Grieving Her Father Is Done

May 17th she was born.

Today is Father’s Day.

I have been planning a benefit concert in her name for a year now with very little progress. I know that her life meant something and has a legacy. I wanted to turn my grief into something positive and powerful for other women.

It was all great until a certain level of stress and pressure manifested my deep down grief that I had been avoiding all year. My physical health started to crumble. My blood pressure was steady in the pre hypertension stage and my strength was fading. A grieving mother who stayed busy and tried to hold her life together reached a place of weakness.

I wanted to have a fundraiser by this time as a way to celebrate her first heavenly birthday.  That didn’t happen.

I wanted to experience my loss with her father by going to a retreat for grieving parents.
That didn’t happen.

Her birthday creeped up on me like a storm cloud rushing in to bring the rain. I wasn’t ready.

I spent the day before drinking and sobbing.  Calling family members for the first time to ask for ideas and support on celebrating my daughter’s first heavenly birthday. I didn’t even plan a memorial as our native tradition calls for a year later. I was unprepared. And I felt terrible. I slept her whole birthday in a depression.

It’s Father’s Day and although I think about her dad, I no longer grieve him along with her.  The disappointment in him divided our “almost” friendship quickly after he showed that he was not strong enough to support me through the pregnancy and her illnesses.  He helped in making some medical decisions about her birth but he was not physically present.  He lived in another state and even though I begged him to come to me and help, he was selfish.

I have learned of many other fathers who faced the same circumstances with special needs children and they have left the mothers.  Literally divorced and abandoned them.  Sad isn’t it?  Being a single mother is one thing but facing fatal diagnosis with the unborn child is another.  Could you imagine being alone?

I was so hurt and angry that my daughter couldn’t experience his touch.  She only heard his voice over the phone a couple times to say goodnight.  The first time she kicked.  It was a hard kick once he spoke to her and I held the phone to my belly.  It felt like an angry kick.  I was so amazed at the connection between life, spirit to spirit.  I also realized that my baby girl felt my emotional pain and was protective of me.  It was though she needed him too and wanted him to know.  The grief over his absence carried alongside losing her.  All I can be grateful for are the few moments he was present.  Why torture myself about what I cannot change.

I was motivated to write about this because as people are celebrating great fathers and male figures for their children, there are mothers who WISH they could.  Mothers who are grieving a baby, managing a special needs child or dealing with father’s who are NOT present.  Let the image of my baby girl in my womb communicating so much in one kick.  A power packed message to the man who was suppose to be her father.  How much more deprived our some of our children?  Especially the ones with medical needs?  Fathers where are you?

I want to raise funds yearly for single mothers who are struggling and have been abandoned by family and their significant others.  The burden is willingly carried by us because these are our children, but the rest of the world keeps moving and bills have no heart.  Hopefully, one day The Merci Project could be an aid in filling a void that a father placed there when it comes to provision and support.  Prayerfully, a nurturing environment can be given during pregnancy.
We’re coming mothers…we’re coming…

Grieving Her Father Is Done

I Should’ve Lost My Mind.

I see myself sitting in my grandma’s living room.  For the first time after getting pregnant nobody in my family seen or heard from me until this moment.  All but one friend and a few others knew what was happening while it was happening.  It had only been a month since she left.  I burst into tears as I sit up in my bed remembering the sigh of relief I had that my babygirl was somewhere safe.  Most would think that I would be in deep depression or grief at that moment but I couldn’t allow myself to let go because of the circumstances in my life.   There was no one to take care of me.  People were in shock once they learned the news.  I had to remain strong as possible and resilient or I would lose my life entirely.  I didn’t know what kind of help to ask for.  All I knew was that one-day-at-a-time was how I had to cope.  I was due to be out of my place in a couple of days, and although I was packed and ready to move, I had no idea where I was going to live.

My plan was to stay in a hotel at a weekly rate until I find an apartment.  When I think back to all the sequence of events that happened before and after her death I can’t imagine that I actually made it this far and in one piece. I should have lost my mind.

It makes me so sad that I had to remain strong for myself after being strong for her during the fatal pregnancy up until the end when I had to let her go. I feel like a mother who never truly got connected to her own daughter.  And even though I know that isn’t true I can’t help but think that a part of me didn’t want to get too attached to her because I knew she was leaving.  What kind of mother am I?  People would cry when I tell them what happened and I would be strong and happy knowing that she is still a powerful girl existing somewhere and I am so proud of her.  Just thankful that she has the best life a person could ever dream for.  A life without special needs, physical ailments, surgeries and constant trips to the emergency room.

Not only did she come into my broken world and bring purity and joy.  She brought me strength.  In her ultrasound pictures she would wave to us.  She knew when we were analyzing her facial defects and that I was looking for her beauty on the screen.  She would hide her face by covering it with her tiny hands.  It was as if she felt that I was in pain and that I wanted so much for the doctor’s to be wrong and that she was healthy.  She was protecting mommy.  I was alone and scared.

How could such a presence so innocent and angelic come into a body that has been so used and abused and fragile?  It was as if I was chosen but I always felt punished.  All I know is that it is almost 1 year later and I am just now getting below the surface of my grief.  I was so afraid of this pain but I didn’t want to allow myself to think too hard about the whole experience.  Now that my life is more settled and into my own home without the distractions of roommates, I have been able to get in tune with my body’s communication to me about the trauma.  I feel more secure and safe to listen to my heart ache and I am more comfortable enough to feel the warm tears on my face because of the love I have for a brave and precious angel who saved me.

I would’ve gladly went with her.  I asked God to take me too out of frustration.  And now that I realize the severity of all that happened, I am in awe that I can even smile any given day.  From her conception to her first picture she arrested my heart, soul and life to pay attention to a heavenly place that only she knows.  A place where she can still hear mommy sing.  I guess this is the beginning of the rest of my life in honest grief as a childless mother.  I don’t mind sharing our world…

I Should’ve Lost My Mind.