This post is in honor of National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day. October 15th, candles will be lit at 7pm in every time zone around the world. The thought is that if the candle burns for an hour, that will create continuous light all around the world.

Right after my baby girl died, I came across this article on the internet called “I’ve Learned”. Not all of it applied to me, but some of it was really helpful in my grieving process, so I thought I’d share it with you in honor of the upcoming Remembrance Day.

Bereavement Magazine (March/April 2000)

I’ve Learned
by Nancy Ludt
Huntington Beach, California

Editor’s Note: When Nancy Ludt asked the families of the Huntington Beach, California, Bereaved Parent Support Group what they had learned since the death of their child, she reported that their comments were “moving and eye-opening,” and she offered to share these pearls of wisdom with us. No two comments she received were alike, and “the names of the contributors were left out because this is a group effort, and we can all benefit from this list.” While these “lessons” are from bereaved parents, they can easily apply also to almost any other kind of bereavement, as well.

I’ve Learned ?by Nancy Ludt ?Huntington Beach, California
I’VE LEARNED…
0. To take one day at a time.
0. Not to say, “if only,” “I should have,” etc.
0. To appreciate what I’ve got and not moan about what I “don’t got.”
0. To appreciate life and not take it for granted.
0. If today is bleak, tomorrow can be better.
0. To appreciate the moments when I can laugh.
0. That without my support group, I would be lost.
0. How very much I need my “new” friends.
0. How much I treasure and love my daughter’s friends.
0. Not to take my health for granted.
0. What is trivial.
0. That if my energy level is low, I don’t push myself.
0. The importance of exercise.
0. That grief is not time-bound.
0. That no one grieves like me; everybody grieves differently.
0. That the pain never goes away, but it does get “softer.”
0. That no one can comfort me the way Jesus can.
0. To allow the grief, pain and loss to become a part of me.
0. That there is a reason to keep on living (and loving).
0. That joy does return…only in a different way.
0. To turn “it” over to the Lord.
0. That someday we will be together again.
0. Not to let Satan steal my happiness.
0. To ride “the wave” of denial, anger, depression and acceptance.
0. To accept that I may never know why.
0. It’s okay to say, “No.”
0. Not to blame people when they don’t understand.
0. The ability to face adversity (courage).
0. To be strong and resolute.
0. The importance of support and encouragement.
0. That there is friendship and family, OR, family and friendship!
0. That to lose a child is the “ultimate tragedy.”
0. That I need others who have been there to help me through this journey.
0. That love never dies.
0. That time is an ally.
0. That every moment really matters.
0. That eventually you do want to go on and live again.
0. That I must create a “new normal” for myself.
0. That my daughter’s love of life continues to give me the strength to go on.
0. That I must re-invest the energy I gave to your child into something/ someone else.
0. That over time, I have more control over my grief.
0. That I will always have tears on my heart.
0. That it is so important to keep my daughter’s name and memory.
0. That only in the articulation of grief does it diminish.
0. That making new traditions helps.
0. How the soft glow of a candle helps to warm my heart again and bring my daughter near.
0. That it doesn’t matter how our children died, just that they have.
0. That over time, the cemetery brings peace and solitude…not just tears.
0. How the pain and grief I feel one day isn’t necessarily the way I will feel the next day.
0. That some of the things I thought I’d never do again since my daughter died – I have.
0. That I can laugh again and not feel guilty.
0. That along with all the pain and despair, joy and happiness have found a place in my life again.
0. People who have not lost a child can’t possibly understand what I went through.
0. That not only does one lose a child, but they can also lose their belief system, some family members and some friends in the process.
0. Our society is deficient in death education and really doesn’t know how to respond to the grieving person.
0. Some people want to see and be around “happy” people and only have so much to give for those who are grieving.
0. Everyone grieves differently, and there is no “right” or “wrong” way to grieve.
0. There is no time frame for “getting on with your life” after the death of your child.
0. Strangers can give more than some relatives.
0. You don’t always have until tomorrow.
0. The world does not stop when your child dies.
0. Being among nature helps to bring some softness to my heart and brings my daughter closer to me.
0. That as unbelievable as it is to me, I have come to reconcile my daughter’s death. A “settling” has taken place within myself.
0. You don’t have to have money to be rich.
0. A broken heart will mend…almost.
0. We are all connected and need each other in such a special way.
0. Many times we are touching lives and helping each other in time and space that we don’t even realize.
0. The support of family and friends is invaluable.
0. The phone becomes an object of anxiety sometimes. (Child’s death notified by phone.)
0. That “normalizing” the sense of being totally insane is helpful.
0. There may be difficulty when people say we are “coping so well.”
0. After three years, I don’t want to talk about the loss of my son a lot, although he is rarely absent from my consciousness.
0. It may help to focus on the very small things, because you will not be able to make sense of the larger picture.
0. To attempt to feel comfort in the warmth or scent of a cup of hot tea in my hands, the smell of a flower, the proximity of someone who cared.
0. The daily searing pain gets less raw, and sometimes I can have moments of joy.
0. To watch the sunset every day.
0. My son will always be alive as long as I am also alive.
0. I can smile when I remember him.
0. I had to go with my feelings and trust in our love.
0. It takes years of baby-stepping and falling.
0. To be humble, grateful and a little more selfish, aware, honest and looking forward to my life, rather than living my son’s death.
0. What I would give for just ONE more day!
It feels awfully good typing this into the computer

A friend of mine just told me about a pregnant couple who lost their baby after 6 months in-utero. She asked me to share my story with them in hopes that it may help them in their grieving. I thought I’d share my story with you even though it has been two years since my baby girl died. I hope it may help any other parents who have suffered the loss of a child. This post is also in honor of National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day. October 15th, candles will be lit at 7pm in every time zone around the world. The thought is that if the candle burns for an hour, that will create continuous light all around the world.
Here is the story of birth and death of my first born daughter Jadelin Makena Longshore:
For a woman, having a baby is probably the most life-changing event of her life. For me, it was everything I dreamt it would be. As a young girl I would imagine my big belly, nice and round. I would imagine the miraculous, yet bizarre changes that my body would go through. And I would imagine that baby cooing in my arms as I rocked her gently with all my love. When I had my baby, it was all that I had imagined. What I didn’t imagine was what happened twenty hours after she was born. She stopped breathing and she died.

For most women who lose a child, it’s devastating. But for me it was a beautiful life-enriching experience. Here’s the story of Jadelin Makena Longshore’s birth and death:

It was July 9, 2005…

I was in the middle of preparing a birthday dinner for my friend Alexis when my water broke. It was five o’clock pm… the lamb chops were marinating and the freshly baked chocolate cake was cooling just out of the oven.

Aaron my husband was in the kitchen and said, “is that your water breaking?” in reaction to my “oh wow” when a gush of water flowed down my legs and onto the floor. I said, “no, I think it is just residual bath water finally coming out”. I was in denial. I had heard about the hysterical women who rush to the hospital thinking that they are in full labor when in fact it is just the very beginning of early contractions and they are sent home waiting sometimes for a whole day before the real thing happens.

I was having contractions, but I thought maybe they were just strong “braxton hicks” pangs and it was probably days until the real thing would come. Another thing was that I actually didn’t know who was going to deliver my baby, but I knew I wanted it to be at home. I had prenatal visits at Kaiser and with my midwife Heather knowing beforehand that she was going to be out of town during the window of time for my birth. I somehow trusted that the right person would be there for my birth. And anyway, that was just a gush of bath water… so nothing to worry about, right?

I decided to call my friend Anat to discuss the bath water gush. She told me that another midwife Tina just flew back into town and I should call her to see if she might be available. Tina did just land but wasn’t sure she could be there since she was committed to another mama who was having some early signs of labor… and she had to see if she could find someone to assist her.

My dinner guests had arrived and my contractions were getting stronger as I was frosting the cake. I would be in the middle of frosting and talking… and then oooohh– hold that thought for a contraction… and then back into the conversation and cake decorating. It was kind of exciting and fun… I was starting to think this might be the real thing!

Tina said she had found an assistant and that I should let her know when my contractions were closer to three minutes apart. Even though they were pretty regular at this point, (about five minutes apart) I decided that it would be best for Tina and her assistant, as well as me and Aaron, to get some sleep over night. I mentally told myself that I would hold off the serious contractions until at least sunrise.

I continued to have contractions throughout the night, but managed to sleep through a lot of it. And at sunrise 6am, the contractions were coming on cue about three minutes apart. I knew that if I put my mind to it, I could hold off contractions until everyone was well rested and ready to attend to Jadelin’s birth—and I was right!

When Tina and assistant Robin arrived at my house I cried tears of relief knowing that my birth team was with me. I was now certain that it was not just going to be me and Aaron figuring out how to birth on our own. I met Tina once and had never met Robin before, but I knew that instant that they were the right people to have by my side giving birth.

I had heard that each woman’s experience of giving birth takes on the shape of her personality. That was true in my case. At first I was very mellow, just going with the flow—sitting on an exercise ball or on the floor or walking around and breathing smoothly. I purposefully didn’t count or pay attention to how much time went by. I treated each contraction as an individual event and was delightfully aware of every nuance of what my body was doing to bring the baby closer to being in my arms. I was actually enjoying my labor and the miracle of it all. I felt sensations that some people might call pain, but to me I thought of it as an instinctive animal-like, god-given gift to help me push the baby out. I welcomed each contraction and found something new in every single one. … And as someone who likes to be productive, it was great to feel the sensation so that I could work with it to help bring the baby down. I thought of all the women who have epidurals and wondered, “how can they be productive when they can’t feel anything”? I also thought of all the women over centuries that have done exactly what I was doing and how natural it is. That said, after a time of being mellow, I got into strategic mode. I tried getting in different positions to see if it would help and at one point I decided that the most painful position must be the most productive—bent over in an “L” shape, with my upper body resting on a massage table and my legs firmly planted on the ground. So I tried that for a while until Tina said it didn’t look like the best position for gravity to help. I kind of laughed to myself after that thinking that “of course you would think that hard work and pain equals something good!” That was my belief at one time in my life—again birth resembling a part of my personality!

I didn’t know what time it was, but I was aware that the sun was going down. My intuitive midwives knew that I had some kind of block preventing my cervix from opening up. Tina and my friend Jeana drove me down to a nearby stream to contemplate by the water. They walked me across the parking lot and down across the rocks… all the while stopping for contractions as they came. I was delirious and couldn’t see anything around me, but I heard the sounds of families barbecuing and music. Tina said all the mothers knew exactly what is going on as they watched me labor as my women friends helped me to the stream.

The family picnic sounds disappeared and miraculously my vision cleared once we got near the water. After a time of appreciating nature, I saw a vision of an old Chinese man dressed in silk robes across the stream standing on an embankment. He stooped down to the water when I realized he had come there to drown a Chinese baby girl! At that moment it became clear to me what was holding me back from giving birth to my baby girl. My ancestors have been drowning baby girls for centuries. My father told me and my four sisters as we were growing up that if we had been born in China that he would have had us killed (probably drowning us as babies.) And throughout my childhood I thought that at any time he might decide to kill us anyway. I was never safe.

I realized that I feared for my own daughter being born and subconsciously thought that if she were born, she might be drowned like all the other Chinese girl babies. Being able to address this issue was a huge gift to me. I had tried to go there for years with self-help and professional therapists, but just couldn’t access it. I thought, “wow, labor gives you the opportunity to go really deep to face your demons and let them go. You are so open that there is clearer access to these deep seated issues and if you want to go there, you finally can.” I was so thankful and happy to receive this gift.

We got back to the house and my cervix began to open up. Again I thought about all the women that chose to be numbed by drugs and the opportunity that they are giving up when they do that… but I understand that some women are not ready to deal. I thought it must make labor really painful because there’s all that stuff blocking the way that you and the baby have to push through. So, yes it seems to be a choice subconscious or not. Once again, my labor showed me more of who I am and how I choose to live my life.

Now I was five centimeters and I could safely get into the tub that I so badly wanted to give birth in. The water felt so good on my back and soothed the intense back labor. Aaron got in the tub with me and that was soothing too. I was exhausted by this time (I had been laboring for 24 hours at this point) and between every contraction, I decided that I was going to sleep. Tina and Robin were amazed at how I would totally be zonked out, snoring and everything and then wake up for a contraction and slip right back into a deep sleep. I think this helped me keep my energy up for the long labor that I must have instinctively known I would need.

What was great about this exhaustion stage is that I finally got out of strategic mode and let my body just do its thing. Once my brain was out of the way, my contractions became stronger and more productive. There was an internal force that came in the middle of the contraction that pushed harder than I could have done myself. That helped to get me to eight centimeters. Just a few minutes later, Tina helped open me up to to ten– and I felt like celebrating, like I had just ran a marathon and hit the finish line. Aaron came in to the bedroom all excited. We knew we were close to seeing our baby!

I could feel the baby had moved down in the canal. This was the final stretch and it was time to push. You know, I never felt like I had to moan or scream like you see in the movies, but I did because I realized that it actually helps to push better. Robin held the two ends of a sarong and I grabbed on to the middle, screamed as loud as I could pulling and pushing with all that I could. I could feel each push brought her closer down. Tina said my pulse became as high as the baby’s and we should do the rest of the labor at the hospital. I didn’t question her for a second. I was dressed with my purse on my shoulder, but before we could leave the contractions came on so strong and fast that I couldn’t get up off the couch. Tina felt my baby’s head very close to the opening and I could feel Jadelin willfully wanting to come out. As I felt each contraction coming on, I mustered up all the energy I could and with every fiber of my being, I gave it my all, screaming as loud as I could. Her head was visible now! She was crowning! One more contraction and one more gutteral scream with every single fiber of strength that I could find in my body– I pushed her head out. I felt a sense of relief knowing that was the hardest part. With the next contraction I pushed just as hard and her shoulders popped out then the rest of her body slid out of me. I was so excited and proud that I did it! She cried a sweet cry with her first breath of air. Aaron pulled her up to my chest with Tina’s hands still cradling her after catching her. She began to breast feed right away. I was elated! Aaron was elated! This was the happiest moment of my life!

Aaron and I had just one beautiful day with our baby girl. I was so tired, but I stayed awake most of the time to just stare at her beauty. I didn’t realize I would only have these precious moments with her, but I cherished every single breath, gurgle, smile and her sweet baby smell. I marveled at what a wonderful dad Aaron was already– changing her diapers and making her smile. She seemed to me wise and alert for a newborn– able to follow my finger with her eyes, lift and turn her head and she would smile whenever Aaron held her. The time we had with her was so perfect, so magical. It felt like our little family was in a bubble of the most fantastic love you could ever imagine.

It was in the middle of the night… she was on my breast feeding when she drifted off… and stopped breathing. I think this is the most nurturing place that a baby can be when choosing to leave this world. We found out later that she had an enlarged heart; it was an anomaly that cannot be explained.

But for the first few minutes after her death, I did torture myself with thoughts that it may be my fault and tried to place blame somewhere. Then it dawned on me. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. It just was… you could say it was divine. Just like everything in life, there’s always a larger reason for things… but we just can’t see it at the time. When I look back on my life, I see that all things that happened (good or bad) had to happen for me to be who I am today. Every experience fits into the puzzle perfectly… and without the difficult times, there would be pieces missing… sort of like holes in my character. And when I look back I can see that those difficult times are what make me feel rich with complexity and compassion.

So when my baby died, I decided to trust life like I always do– trust that there is a larger reason that I just can’t see right now. My intuition told me that my baby’s little spirit had a purpose for living inside of me for nine months, pushing through the trauma of birth and looking into my eyes and my husband’s eyes with her sweet smile. She had her reasons for being on this earth just as we all have our reasons. My husband and I talked about how the person that dies isn’t the one in pain, so there is no reason to feel bad for them. But what we are really feeling is our own sadness and the loss of our expectations of her life with us. We pictured her growing up… what her hair would look like and what her eye color would be. We pictured her learning to crawl and walk and calling us Mommy and Daddy. We pictured her learning how to surf and growing up to do things that would make us proud. We pictured our little family curled up on the couch, watching movies together or snuggled up together in our big king-sized bed. All of these thoughts that made us sad, we realized, were just ideas and expectations we had for her life. In actuality these ideas are just ideas and never really existed. That means what we are missing and feeling sad about is something that doesn’t really exist. That didn’t mean, however, that I didn’t have the right to be sad and mourn.

Somehow, knowing that there is a larger purpose for her life and death… And knowing that our sadness is for something that never was, made our pain dissapate. What we were left with was an experience that enriched us. The joy of creating life, giving birth and seeing our happy baby in our arms is still with us. No one can take that experience away from us.

I wrote emails telling friends and family about how Aaron and I were not devastated by her death, instead we felt enriched, stronger and more in love from the experience. People called to talk to us and others came to visit…. And everyone seemed to say that they were so emotionally distraught until they heard from us. Somehow our peacefulness about our baby’s death was not only a relief to them. They said it was also inspiring.

When Aaron and I looked at our life we saw that we were happy before the baby was born and we are still happy now. We have all that we had before and now in addition, we have this incredible experience.

We did grieve. I believe it is important to take time to grieve. I realized that it is possible to be happy, enjoy life and grieve at the same time. There are no rules. Everyone’s grief process is different and it’s best for each person to allow themselves to grieve in their own way. There is no timeline, no cut-off point to your grief. In order to heal, I found it best to “indulge” every step of my process and be gentle with myself. It wasn’t always easy. When I had to leave the house and go to the store for the first time in nine months without my baby with me, I felt as if I was I was missing a body part—like I left my right arm at home. I knew that strangers couldn’t understand why I had this big belly still (without a baby present) and why I had a hard time walking across the parking lot. I told myself that this was my adjustment period and to be patient and I would feel whole again one day soon. What was also hard was that my body’s mothering instincts continued to remind me that there was supposed to be a baby there to mother. My milk and my hormones were still flowing causing my body to ache for that child to nurse and to nurture. Still, I knew in time, this would pass and I told my self to be patient in my grieving.

My husband had his own way of grieving. As we allowed each other to grieve in our own ways, we supported each other every step of the way. That brought us closer together in a situation that can tear people apart.

It’s been a little more than a year since my baby girl died… and although I don’t think about her that often, I still believe I am happily grieving and probably will for many years to come. Aaron and I are expecting our baby boy in any day now and we are very excited to welcome him into our lives. Still no matter how many children I have, the experience that I had with my baby girl will stay with me and no one can or will ever take her place.

Whether you are a first-time mom, someone who has lost a child or someone who has brought a child into this world, I hope Jadelin’s story has shed a new perspective on life and death and how beautiful it can be. I now see the threshold of life beginning and life ending as the same—a soul transitioning from one space of existence to another. And as I look to the future with my baby boy about to be born and the inevitability of older relatives and loved ones dying—I feel peace and joy knowing that I can embrace those events fully with the wisdom learned from Jadelin’s birth and death.

We all know there is a larger purpose for the so-called “bad” things that happen in life, but life will only reveal that purpose when you are ready and open to receive it.

I’ve recently been introduced to two women who have lost their babies. One baby was 7 weeks old and the other was a miscarriage. I know that my experience with losing my baby is valuable and I am actually glad that it all happened (as strange as it may sound) for many reasons.
I wrote the following piece after my daughter died and updated it when I was still pregnant about 6 months ago.  I hope anyone who has lost a child or anyone dealing with death can gain something from my experience and perspective.

Losing A Child

By Angeline Longshore

For a woman, having a baby is probably the most life-changing event of her life.  For me, it was everything I dreamt it would be.  As a young girl I would imagine my big belly, nice and round.  I would imagine the miraculous, yet bizarre changes that my body would go through.  And I would imagine that baby cooing in my arms as I rocked her gently with all my love.  When I had my baby, it was all that I had imagined.  What I didn’t imagine was what happened twenty hours after she was born.  She stopped breathing and she died.

For most women who lose a child, it’s devastating.  I know a woman who couldn’t leave her house for a year she was so stricken with grief.  For me it was different.  Yes, I was in shock for a little while and of course I was sad.  I missed the ever-present feeling of her being against my body, her little beautiful face looking up at me and her baby smell that I had grown attached to even in that short period of time.

For the first few minutes after her death, I did torture myself with thoughts that it may be my fault and tried to place blame somewhere.  Then it dawned on me.  It wasn’t anyone’s fault.  It just was… you could say it was divine.  Just like everything in life, there’s always a larger reason for things… but we just don’t know it.  When I look back on my life, I see that all things that happened (good or bad) had to happen for me to be who I am today.  Every experience fits into the puzzle perfectly… and without the difficult times, there would be pieces missing… sort of like holes in my character.  And when I look back I can see that those difficult times are what make me feel rich with complexity and compassion.

So when my baby died, I decided to trust life like I always do– trust that there is a larger reason that I just can’t see right now.  My intuition told me that my baby’s little spirit had a purpose for living inside of me for nine months, pushing through the trauma of birth and looking into my eyes and my husband’s eyes with her sweet smile.  She had her reasons for being on this earth just as we all have our reasons.  My husband and I talked about how the person that dies isn’t the one in pain, so there is no reason to feel bad for them.  But what we are really feeling is our sadness and the loss of our expectations of her life with us.  We pictured her growing up… what her hair would look like and what her eye color would be.  We pictured her learning to crawl and walk and calling us Mommy and Daddy.  We pictured her learning how to surf and growing up to do things that would make us proud.  We pictured our little family curled up on the couch, watching movies together or snuggled up together in our big king-sized bed.  All of these thoughts that made us sad, we realized, were just ideas and expectations we had for her life.  In actuality these ideas never really existed.  That means what we are missing and feeling sad about is something that doesn’t really exist.  That didn’t mean, however, that I didn’t have the right to be sad and mourn.

Somehow, knowing that there is a larger purpose for her life and death… And knowing that our sadness is for something that never was, made our pain dissapate.  What we were left with was an experience that enriched us.  The joy of creating life, giving birth and seeing our happy baby in our arms is still with us.  No one can take that experience away from us.
When my husband and I looked at our life we saw that we were happy before the baby was born and we are still happy now.  We have all that we had before and now in addition, we have this incredible experience.

We did grieve.  It is important to take time to grieve.  I realized that it is possible to be happy, enjoy life and grieve at the same time.  There are no rules.  Everyone’s grief process is different and it’s best for each person to allow themselves to grieve in their own way.  There is no timeline, no cut-off point to grief.  In order to heal, I found it best to “indulge” every step of my process and be gentle with myself.  It wasn’t always easy.  When I had to leave the house and go to the store for the first time in nine months without my baby with me, I felt as if I was I was missing a body part—like I left my right arm at home.  I knew that strangers couldn’t understand why I had this big belly still (without a baby present) and why I had a hard time walking across the parking lot.  I told myself that this was my adjustment period and to be patient and I would feel whole again one day soon.  What was also hard was that my body’s mothering instincts continued to remind me that there was supposed to be a baby there to mother.  My milk and my hormones were still flowing causing my body to ache for that child to nurse and to nurture.  Still, I knew in time, this would pass and I told my self to be patient in my grieving.

My husband had his own way of grieving.  As we allowed each other to grieve in our own ways, we supported each other every step of the way.  That brought us closer together in a situation that can tear people apart.

I wrote emails telling friends and family about how my husband and I were not devastated by her death, instead we felt enriched, stronger and more in love from the experience.  People called to talk to us and others came to visit…. And everyone seemed to say that they were so emotionally distraught until they heard from us.  Somehow our peacefulness about our baby’s death was not only a relief to them.  They said it was also inspiring.

It’s been a little less than a year since my baby girl died… and although I don’t think about her that often, I still believe I am happily grieving and probably will for many years to come.  My husband and I are expecting a baby boy in just a few months and we are very excited to welcome him into our lives.  Still no matter how many children I have, the experience that I had with my baby girl will stay with me and no one can or will ever take her place.

Whether you are a first-time pregnant mom, someone who has lost a child or someone who has brought a child into this world, I hope my baby girl’s story has shed a new perspective on life and death and how beautiful it can be.  I believe one reason she was born is to inspire all that hear her story.

I now see that threshold of the beginning of life and the ending of life as the same—a wonderous transition for our souls to move in and out of in order to experience our personal journey.  And as I look to the future with my baby boy about to be born and the inevitability of older relatives and loved ones dying—I feel peace and joy knowing that I can embrace those events fully.  With the wisdom learned from Jadelin’s birth and death, I can send them off on their journey with all of my blessings and love as I did with Jadelin.

Jadelin Makena Longshore
July 11, 2006- July 12, 2006 – living in spirit form to infinity~
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