime will come before she enters my mind. Yet she always enters. Every day.
Life has changed since that cold day in February that we laid her to rest. Would you find it strange if I said that some days it is for the better? Not her being gone but the world I live in now with a new set of eyes and ears, more clarity. More insight for what is important and what is not. Less tolerance for trivial matters, injustice and wrong doing. More compassion for others and finally more recently for myself. A part of me was buried with her on that day though. The part of my spirit that had always jumped into things head first with absolute confidence they would turn out okay. I can summon that spirit on occasion but struggle to incorporate it into my daily life like I did before. That is the only part of my old being that I still miss, perhaps in time it will return or I will learn to exist without it. I did gain an appreciation for the simple moments, just that very short moment in time be it 30 seconds or 30 minutes where all is right in the world around me. I have learned to recognize those, grasp onto them and etch them into my heart for safe keeping.
I specifically requested a burial because I wanted to have a place to go that I could visit her. We chose a beautiful location that is easily accessible. Yet it is not always there that I find her. Sometimes still that only bring backs the memory of the final moments of laying her in the ground and it is too much. I find her now in the mountains, woods, creek or river. I find her in absolute silence and solitude. I find her while driving down the road and the sun is setting. Or on occasion in my son's laughter I can hear her laughing with him. I find her now as I type these words and she is like a warm blanket of comfort draping over me on this cold winter day. Is it enough they ask? At times it is absolutely enough, at others there is a longing for more....There are no definitive answers in the journey with grief, it is day by day and moment by moment and learning to live with "I don't know the answer to that" becomes okay.
I share my experience not as an expert or with the intent of providing answers, I share in hopes of providing comfort. Comfort in knowing that you are not alone in your journey with grief. Comfort in knowing that grief is not a clinical term or something that should have to be overcome. It is something to make peace with and to accept, allowing it to find a place in your life. Grief can be the tie that binds you for eternity. Grief can be a love story, a love story with a variety of chapters, characters and endings. And a happy ending is attainable. Of this I am certain.
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