This One Goes Out To Our Friends and Family: Two Months Later

Wednesday marked the two month anniversary of Anya's dirthday.

(Dirthday = death + birthday. Another parent at a loss for words came up with that term.)

As in our Letter to Our Daughter: One Month Later, Alex and I thought it important for us to take time to remember all that Anya has brought us. This time we lit a candle, took out a photo of Anya and focused on all the love in our lives.

We have a lot of love in our lives.

The most precious gift Anya brought to my life: she inspired me to love much more deeply than I ever thought possible. Anya filled me with love, a love that grew inside me every day of our 9 months together. And all that love is still there.

Anya also inspired all of those around us to share and express their love. Love has poured into our lives  from all sides, from places I would never have thought to look.

• Elementary school friends have come over to our house to help with basic jobs (making dinner, tidying my disastrous craft room) or just to say hello
  
• A few friends not seen since high school and university have sent heartfelt messages, cards and precious keepsakes
  
• Friends we saw only a few times a year have shared lots of their time. We have opened up our hearts and shared tears like we never had before. Our friendships have grown closer... more intimate
  
• My sister has made our home her home away from home. She visits and cares for us often
  
• Our midwives continue to send their love our way
  
• We have met with other bereaved parents and supported each other through this heavy, heavy loss
  
• And each and every one of our close friends and our family have been there to support us

Two of my work friends made a similar comment to me, on two separate occasions: If one were to try and take any good out of Anya's death, it would be that we have grown closer in our friendship, that we share more love and more of our time.

I'm redefining what friendship means to me. I had always thought of the love around me in terms of the people who surround us in our everyday lives, those who mark special moments and occasions with us. But love is so much more than that. Love exists in the people whose paths we may have crossed years ago, often not even realizing the friendship and caring would still be there years later, when we needed it most.

This love and support has been my lifeboat. Thank you.

After Anya died we received hundreds of cards and messages. We continue to receive new messages of love and friendship every week (some people even kindly indulge my overwhelming need by sending me messages every day!).

And so, to commemorate Anya's life and love, we decided to put all of these messages in a box. (I printed out every Facebook message and email too.) We sat by our candle and picked 10 messages at random, and we read them to each other, to remind ourselves of all the love around us.

What messages of love came to us that day? Here are just a few (posted anonymously)...

Je constate que cette jolie tête est très active, je suis très fière de toi. Alex est un mari choyé. Tout comme ma fille, un jour tu feras une maman remarquable, tu es une fille fantastique que j'aime beaucoup.

Think only about yourself and Alex. Love each other, hold each other and never let go.

J'ai lu la note de ton mari sur Facebook. Il est éloquent, courageux et généreux.

You mean the world to me, Kayleigh, as Anya meant the world to you. Always remember that's how much I love you.

Anya restera toujours marquée dans ma mémoire: une belle petite fille à la peau délicate. Un beau petit nez et de magnifiques petites lèvres en forme de coeur.

And a love letter from my husband...

I believe with all my heart that our happiest days are still ahead. Our road has led us into a thunderstorm. I can't tell you when it will end, but it will end. I can feel the sunshine. It will come, and we will be together and appreciate it more than we ever did. You are simply the best, and only person, I could ever love so deeply.

We've decided to keep these messages in a box in the living room. That way, when we need a little love and support, all we have to do is pick a message at random and let it warm our hearts.

Redefining Happiness

People keep telling me how strong I am, though the truth might be more accurately reflected in this quote, spoken by a grieving father to his stillborn son...

"Forgive me when I cry [...] Occasionally, I can't help it [...]
"Forgive me when I don't cry [...] I can't help being happy because it's my nature [...] know that I'll never forget the seven and a half months of joy you brought us."

(From the book Knocked Up, Knocked Down by Monica Murphy Lemoine)

The truth is, I'm not strong, or at least not stronger than any of you. A lot of the time I'm sad and angry. I have at least one or two good cries every day - the sobbing out loud, wiping my runny nose on my arm, almost can't breathe kind of crying. I wake up and go to bed with an ache in my heart. I often go through the motions, numb from the pain. I want to hide somewhere safe and stay there.

But that's only half the story. Every morning, I get out of bed early. I eat breakfast. I shower and make myself presentable. I find things to do, things that make me happy. I go to yoga, I make crafts, I read. I meet up with friends. I drink lots and lots of tea. And I still smile and laugh. I do these things because human nature is to go on living, because my nature is to be happy, because I'm grateful for this life.

I'm grateful I get to experience all the beauty and love in this world. I'm grateful for my husband Alex, always. I'm grateful I finally decided to let myself fall in love with him. (I'm grateful Alex was so patient and persistent.)

I'm grateful for all the friends and family who love me and support me. All the people who never get tired of hearing about Anya, who never hesitate to wrap me in their arms and fill my heart with warmth. All the people who write to me, knowing I compulsively check for new messages, needy for hope and love.

I'm never going to be as happy as I used to be. I will never have that same assurance that everything is going to be okay. I will never feel so perfectly joyful and satisfied that everything in my life is as it should be. To paraphrase a friend, I am Kayleigh + Anya now and a part of me will always be missing.

So instead of striving for greater happiness, I've decided to experience more love and compassion. I've decided to share more kindness and to give more generosity. In this new life of mine, I will spread as much love as I can to those around me. Because love always grows, even as happiness waxes and wanes.

Coping

From time to time, as mourning parents, we hear some odd compliments. Things like 'Great job getting out of bed and doing something with your day'.

And we're surprisingly thankful to hear that. 

It's a reminder that we could easily (and understandably) still be hiding from the world.

For the first few days, that's all we could do. Doing our best to cope was getting out of bed. Crying. Writing. Thankfully, we were lucky enough to have Kayleigh's mom and sister (Michelle & Sarah) to take care of us. 

Little by little, we were able to start setting some goals. Things outside of what absolutely needed to be done. Very short term goals, at first - things that we should do today, like getting 15 minutes of sunshine (on our midwife's advice). 

Then, we were able to look a little further. Sign up for a support group. Seek psychological help. And schedule some distractions (thanks Sarah).

Coping with the loss of Anya has been a different struggle every day. Sometimes it means talking about it. Sometimes it's about staying distracted. Sometimes it's even staying home depressed. It's like being lost in a forest without a compass or a map. I don't know which route to take, or what obstacles we'll face. All we can do is stick with the route that feels right, and hope that it only gets smoother from here. 

So far, it's not a smooth road. It gets a little better, then it gets a little worse. We've so far been wonderful at reminding each other that in the horizon, our future still looks beautiful. But we need to get there.

And so many of you are helping us get there. With every word of support, with every thought. With every distracting message. We are not going through this difficult journey alone, and that's all that we could have asked for.

Today is Day 54. Today was a difficult day. Day 55 might be better. But if it's not, that's okay too. 

A Gift to My Daughter, A Gift to Myself

A snow angel for my baby girl

Lately it seems every day is just as hard as the day before, if not harder.

I try to find a balance between letting myself feel: the sadness, the pain, the anger, and keeping myself busy with things I enjoy: friends, books, crafts, yoga, my husband.

But it isn't easy, there is a big black hole inside me that I can't fill. I keep imagining my heart falling out of my chest, blood and all.

People tell me to be strong. I try, mostly for Alex, but also because I know that there are so many people and so many things I still love about life. I know one day I will be happy and life will be good again, though it will never be as good, as absolutely perfect as the 9 months of bliss I shared with my husband and my daughter in 2013.

People tell me to honour Anya. I've thought about this phrase a lot: Honour Anya. What does that mean? I can't honour Anya, she isn't here.

Yesterday, walking through the pristine fresh snow, soaking in the bright rays of the afternoon sun, I finally figured out what honouring Anya means to me.

It means making sure that Anya is a force for good in my life. Remembering all the love she brought to our family. Remembering to appreciate all the wonderful people and things around me.

Most importantly of all, honouring Anya means refusing to let the pain of her death overshadow the love and joy of her life. It means not letting Anya's death become the moment when my life fell apart, and I couldn't put it back together again.