A Soulful Message: Healing Grief

This year has been especially challenging for me as I process that 5 years have passed since I last saw my daughter. We just celebrated the 7th anniversary of Bella’s birth last week. I try to imagine what she would look like, but I just can’t picture it. I can’t visualize what my life would be like today had Bella survived. This is a harsh reality to accept.

5 years is a milestone, and it was one that broke me. 2 months after what seemed like walking down a winding road blindfolded, I wasn’t feeling any better and had no idea why I wasn’t improving. Knowing writing is my best therapy, I still wasn’t able to focus enough to formulate a sentence, which was frustrating because I knew this is what I needed to do to develop understanding of what I was experiencing.

That’s when I decided to share what I was going through in the last of the #1 Bestselling 635 Series, 365 Soulful Messages: The Right Guidance At The Right Time. The title of the book spoke to me, and I asked Bella to bring me clarity as I wrote about the next phase of my journey through grief.

 

Love Never Dies

I began living every parent’s worst nightmare on the morning of June 28, 2014. Bella was a happy, healthy toddler; her death was sudden and unexpected. Instinctively, I held on to every piece of my child that I possibly could in fear that I would forget her. Once a parent loses a child, their worst fear becomes that their child will be forgotten.

I was terrified that I would forget the little things about Bella: the smell of her hair, the sound of her voice, the touch of her skin. I deeply feared she would lose importance to me as time passed. I knew that my memories would eventually fade, and this shattered my broken heart.

Every year on the anniversary of Bella’s death, I honor her short life in some way. I expected this day would become easier with each passing year, but this year I spent the day hiding, refusing to acknowledge that my daughter has been gone for five years. My heart ached as I realized my worst fear was coming true: I was beginning to forget. I cried harder that night than I had in years. I was grieving, this time for the memory of my daughter.

I wasn’t coping well and took some time off work to focus on self-healing. When I struggle, I look within for answers. This was when the message was loud and clear. I began to see the unfair expectations I had been placing on myself. I expected to never forget a thing about my daughter. I was also placing unrealistic expectations on my grief, but grief is unpredictable and has its own agenda.

The intricate details of my daughter’s life may fade away, as it’s humanly impossible to remember every single detail, but I will continue to remember what was important. Regardless of how much time passes, I can never forget Bella because she is a part of me. Nothing can change what she means to me, not even her death. Although memories will fade with time, my love for her will never die!

 

Grief is a never-ending journey and once we can begin to accept that the process never fully completes, we can begin a new level of healing. This new understanding has helped me accept my scars. They aren’t going anywhere. For the most part, they blend well with this new life I am creating, but sometimes they become irritated and demand my attention. And I am learning to be okay with that.

It is an honour to be a contributing author in 365 Soulful Messages, a book filled with personal stories that contain uplifting signs and messages – from here on Earth and beyond – that helped each author change their life in a positive way. This soulful collection contains one inspiring story for each day of the year from over 200 authors, and I’m so happy to be part of it! You can check it out HERE.

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Order now for LOTS of free gifts. After purchasing, go to  www.365soulfulmessages.com to claim your free gifts. 🙂

#365soulfulmessages

Unrealistic Expectations in Grief

I was on a mission to heal my grieving heart. I believed that if I could heal myself, I could help other grieving hearts heal too. I felt strong and happy, and thought the worst days were behind me.

Then, on the 5th Anniversary of my daughter’s death, grief came crashing down around me, except I had no idea what hit me. Grief was in front of me, but I failed to recognize it.

Life threw me a few unexpected hits earlier this year, and a few devastating incidents later, I wasn’t coping very well.

Then, we celebrated the grand opening of Bella’s Splash Pad less than a week before her 5th Angelversary. I hadn’t expected the celebration to be an emotional one. It was, however, much more than that. It felt as though I was reliving the day of her funeral all over again. Raw grief tore open a healing scab and I began to bleed once more. I’ve spent the last 3 months putting band-aids on this fresh wound hoping it would go away.

But I know better than this.

Grief doesn’t heal on its own. The only way to heal a grieving heart is through the pain. You can’t hide from grief. It lingers until you look it straight in the face and succumb to it.

I had expectations of my own grief. I thought that because I was feeling healed, it meant that I was healed. But I misinterpreted what I was feeling and ended up lying to myself.

The law of gravity states that what goes up must come down. Roller coasters have their twists and turns, and it’s a ride you can’t predict.

The only thing predictable about grief is that it’s unpredictable.

Child-loss is a lifelong journey. My child died, and with her went a piece of myself. I can never be whole again, nor do I want to be! She left this empty space that is now filled with love, but that space still belongs to her and emptiness will always remain where Bella should be!

Rainbows and Bella’s signs from heaven are a great way to feel her presence, but nothing can replace the feeling of holding your child in your arms.

I am forever changed because of my daughter. And if that means I will break every once in a while, then I choose to embrace that.

Grief has it’s own life. Enjoy the good days, and experience the bad days for what they are. Feel them; be with them.

Hold yourself through them.

Find peace in them. Somehow. Because experiencing them is the price of the love that will always remain.

Grief is a reminder that a piece of you resides in heaven.

It’s been a journey of learning to be okay with not being okay.

Just for a little while.

Because the pain will recede once it’s been expressed, and the scab will begin healing again.

And better days will come.

Much love and #StayStrong❤️

Never Ready to Say Goodbye

She was 88 years old and still independent. final 26It’s the only way she knew how to be. She woke up that morning and drank her coffee like any other day. She washed her laundry as she did every Saturday, then had her shower and folded her laundry.

While she followed her daily routine, my mother, sister and I went to a celebration of life in honour of our dear friend’s father who suffered a massive heart attack while he was singing in church. We decided to make the most of the trip and stopped for supper. Shining across my plate was a delicate rainbow, a reflection from my water glass, a gentle reminder that our loved ones are always with us.

final 19Moments after we arrived home, a loud urgent knocking at the door startled my mother and sent her running to me in a panic. “Nonna collapsed in church and my car won’t start!” Before I could even think, I grabbed my phone, purse and car keys and we were gone.

Just like every Saturday night, Nonna went to church. It was more than her place of worship; it was her sanctuary. We were told she was out of breath when she walked in, sat in her regular seat, then gently closed her eyes. The priest intuitively knew something was amiss and when he asked a kind man to check on her, she was already gone.

Nonna was in the ambulance when we arrived and as I witnessed the paramedic performing CPR on her, I refused to believe what I knew in my heart to be true. Nonna joined Bella that night. We were told it was a massive heart attack. It felt like a replay of what happened to my friend’s father the week before.

final 23Nonna was more than a grandmother to me. She was an important part of my immediate family and was included in everything we did. She attended every celebration and gathering at our home. She loved coming to visit and was so grateful when we would surprise her with a visit too.

She and Bella had a very special bond which developed before Bella was born. I really wanted Nonna to be at Bella’s birth, and although she didn’t make it in time, she did accompany me to my last ultrasound. Nonna had never witnessed an obstetric ultrasound before and it was an honour to share that sacred moment with her.

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After Bella was born, Nonna was my saving grace. She would drive down to my home, park in the driveway and my kids would get excited as soon as they saw her walk up to the house. Nonna was Bella’s favourite person. She called her “Bis” and  would fetch Nonna’s slippers from the closet and greet her at the door ready to place them on her feet. Nonna would entertain the kids while I cleaned up after supper and washed dishes. We would visit and play, then she would rock Bella while I put Hudson to sleep. I would take over from Nonna once Hudson was settled and she would see herself out. This was our routine for many months, until the tragic day we lost Bella.

final 20I will never forget Nonna’s reaction that day, the shock and horror. I will never forget how she begged God to take her instead. The memory brings tears to my eyes and is something that terrified me as I was deathly afraid of losing someone else I loved. That fear is what forced me to be strong as I believed my family would get through the tragedy as long as they knew I would be okay. Except Nonna was never the same after that day. A piece of her died along with my daughter. She lost her spark, her love of life, and hope for the future.

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I have seen that spark return for brief moments, but her essence has never been the same. I know she is now where she’s wanted to be for the last 4.5 years.

My best friend, who is a medium, began communicating with Bella shortly after she passed. The following is from a letter she wrote to me where Bella described Nonna’s transition to heaven:

 

“She shows me Nonna Bis leaving this world but not in the immediate future. She shows me a man’s shadow calling Bella’s name and saying ‘okay it is time.’ Bella is playing and she is shadowed too. She grabs the man’s hand that I get is your Nonno’s presence. They walk toward a bright light. They are holding hands and they just wait. Then Nonna Bis slowly comes into sight in an illuminating white light and smiles. img_8621 2I see her approach the man and Bella and the first words she says are “What took you so long?” The man kind of chuckles giving of a sense of ‘well it’s not up to me when you get here’ so to speak. Nonna takes Bella’s other hand and they walk into the light.”

You will never be ready to say goodbye to someone you love, but this image brings great comfort.

Nonno was 88 years old when he passed, the same age as Nonna; they both passed on the 12th day of the month. I’m not sure what it means but I don’t believe in coincidences.

Now I grieve once more as I mourn the loss of my Grandmother, Nonna Bis.

Rest in Pease Nonna Bis. Please take care of my baby girl.

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Happy 6th Birthday in Heaven Sweet Angel

I woke up this morning and it wasn’t just an ordinary day. Your sister has a cough, which always makes me anxious. She woke up coughing and I looked over at her in your old bed and told her to come cuddle with mommy. “Okay,” she said, then threw her stuffed baby shark, her choocho (soother), and rainbow blanket on the bed, then waited for me to gently pull her up. I hugged her tight and said: “Today is a special day. It’s Bella’s Birthday. Can you say Happy Birthday Bella!?” She whispered softly: “Happy Birthday Bella!” Then she pointed the painting of Bella on the wall. “Oh no. Mommy, what happened? What happened??”

Your baby sister has said a few strange things about you lately. She used to say that the pictures of you were her, but recently she started calling you “Poossa.” This is our nickname for Aria, but he strange thing is when she refers to herself, she calls herself Aria. When I ask her where Bella is, she will point to one of the 2 canvases of you on the wall, but will say Poossa, as if she’s correcting me. “There Poossa!” Of course, we have never referred to you as Poossa.

About a week ago, she started saying “Oh No!” when she points to your photos. Yesterday, when I picked her up from Daycare I asked if we would go home and see Daddy and she said “yes. See Maui?” I replied “yes, we will see Maui too.” Aria then looked at me and said “and Poossa? Go see Poossa?” I wasn’t sure what to make of this. I asked if she meant Bella and she excitedly said, “Okay!”

Aria has always been bright for her age. But I can’t wrap my head around how a 2.5 year old understands that you were a real person and something happened to you. More than that, I have no idea how to respond to her when she asks me what happened to you! How do you explain “death” to a 2 year old? I was honest and told her you are in Heaven, but of course she has no idea what that means.

You would have been 6 years old today, but you will remain 19 months old forever in my heart. As time passes, these difficult days get easier as my grief transforms. When a difficult day is approaching, something minor and completely unrelated to you will break me and I’ll cry so hard that I can’t breathe. This is my way of releasing my human emotions, which is inevitable, and makes these difficult days easier to get through. It’s also my way of letting go, as I no longer want sadness to dominate and leave me unable to cope through these milestones I am forced to get through without you.

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“…And then there was you!” – November 14, 2012

For every year that passes between your birth and the present moment, I let go a little bit more.

In letting go, I choose acceptance.

In letting go, I choose to keep putting one foot in front of the other with my head held high so I can see the beauty before me.

In letting go, I choose this life I was meant to live and decide to make the most of every day.

In letting go, I choose not to let your absence drown me in sorrow, but instead keep looking for your presence everywhere I look.

I’m sad and I miss you, but I am no longer grieving for you. Thank you for the blessings and the lessons. Thank you for always being at my side. And thank you for helping me let go.

Today, I ask for your guidance in how to respond to your baby sister. Someday she will be old enough to tell her all about you. Maybe she’s ready for that now, but what if I’m not!? I feel you in her. Maybe that’s why I don’t miss you as much as I once did. But Aria isn’t you and will never replace you, and you will always hold a special place in our family.

Happy 6th Birthday in Heaven my sweet Angel. I love you more than life!

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#StayStrong❤

A Trip To Finding My SELF!

It’s my last morning in Florida and I’m awake before the sun sets. I’m sitting outside taking in as much of the salty air as possible. I love everything about this place: the sights, the sunsets, the white sand, the smell of the breeze. Most importantly, I am a different person here, completely calm and focused on my soul work. I am the true me.

I registered for the Grief Recovery Specialist training in Tampa, as my soul work is to help people cope with grief. I cancelled my trip after a family emergency, but later found out I wasn’t able to cancel my flight. My husband encouraged me to come to Clearwater for a few days as he felt there was a purpose for this trip; I needed to come.

I became focused on searching for a purpose for this trip because I felt guilty for being away from my family. When things don’t work out, it’s for a reason, and I’m so grateful for the time I’ve had alone.

What I found in Clearwater was magical. I was focused and productive. I accomplished more than I expected possible and worked very hard on writing my book proposal. I found clarity and purpose. And most importantly, I found my true self!

I’ve met a few amazing women during my visit here, and when I’m with my soul tribe, by true self comes through. I am understanding how I am not this same person when I’m at home. I’m so busy with work and everyday life that my true self gets tucked away. When I speak about Bella and my experiences communicating with her, the connection I have to her in Spirit, a beautiful part of me emerges and allowing this light to shine brings me peace.

I’m not sure why I keep this side of me hidden. Part of me feels it’s simply preoccupation with “life” and ignoring it, but another part feels there is a deeper reason I keep this tucked away. What I know for sure is by allowing this part of me to be seen, be truly being ME, I let go of all my doubt and insecurities and am able to SIMPLY BE!

Code Blue: The Trauma of Watching My Husband Die (Part 1)

Our wedding day was magical, like a scene from a fairy tale. How could I possibly know that 3 short weeks later, I would stand on the sidelines as I watched my husband die right before my eyes.

After our wedding, we went away for 3 days, just the two of us. It was a great trip, but something didn’t feel right to me. I began to experience anxiety about my husband’s health. There was nothing to trigger it; he was perfectly fine. We both thought I was just paranoid.

It all began a week after we got home. I was at work when I received a text from him saying: “Don’t panic, but I’m on my way to the hospital.” Anxiety had been building inside me for a week and as I read those words, I felt it erupt. I could no longer see clearly and wasn’t able to read the rest of the message. I stood in the middle of the street unable to find my car keys when my boss offered to have someone drive me to the hospital.

There he was, laying in the same room my daughter laid when the medical staff tried so hard to bring her back to life. I pushed the flashback aside and saw that Tom looked absolutely fine, but something was going on with his heart and we wouldn’t know what was wrong until he could get an appointment with his cardiologist. We waiting on pins and needles as I treated him delicately, as though he were made glass. His symptoms would come and go. I couldn’t eat and couldn’t sleep because I was absolutely terrified that something would happen to him.

And then it did.

A week later, it was just before midnight and we were settling into bed when he got up to use the washroom. I couldn’t shake the heavy feeling that came over me. Then he rushed back in and said: “We need to go to the the hospital. NOW!!!” I jumped up and threw clothes on as quickly as I could while my legs struggled to support my weight. I grabbed my purse, my phone, and a phone charger thinking it may come in handy. My mother was 6 hours away so I told my father he needed to come NOW and stay with our kids because we needed to leave. “I think Tom is having a heart attack!”

Tom was brought in by ambulance and I followed behind. We were back in that same hospital room. He was in a lot of pain and nothing was helping. His blood pressure dropped and they needed to stabilize him. He seemed calm for a moment and we were alone when he suddenly sat up and said he could feel a wave of pain coming. “Go get someone!!!” His heart monitor began to go wild and I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.

When you have experienced a trauma and sudden loss, you understand that bad things can happen at any time and know that people die. “I can’t lose him too… It can’t end like this… The Universe can’t be this cruel. I CAN’T LOSE HIM TOO!!!!”

I backed myself into the corner and was petrified. My heart and brain were fighting; my heart told me to be at his side so he knew he wasn’t alone, but my head screamed at me to stay out of the way! I knew the scene I was witnessing was traumatizing me and I tried to stare at the floor. There was a flashing blue light behind me and the words “code blue” were relating over and over on the speaker. I felt as though I were outside of my body as I watched helplessly as my husband died.

My legs were too weak and I couldn’t stand up. I was on my hands and knees and couldn’t breathe. So many nurses piled into the room, all standing around my husband as they pumped air into his lungs and tried to get his heart beating again.

A nurse brought me to another room, the same room I sat in when I was told Bella was gone. Tears streaming down my face, I pleaded with the nurse: “I can’t lose him too…” I was in shock and my fingers were frozen stiff. The nurse called my niece to come so I wasn’t alone.

Tom’s heart stopped for 2 minutes, but it felt like an eternity passed by. I lived in a world without my husband for 2 whole minutes. Even though he came back to his body, Tom was in serious condition and time was not on our side.

He needed to get to another hospital where they could perform an angiogram to locate the blockage in his heart. Thankfully the medical team were able to stabilize him so he could make the trip. I was relieved that I was able to fly with him and our first plane ride together was by air ambulance. I was a 3.5 hour drive from home with nothing but the clothes on my back, my purse, cell phone and charger, and most importantly, my husband! I was not going to leave his side.

(To be continued…)

To read Part 2, please click HERE.

We Made History This Week!!!

I was recently approached by the editor of the Canadian Medical Journal of Sonography who asked to include my story, The Ultrasound Miracle in the journal. This is the first time in the history of the journal that they included a story from a patient. So here it is, my miracle, on the cover of the journal! And here is my story, officially in print in a medical journal which will be read by sonographers all over the country! It was a pretty incredible feeling to see my sonogram photo (or as I see it, a photo of my two daughters) on the cover of a medical journal. It’s pretty amazing that my story will reach the medical community in this way. I hope my story touches many more people and opens them up to a new reality where love never dies.

Journal cover and article © 2018 Canadian Journal of Medical Sonography