Identity

April 16, 2016

I feel a little lost lately. It’s hard to explain, but having Charlotte come home opened up a new chapter in our lives that I am still weaving into the last four years.

My life has been about loss for that long. I’ve blogged a little over six years and four of those this May 3rd will be about grief and death. As much as I want to tell you that I don’t care if people say, “But you have Charlotte now,” or “if that hadn’t happened she wouldn’t be here” – those things do bug me. They’re irrelevant – Charlotte isn’t a one size fits all baby. And I did have them all. My children weren’t figments of my imagination and Charlotte was the only real one. They were here, they lived, they had names and faces and birth certificates. So telling me she wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for them – for them dying? I can’t get on board with that.

I’m trying to redefine myself. Not just on here, but in my life. I get to do all the mama of littles things I so desperately wanted to do since 2012, and yet my boys are still gone. Talking about that feels like I’m not thankful for Charlotte and that so isn’t the case at all.

It’s an odd road to walk. Nearly every time I post something about my sons now, I get those little digs of, “But think of what you do have” and it makes me stop writing for a while because I feel –

misunderstood.

A photo posted by •diana• (@dianawrote) on

There are moments in life where things happen to you that aren’t as drastic and outwardly visible as having a child die, but still cause a giant impact. After the twins died, a lot of things happened that no one really knew much about. My whole life changed again and again in the following months. Relationships that had been unhealthy to begin with ended. Others grew stronger. I found out who could stand by me even when they didn’t get my pain or my need to repeat the trauma story again, and who wasn’t interested in sticking around. It was like a dozen mini losses.

It happened again with Kaden. I was so numb to any other kind of pain that it was very, very easy for me to look around and think, “No, I really don’t want anything to do with you/that anymore” and be done with it. Forever.

Charlotte coming home seemed to mean that every stress and exhaustion and non-stop barrage of mess the past 4 years suddenly hit me at one time and I just ground to a halt in life. I don’t write for any sites. I have trouble meeting deadlines. I barely write on here, and have spent hours trying to. My motivation to do anything beyond motherhood and the occasional stuff on social media is pretty low, and any urge I get doesn’t last long.

I’ve had to come to terms with that now, because after the twins and Kaden passed away I threw myself into writing and social media to ease a little of the pain. Anything to distract me for a while, to give me a purpose and a reason beyond Sam and Bella. To try to find what it was I was supposed to do with my disaster of a life.

I didn’t know that I might be just as lost when some of the chapters closed.

I love being at home. Just being a mama, keeping up the house, getting ready to move, cooking and cleaning and laundry. I love being with my girls and going places as a family. For now – it’s ok to just do that and I feel content in that area.

Yet I always have this little question that hovers over me about what’s happened. What am I going to do with it? I write on my book and it’s so much pain and trauma that it takes me a long time to write and then recover from reliving things I’ve never even told on here.

My hope now is that I won’t be forgotten in the loss circles I became a part of. That when someone says, “My friend lost a baby and I don’t know what to do” my name would still come up. It may sound selfish to say that, but a huge part of my healing was helping. I found a great deal of comfort in someone writing me with their story. 

I know there is more to give and do with my story – I know there is. I feel it, I can feel that pull. Right now I want to spend this time healing and recovering and soaking in the moments I wanted so desperately – so that I can be a more whole person again. I am working towards meshing more of loss and life together again.

A photo posted by •diana• (@dianawrote) on

13 Comments

  • David Anderson

    July 9, 2016 at 8:19 pm

    Listen, Diana you may think that because of what those little digs of "Think of the good not the bad" say that you only need to keep thinking positive but sometimes in life it take a little bit of being strong and locking the hubs and pushing through the pain and agony to stand stronger knowing that those comments don't matter. It is like the Lord said "All possible through Christ who strengthens me" and you know who taught me that you in bible class. And so as on other blogs I end with a quote.
    Thomas Wayne-"Why do we fall down? To learn to pick ourselves up again.

    Sincerely,
    David M. Anderson

  • Allyson Faith McGill

    May 14, 2016 at 6:50 pm

    Hello. I have just "met" you through Buzzfeed Parents and came to your blog. Thank you for writing about parenting–a heck of a job (I found comfort in your thoughts about not being a perfect parent). I can't begin to imagine losing three children. When I was 7 years old, my mom gave birth to my sister, whom I love with all of my heart and am so thankful for. I have dim memories of my mom being in the hospital in the years before then, and I later discovered it was she had three miscarriages, one of them a boy at five months. My sister and I were both preemies, and it was touch and go at first. Sometimes I think of this brother whom I never knew. For you to have given birth to three boys and to have them taken away must be past enduring. I just wanted to write to say that it is hard to contemplate your story, and that I am sad for you and your family to have these losses, even when you also have your daughters. To say platitudes would be an insult.

    I will be reading your blog no that I have been introduced to it. Thank you.

  • Debbie Andrew

    May 2, 2016 at 11:26 pm

    I try to make women more aware that we have to take our own health in our hands, get our mammograms, and to stay on top of any type of change in our breasts. They say time flies when you are having fun. I would like to say time has flown because my life has been a blast, full of laughter and health, yet looking back it is hard to believe that seven years ago, my life was drastically changed forever because of that moment where time stood still and life seemed hopeless. Breast cancer is no respecter of persons. It doesn't care who you are, where you came from, what color, what age, or that you really don't have time for this horrible disease. But here I was at the age of 38 and a mother of three young girls. I was diagnosed with stage 3 breast cancer. I remember feeling as if I could not breathe and the sting of death was at my door. The words "You have Cancer, and it isn't good" were spoken by the doctor. My life, that seemed so young and fresh with so much ahead, suddenly seemed dark and hopeless. And here in that moment, a new me emerged. I was a fighter and was not ready to leave this world. I was not ready to leave my daughters and my family behind. My purpose on earth was not fulfilled, and I was ready to put my boxing gloves on and fight this horrible cancer. My brother-in-law bought me some red boxing gloves and had all my family sign them for me, and I was ready to fight.

    If i had kept this to myself i would have just died like that. I met with an old woman who was a God sent to me and after my encounter with her my story changed i would also love every woman who has gone through this to feel relief

    If you know anyone that's fighting breast cancer or have just been diagnosed please kindly tell them to email adebbie483@gmail.com don't be shy, proud or feeling too big to take just few minutes to send a life changing email that would save the lives of your loved ones

  • Vicki Jones

    April 18, 2016 at 3:23 pm

    I admire your courage in writing about these losses. For most mothers, (I’m excluding the ones who are truly mentally ill) every child counts, in our hearts. No matter their age when we lose them, we still grieve for what might have been. And when I see my children and grandchild, I still think about the one that is gone. The loss is part of who I am now. The pain is dulled a bit, but can still bring me to tears 30 yrs later. We carry them in our hearts forever.

  • Denise

    April 18, 2016 at 12:43 pm

    Your bravery to write honestly makes me feel like my own feelings are valid. While I’ve never experienced a death of a child, I know the grief of infertility. People will say things like “but look at what you can can do!” I get being positive, but it doesn’t take the feelings of loss away. Enjoy your time with that baby, and we’ll be here when you are ready to write again.

  • Alisa Brownlow Absmeier

    April 18, 2016 at 1:52 pm

    I think you are brave to honor where you are right now, messy and painful and all. Life is not black and white, you can cherish Charlotte and still grieve. I think you write so beautifully and honestly about it all and I think you help so many people, in whatever situation they find themselves in. Take your time.

  • Elise N Hoffman

    April 18, 2016 at 2:49 am

    Your absolute first priority is your family, and you don't owe anyone an explanation or an apology for that. You need to enjoy this season of life to the fullest extent you can. You've been through enough dark and stormy seasons. Take the opportunity to bask in the light and warmth of this one. Recharge your batteries. Your purpose will still be there when you're ready. Your boys' lives and deaths, and your grief, and your collective story, won't mean less by then. You're allowed to rest. Maybe others who are grieving, healing, trying to find meaning, need to see through you that it's ok to rest and wait on God. Maybe you're fulfilling some part of your purpose in all of this, even when you feel like you're putting it on hold.

  • Krista Quinn

    April 17, 2016 at 5:35 pm

    I've never gone through the losses you have, but all of what you've said makes perfect sense to me. I understand the pull to help others and to know that you're not done telling your story forever, but that maybe you're done for right now. Maybe right now you just need to be. And one day I really believe an opportunity will prevent itself and all this–writing, social media, etc–will feel right again. I'm a blogger too and my heart isn't in lately. I pushed myself to keep up for a while and now I'm just letting it go. I know one day I'll go back to it bc I love to write. Today may not be that day, and tomorrow may not be it either, but one day it will be the day. So for now I'm giving myself permission to do other things and be other things and it really feels good. No more "I SHOULD blog…" no more "shoulds".

  • Meli

    April 17, 2016 at 9:25 am

    No one can understand. Regardless of our pain, only you know what you feel. It is ok to feel it. After 9 years of not being able to conceive, I have lost 5 children: 2 early miscarriages, 1 late miscarriage, 1 still birth, and 1 ectopic which resulted in removal of a tube. In that order. Now after 13 years of marriage, we still have no loving children. Even so, I cannot begin to understand your pain. People, sadly, don’t all realize this. They think they know, but most of the time their words just sting. Recently, we were told: “it’s been a year, you need to let go and move on.” Left me speechless. My heart goes out to you. No one should know the heartache of loosing a child. I cannot begin to tell you how much your words have helped me through the last 4 years. You are fulfilling one of God’s purposes for your life which is being an open book so that others can also, like Abraham, hope against all hope.

  • Rhonda Galyean

    April 17, 2016 at 3:04 am

    I am the Mama of five. My first Son, Colt, and my first daughter, Talerie, were both stillborn. This happened 14 months apart. I carried them 25 and 28 weeks respectively. Daughter number 2, Tori, was born 10 weeks premature weighing 3 1/2 pounds. She is 22 years old now and in her junior year of college. She also has a published book. My second son, Jordan, was born 16 weeks premature and weighed 1 and 1/2 pounds. He is 20 years old now and a Sophomore in college. Baby number 5, Olivia, was born 12 weeks premature and weighed 1 pound, 3 ounces. She lived a short 8 hours. I went through times of severe depression and anxiety over the loss of my babies. I still have my moments, and always will. My husband said a remarkable thing to me after our very first loss. He said “People say things to make themselves feel better.” That is so true. No one can fathom the loss of a child. It is not the natural order of things. So comments like “they are probably better off, there may have been something wrong with them”, or “you can always have another” aren’t really said to be mean. It just, in some weird way, makes them feel better, so they say it. They think it will make us feel better too. But as you know, anyone who has lost a child, this doesn’t make us feel better at all. I don’t care that I can have another child. I wanted THIS one. I don’t care if there was something “wrong” with THIS child, I WANTED them anyway. I would love my child no matter what the outcome would be. I’ve heard the comments too that if babies 1 and 2 had lived, we wouldn’t have our two today. Again, just something said in the hopes of “explaining” the un-explainable. I guess I’m telling you these things to say that when you take a deep breath, you may realize that folks truly aren’t being mean or insensitive. They just really don’t know what to say. By going through these losses, I know the best thing to say is “I’m sorry”. I never say “I know how you feel” either. Because I don’t. Every loss is different. The way you feel and the way I feel are different. I think you are doing great. I’m 55 years old now. Old enough to probably be your Mama. Anyway, the promise of Heaven shines bright in my life. I’m thankful for each and every thing in it. Good or bad. My prayer for you is that God, in His timing, will restore your joy. Blessings to you Diana. ~

  • Dawn Tither

    April 17, 2016 at 6:33 am

    Enjoy and soak up every little precious moment to the max! The amazing thing about the internet is words live on and can touch those you will never know for years and years. With love, a soul you have touched in England xx

  • In Between the Piles

    April 17, 2016 at 6:18 am

    I still think of you and your experiences frequently – multiple times each week. Honsetly, my life has changed because of you. I don't casually ask someone about how many children they have…because the answer in a number doesn't tell the whole story. My husband's parents lost a daughter, their 2nd child, 3 days after she was born. Tears still come to both of them when the story of her life is told. They are both 88. I'm so sorry that people don't understand and even more so that they can't acknowledge that they don't understand (if that makes sense). Charlotte is Charlotte. She's your fifth child, second daughter. Your boys lived. That's real and tangible. I'm thankful for your sharing your experiences because I'm a different person because of your vulnerability and realness. But, my heart aches for you and all that you've had to experience. I'm so happy for you, Sam, and your two girls. But, that doesn't make the lives of your boys any less. Huge hugs to you, Diana. I'm so thankful for you.

  • Kate

    April 16, 2016 at 11:29 pm

    I don’t usually comment but I had to say something. Of course it bothers you when people say those things; they are terrible things to say. No baby is a replacement or a substitute for another baby which is basically what they’re saying.

    On a completely different note I hope I speak for most of your readers when I say that we’re glad that you’re so busy/fullfilled in your online life that you don’t have the time/desire/need to put so much into your digital life. Enjoy it 🙂

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