The waves of this grieving process are truly brutal. Denial, shock, agony, anger, fear..I feel like I can't come up for air. December 11th, 2020. My world turned upside down. 42 weeks pregnant, my water broke. Shortly after we had trouble finding a heartbeat and raced to the hospital where they confirmed our worst fears. I delivered a beautiful perfect baby girl that night, only I didn't get to hear her cry. I didn't get to take her home. 7lbs 5oz, 20.5 inches of perfection. We named her Landry Rose. The doctors immediately confirmed it was the cord as she came out. I will never understand why this happened. The guilt is eating me alive. I feel like there had to have been something I could've done. I want so badly to go back in time and just do something. Anything to save her. We were so ready for her. My two year old daughter was so ready for a best friend. I should be wearing my new baby wrapped around my body close to my chest. Talking to her and playing with her little fingers and toes. My husband should be rocking his new baby girl to sleep. How do you go on? Please tell me it gets better. Or that there at least comes a time where you can breathe. The world is such a dark and scary place now. I hate that I am now part of this club. I hate that any of you are. My heart breaks for everyone experiencing this unimaginable pain 💔

Oh Kae
These are horrific times. It has been three years since my daughter died, and sometimes, especially this time of the year, I remember the original pain at the beginning. To me it was complete devastation and I have never completely recovered to my old self, that would have been too much to ask for. But over time the pain did appear less often, sometimes not as brutal, but then again as horrible as you might feel it now, just shorter. That’s just my experience. I have thought about how we could have survived such tragedies and I believe it’s all about endurance. You just try to keep on. First Christmas I completely ignored. Second we went to my parents in law who have the custom to put an extra plate on the table in case an additional guest appears. We all pretended it to be my daughter’s place, which really helped me. We did ornament swap with families who lost their babies which also helped. Her grave is decorated for Christmas, we visit her often and light an extra candle for her at home. Lots of things to acknowledge her. I talk about her to the people I can which is also really important but always ends in tears.
Landry Rose. What a beautiful name. Please don’t let the guilt overwhelm you, this was not your fault. You will be able to breath again, you will find a way in the new normal. Give yourself time. Thinking of you and your precious daughter.
Oh dear, I wish all of us mums who have to live through the times without our beloved children some moments of light and peace.

Jana
Thank you so much for your response. I'm so sorry about your daughter. I wish so badly they could be with us. I love hearing the little things you have done to keep her memory alive and stay connected. I think those things will be so important to keep moving forward after this. The ornament swap sounds like such a beautiful thing to do for one another. I'm only 5 days into this but I'm already so grateful for this community of support. It's hard to talk right now especially to those who have not experienced a loss like this. Thank you again for your kind words ♡

There are no words that can make anyone feel better in this awful, unimaginable, and devastating situation. I'm so sorry about Landry Rose...But what a beautiful name for a beautifully precious baby girl. Like you, I hate that we are part of this club.. That anyone has to go through this type of pain. My daughter was due early December, but I had to have an emergency c-section at 37 weeks due to low fetal movement. Our sweet girl was perfect--5 lbs, 14 oz, 19 inches long, and perfectly formed in every way. After she was born, I wondered why she wasn't crying, and would soon learn that she would never cry. We named our baby girl Noelle, since she was supposed to be our little December baby. Noelle has no diagnosis, and we still don't have answers... We may never have answers about what happened to her, which breaks our hearts even more. Tomorrow marks one month since she passed, and I miss her every second of every day.

I've learned so much from Noelle in this past month, and learned things I didn't know about myself as a woman and mother. First of all, you need to feel all the feelings--allow yourself to grieve in whatever way feels right. Give yourself time to simply exist...cry...think about your sweet girl...and don't feel guilty if you feel happy or laugh when something is funny. We are human, and we need to feel. Every day, I go through an emotional roller coaster--I'll look at a picture of Noelle and be filled with love for my daughter, think about just how beautiful she is, how lucky I am to be her mommy. Other times, I'll look at the same photo, and feel like someone's ripped my heart out. I'll cry and wonder why this happened to her; she didn't deserve this fate, and there's nothing that anyone could have done to save her. Whenever I start feeling this way, I let myself be consumed for a little while, but then I ask myself, "In this moment, what would Noelle want me to do? If I could tell her anything, what would I say to her right now?"

Do what feels right in the moment--whatever will help you to heal. Every day, I try to get out of bed with a purpose, even if that purpose is simply to be the strong mommy that Noelle needs and deserves. Sometimes I write her letters to tell her how I'm feeling, or simply to tell her how much I love her. Some days, I go for a walk when the sun is coming up, to just immerse myself in the quiet of the morning, surrounded by beautiful colors in the sky. I collected items to donate to the sick children at the hospital where Noelle was born for Christmastime. I generally have filled my days with something that relates to or reminds me of my daughter, but I'm quickly realizing that at some point, I need to reenter reality. That thought terrifies me, but I'm just going to continue to take everything one day, one moment at a time. It all seems impossible, and that question of "How am I supposed to..." lingers with every upcoming milestone. This early on, every day is a milestone, but hopefully with time, the painful periods will become shorter and more bearable.

Keep Landry with you in all that you do... Talk to her, think of her, and cherish her sweet soul. Make memories with her in whatever way you can. I find comfort in knowing that one day, we'll all hold our babies once again, but for now, our sweet angels are watching over us from above. We will all breathe easier in time, but it's important that we don't lose sight of the present--We never know what the next day will bring, and we need to find that strength in ourselves to be present for those who depend on us. Sending our love to you and your family, Kae, and keeping sweet Landry in our thoughts and prayers.

I am so sorry for your loss, life is so cruel sometimes. One year ago all I wanted to hear is that it won’t be so bad forever! And I know today- it does get easier, it’s not an easy road and not the one anyone would choose, but, it might bring you a new layer to your life, deeper sense of the moment, at least that’s what happened to me. For me- reading here at glow helped a lot, therapy, time, some podcasts and connecting to people that cares. I wish you all the strength and be kind to yourself, so sorry for your beautiful girl!

Christina, I am so sorry to hear about your sweet Noelle. I can only imagine how heartbreaking it is not having any answers. Knowing our little Landry was absolutely perfect cuts deep - not that having a diagnosis takes away the pain of losing your child. It's all equally unfair and devastating.

Thank you so much for all of the advice and insight into how the grieving process has been for you so far. It helps so much to hear from others that what you're feeling is normal. And that we're not alone. I like to think our babies are not alone either ♡ Honoring Landry in different ways seems to be the one thing getting us through each day right now. In a way she has been a catalyst to wanting to better ourselves as well. I refuse to let her short life be in vain.

I, too, am terrified of having to return to reality so to speak. I imagine that sentiment is quite common this early in the grieving process. The moments of "How am I supposed to..." are the hardest for me so far. It's easy to start spiraling when those thoughts come about. And for me, that's when the anger bubbles to the surface. So far those are my most challenging days.

Sending so much love to you and your family as well. I'm so grateful for you and all the others I have connected with so far. I don't know how I'd be getting through the days right now if it weren't for this community.

Laura, thank you for the kind words. I'm so sorry you have felt this pain as well. I can already see what you mean it bringing a new layer. In a way it's made my husband and I look at the world differently. Things that seemed so troublesome now seem so insignificant. And living in the moment is definitely something we are yearning to do more after having experienced this.

Dear Kae,

I am so sorry that your Landry Rose is not with you. My story is very similar to yours (accept it was the placenta and not the chord). 16 months ago I came to this place with the exact same questions that you have now, with pain, with guilt, with fear.
There is one thing that I would like to add to the wise and helpful answers above: By just taking it day by day (which is a tough job in itself!), after some months the terror got less grim because the fact that my daughter had died was not a surprise to me anymore. The pain is still the same, I would say, but I do not have to deal with it being such a devastating surpise on top of it. Yes, you will learn to navigate this place you are in.
Another thing: what I once believed how I was supposed to handle things turned out to be not the way I do handle things. There is no "supposed to be" anylonger. For instance I thought that I was not a person who would cry in public. Now I cry in private and in public all the time and it is none of my business if the public can't handle a fully grown woman crying.
It is so unbelievably hard to just live through this and I am really sorry you have to do it.

L, thank you so much for your kind response. I definitely feel like the surprise/shock of her not being here is what hits me the hardest. So to know that one day that gets better is extremely comforting. I don't even realize how much I am still in shock until it all hits me in a moment like a ton of bricks. She would be 1 month today and my husband just returned back to work so it's going to be a tough one. I'm so grateful there are places like this that I can seek comfort and talk to those who understand ♡

Yes, this is most probably going to be a tough one. How the world just continued with everything still is beyond me. The absolute basic task of drinking water or tea, eating something once in a while, get rest and sleep is what needs to be done now. Along with caring for Landry Roses big sister this might be all you manage to do right now and that is okay.

Kae, I am so sorry to hear about your baby girl. Welcome to this club that no one wants to be a part of, I am glad you found us here. I am over three years out from my son's stillbirth (very similar circumstances to your sweet Landry's except he was only 38 weeks gestation when he died unexpectedly) and the waves of grief and guilt and disbelief still knock me over some days. I remember three or four months after my loss someone saying that it was still early days, I think in the context of trauma, like this is not even post-traumatic yet, it is still acute trauma. Somehow that helped me. The years that have passed since don't make the loss itself easier or more bearable, but it does get softer, easier to carry alongside the rest of life. Hugs to you and all of your family in these very difficult times.