my story
I became a parent in 2011 when my husband and I welcomed our oldest son, Brayden, into the world. Since then I have had five more children. This makes five boys living earthside and our only girl, living in our hearts. I delivered Piper at 18 weeks GA (gestational age). She had died sometime before, but we hadn't known until an ultrasound was completed in follow up to abnormal genetic testing results.
She was diagnosed with Trisomy 13, a genetic abnormality that we had no control over. The day we found out she might have Trisomy 13, our grief journey was initiated. The day we delivered her sweet, tiny body, perfect in every way, we set foot on the crooked and painful path of our grieving journey.
Two months after I delivered Piper, in the hospital, surrounded by rooms of screaming babies, my grief changed from channeled energy, self-sufficiency and healthy discussion to sadness, fear, chest pain, incompetence and I withdrew from my life. The holiday season had commenced, our only daughter had died, I was back at work (6 weeks later), my husband cried, and my boys needed their Mom – for EVERYTHING.
I was left with little time or energy to accept the complicated grief, personal regrets and endless fears of my living children while coping with an inability to connect with my daughter who had died. I couldn't identify as a bereaved mother. I knew they existed, and, by definition, I was one. I had started a group to help us, but what did it really feel like to be a bereaved mother? I didn't know and I couldn't figure it out.
As I grieved, somewhere along that path, depression settled in and placed a dark, heavy cloud over the grief fog and I could barely navigate what was happening in my mind and put it into digestible thoughts that made sense. I was definitely a bereaved mother but couldn't see past my depression to accept that piece of my story or make sense of it.
I went from not crying and being in shock, to crying about everything. I could not think about Piper the same way as before. I didn't know how to talk about her, I didn't want to see friends, the thought of going to work the next day left me paralyzed in my home. I couldn't handle decisions like broccoli or carrots for dinner or simple transitions from brushing my teeth to physically turning around to answer questions from my other children. I felt overwhelmed by simple choices, to the point I stopped making them.
I frantically searched for help from my doctor, obgyn, online support groups, psychiatrist, family counselor, grief counselor… nothing came fast enough. I requested help from my family out of fear of being alone or alone with my children. I pleaded to my husband to hear the desperation in my voice and stay by my side while I melted to the floor unable to rise. I cried to my children, while simultaneously hating myself for putting them in a position they were too young to understand. I texted some friends and then I didn't text at all. I stopped leaving the house. I was freaking out and wondered how the hell I had gotten into this mental space and questioned if I would ever be able to survive being a bereaved mother?
I was depressed and dealing with complicated grief. I wasn't alone, but it sure felt like it. I wanted people to know how much I was suffering, but I didn't want them to see me like this. I hated myself, had no confidence and it just felt easier to be a puddle than an active participant in my world.
Continue reading to learn more about my journey and how I started working my way out of the darkness
