Showing posts with label grief. Show all posts
Showing posts with label grief. Show all posts
Wonder Day 12.25.14 - Lindsey Henke
My journey into motherhood was not like others. I should restate that. At first it was. I was like many other first time moms growing into motherhood through counting down the months of pregnancy as my body bloomed, swelled, and swayed with my first child. A perfect text book pregnancy and as my belly grew so did my love for the baby inside. I celebrated each new pregnancy milestone with excitement, worries, and wonder with my proud husband by my side. I spent nights and days wondering about our daughter's future and who she would be and worrying that as a new parent I would not live up to my own expectations of motherhood. Looking back now I guess I did enter the first part of motherhood like most mothers.
Where my path into motherhood diverted
from other mothers was the day I delivered my daughter at full term and she was
born still and silent into my arms. My heart full of sorrow and my body shaking
with pain as I could hear my soul break apart.
My hopes and dreams of becoming a mother shattered into a million little
pieces on the floor that I feared would never be able to be put back together.
That late December afternoon I held my first born and only child Nora's sweet
cold little body for only moments against my warm chest but her 8 pound and 5
ounce being left an imprint on my heart that will live on, even though she
never will.
Fast forward twenty two months and a new
but anxious pregnancy later and here I am now rocking my seven month old
daughter to sleep wondering how I got here.
To this place where I get to love and cuddle this beautiful bundle of human being, my second daughter Zoe? I can honestly say I am happy now with my family of four, even though one is forever missing. But sometimes I wonder what if Nora would have lived? What kind of mother would I be now? How would I be different?
To this place where I get to love and cuddle this beautiful bundle of human being, my second daughter Zoe? I can honestly say I am happy now with my family of four, even though one is forever missing. But sometimes I wonder what if Nora would have lived? What kind of mother would I be now? How would I be different?
You see, I wonder this because the mother
I have become today is all due to the mother I never got to be to my eldest
daughter. When my Nora died I knew that
if I ever got a second chance at being a mom again that I would want to be one
that is mindfully present, fierce in her love for her children, and accepting
of whoever my child becomes.
That is the kind of mother I hope to
be.
That is the positive change I want to
make in my life.
I want to live a life that both my
daughters can be proud of. I want to
carry my grief over the loss of one daughter through my life and turn it into
ever present acceptance and fierce love for my living child. I aspire to do this every day and honestly I
don't know the steps I take or will take to get there. What I do know is I wake up every morning
with gratitude that I get one more day in this life with my daughter and I use
those moments to live fully and love deeply. Then if I'm lucky enough I will wake up the
next day and do my best to aspire to do it all over again, loving both of my
daughters with a full and grateful heart.
Lindsey Henke - her blog, Stillborn and Still Breathing. Founder and editor of Pregnancy After Loss Support. Writer, clinical social worker, wife, and most importantly a mother to two beautiful daughters. Lindsey is also a monthly contributor to Still Standing Magazine.
Lindsey Henke - her blog, Stillborn and Still Breathing. Founder and editor of Pregnancy After Loss Support. Writer, clinical social worker, wife, and most importantly a mother to two beautiful daughters. Lindsey is also a monthly contributor to Still Standing Magazine.
Image credit – Kerry Kresl Photography
Wonder Day 12.24.14 - Sarah Treanor
When
I was twenty-three, I graduated college, got my first real job, and walked away
from an abusive relationship of seven years. All in the same week. It was one
of the most terrifying times in my life. I was completely alone. I'd never
lived by myself. I had no clue what I was doing in an ad agency being an art
director. I had a chest pounding full of horrible anxiety – another new gift I
had no idea how to cope with.
But there I was. And it was all the result of many years of not making positive choices. Of making survivalist choices. Of denying my reality. It was a wake up call. And so I got busy doing the work to figure myself out. I started therapy. I devoured self-help books. I learned, I cried, I grew, I learned more, I cried more, I grew more. Slowly, I made friends – solid people who became my foundation to begin in a positive direction.
When I was 26, I met Drew. I never expected us to become anything – we seemed to be opposite. But slowly I found that underneath we were far more similar than I could have ever expected. He was patient and kind and always had my back. The one who spent a year just being my friend and proving to me eventually that I was safe enough with him to try for more. Scared as I was, I stepped into a romance with him that not only healed all of my old wounds but grew me into a person far more than I ever imagined becoming. I grew strong and confident with him. I came to know who I was and what I was worth because of him. I felt safe. Every single day. He was my sanctuary.
He was a pilot, and has just landed his first commercial job. Oh, he was so happy. I've never seen anyone love anything as much as he loved two things: Flight, and Me. Those three years – before the crash - were the most joyous of my life.
He died on a Tuesday. It was a helicopter crash. The best way I have ever heard a sudden loss describes is that it felt like a grenade exploded in my chest. Exactly like that. Pieces of me were blown sky high and I was left with this bloody, gaping hole in my chest.
These years after have been the darkest and most terrifying of my life. His death has taken me to places darker than I ever knew existed. The kind where you hope for an oncoming car to just hit you because you are so tired of feeling the pain. Despite all of that, I did not give up.
He died for his dreams, and so I decided there was no excuse any longer to not live for mine. And so I got to work again. Almost three years later, I am beginning to come out of the darkness some. I am - to my utter amazement - living my dreams, too. I am a professional artist. I am creating work that is deeply personal and telling the story of losing him through it. I am connecting to others who are going through their own loss – giving them a visual they can relate to. We are healing together.
I have decided to face each phase of this tragedy head on. I have decided to pay attention to what I can learn from it – and to try and share what I learn as much as possible. I have decided to go through and feel all of the pain and sadness, and to put it into my photos and share it with the world. It has been one of the most transformative changes of my life.
Ten years ago, I was a girl who caught in a world of abuse – paralyzed by the fear of facing the unknown. Now, I am a vibrant, confident, powerful woman who walks right up to the unknown and beckons it to challenge her. Because now I know that no amount of darkness can stop me. Nor will. I am on a mission to live my life fully in his honor, and nothing will stop me.
All of the choices I have made along the way have built me into what I am on this day. But the most important choice was to love him, to keep loving him, and to keep fighting for myself. It is the choice of love that has given me everything.
Image credit: Sarah Treanor. From her yearlong, weekly self-portrait series Still, Life about facing grief. Facebook and blog.
But there I was. And it was all the result of many years of not making positive choices. Of making survivalist choices. Of denying my reality. It was a wake up call. And so I got busy doing the work to figure myself out. I started therapy. I devoured self-help books. I learned, I cried, I grew, I learned more, I cried more, I grew more. Slowly, I made friends – solid people who became my foundation to begin in a positive direction.
When I was 26, I met Drew. I never expected us to become anything – we seemed to be opposite. But slowly I found that underneath we were far more similar than I could have ever expected. He was patient and kind and always had my back. The one who spent a year just being my friend and proving to me eventually that I was safe enough with him to try for more. Scared as I was, I stepped into a romance with him that not only healed all of my old wounds but grew me into a person far more than I ever imagined becoming. I grew strong and confident with him. I came to know who I was and what I was worth because of him. I felt safe. Every single day. He was my sanctuary.
He was a pilot, and has just landed his first commercial job. Oh, he was so happy. I've never seen anyone love anything as much as he loved two things: Flight, and Me. Those three years – before the crash - were the most joyous of my life.
He died on a Tuesday. It was a helicopter crash. The best way I have ever heard a sudden loss describes is that it felt like a grenade exploded in my chest. Exactly like that. Pieces of me were blown sky high and I was left with this bloody, gaping hole in my chest.
These years after have been the darkest and most terrifying of my life. His death has taken me to places darker than I ever knew existed. The kind where you hope for an oncoming car to just hit you because you are so tired of feeling the pain. Despite all of that, I did not give up.
He died for his dreams, and so I decided there was no excuse any longer to not live for mine. And so I got to work again. Almost three years later, I am beginning to come out of the darkness some. I am - to my utter amazement - living my dreams, too. I am a professional artist. I am creating work that is deeply personal and telling the story of losing him through it. I am connecting to others who are going through their own loss – giving them a visual they can relate to. We are healing together.
I have decided to face each phase of this tragedy head on. I have decided to pay attention to what I can learn from it – and to try and share what I learn as much as possible. I have decided to go through and feel all of the pain and sadness, and to put it into my photos and share it with the world. It has been one of the most transformative changes of my life.
Ten years ago, I was a girl who caught in a world of abuse – paralyzed by the fear of facing the unknown. Now, I am a vibrant, confident, powerful woman who walks right up to the unknown and beckons it to challenge her. Because now I know that no amount of darkness can stop me. Nor will. I am on a mission to live my life fully in his honor, and nothing will stop me.
All of the choices I have made along the way have built me into what I am on this day. But the most important choice was to love him, to keep loving him, and to keep fighting for myself. It is the choice of love that has given me everything.
Image credit: Sarah Treanor. From her yearlong, weekly self-portrait series Still, Life about facing grief. Facebook and blog.
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