tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-47255659228356286942024-03-12T19:21:01.039-07:00Jenna Brandt's BlogParenting, Child Loss, Grief and SIDS (Sudden Infant Death Syndrome)Jenna Brandthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04626212578092484574noreply@blogger.comBlogger29125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4725565922835628694.post-32736091354085324422018-05-16T18:18:00.002-07:002018-05-16T18:24:55.125-07:00A Name for Grief that Goes On and On By Jacqueline Howard, CNN<h2>
<a href="https://www.cnn.com/2018/05/16/health/complicated-grief-explainer/index.html" style="background-color: white;" target="_blank"><span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-weight: normal;">I was interviewed in this article that was published today on 5-16-18 and thought I would share it with all of you. Article as printed on cnn.com.</span></a></h2>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Stephanie Muldberg felt like she would be sad forever. She felt isolated and preferred to sit alone at home, overcome with waves of emotion -- anger, guilt and bitterness.<br />Muldberg's 13-year-old son, Eric, died of cancer in their home in New Jersey in 2004. For years after his death, Eric dominated her thoughts. She felt guilty that she lived and he didn't. She couldn't drive past the baseball field where he used to play. <br />"I wasn't able to adapt to my loss," Muldberg said.<br />Four years passed before Muldberg, now 58, received help. She learned that there was a name for the long-lasting, intense type of grief she suffered: <a href="https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC3384440/">complicated grief</a>.<br />Complicated grief can be defined as a more <a href="https://complicatedgrief.columbia.edu/professionals/complicated-grief-professionals/overview/">persistent form of intense grief</a> in which maladaptive thoughts and dysfunctional behaviors emerge, along with continued yearning and sadness or preoccupation with thoughts of the person who died.<br />Yet more often than not, many people are unaware that this type of grief exists -- and that it may require short-term therapy.<br />"It can happen to anybody," she said. "When people hear about complicated grief or read about complicated grief, they either often recognize it in themselves or in somebody else that they know."<br />A study <a href="http://pediatrics.aappublications.org/content/early/2018/04/26/peds.2017-3651">published in the journal Pediatrics</a> in April found that among bereaved mothers who had lost a child to sudden infant death syndrome, half experienced symptoms of prolonged grief, alternatively called complicated grief, after their infants' deaths.<br />The study, conducted between May 2013 and July 2016, included data on 49 mothers in Cape Town, South Africa, and Pine Ridge Indian Reservation in the United States and 359 mothers across the United States, the United Kingdom, Australia, New Zealand and the Netherlands.<br />When it comes to SIDS, "I think it's a very important window into understanding the concerns of grief that are particular to young families," said Dr. Richard Goldstein, assistant professor of pediatrics at Harvard Medical School and director of the Robert's Program on Sudden Unexpected Death in Pediatrics at <a href="http://www.childrenshospital.org/directory/physicians/g/richard-goldstein">Boston Children's Hospital</a>. <br />"There's a body of research that goes back decades showing that the loss of any young child causes a more severe form of grief," he said, and the rubric of prolonged grief gives researchers a standardized way to examine that severe form of grief. <br />Jenna Brandt, a 40-year-old mother of four -- three who are alive and one who died -- said she would guess complicated or prolonged grief is under-reported, especially among mothers.<br />"The deeper the love, the deeper the grief," she said.<br />After her son died of SIDS in 2014, Brandt didn't show signs of complicated grief, but she said that she and her family sought counseling to help them process their grief and their loss. One of Brandt's biggest fears was that she would become a "permanently sad person" and never feel as happy again, she said.<br />"The most profound thing my grief counselor told me, he said, 'In any other circumstance, people would think you're going crazy, but in the circumstances you are in, in this profound loss of a child, you are not going insane. You are not crazy. This is a normal reaction. What you are feeling, how you are feeling, this tremendous loss, this anxiety, this not wanting to get out of bed, this not wanting to function, this is normal -- but it is temporary,'" said Brandt, a historical fiction author in California.<br />A major difference between a normal or healthy grief and a complicated or prolonged grief appears to be, in part, how long the grief continues. Another difference seems to be how much the grief symptoms interrupt daily functioning.<br />"What normal means is that you've come to a place of acceptance. That means that you've accepted that they've gone and you've learned to live with it, because there's no moving on," said Brandt, who now occasionally leads a grief support group at her local church.<br />"You don't move on. There's not a single day that goes by that I don't think about my son, that something doesn't trigger a memory of him or the pang of loss, but there is a difference between when it first happened and I literally couldn't get out of bed," she said.<br />Complicated grief, the only grief condition described in scientific research, has gone by many names, including prolonged grief, persistent complex bereavement, pathological grief and traumatic grief, said Dr. Katherine Shear, founder and director of the <a href="http://complicatedgrief.org/">Center for Complicated Grief</a>at Columbia University.<br />In and of itself, <a href="https://medlineplus.gov/ency/article/001530.htm">grief is natural and healthy</a> after a loss, Shear said, but she added that what can be unhealthy is struggling with the difficulty or inability to adapt to the loss -- and when that happens, prolonged or complicated grief can develop.<br />In the diagnostic handbook of psychiatric disorders -- the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders or DSM -- persistent complex bereavement is listed under the category of "conditions for further study."<br />The handbook describes it as experiencing the death of someone with whom you had a close relationship, and since that death, symptoms of the condition occur on more days than not, to a clinically significant degree. They persist for at least 12 months for bereaved adults but six months for bereaved children.<br />The prevalence of prolonged or complicated grief among those who have experienced a major bereavement has been <a href="https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/21216470">estimated at 6.7%</a>, with some <a href="https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/27717273">estimates pointing to 10%</a>.<br />"Given this approximate prevalence and the fact that about 60% of the population has lost someone important to them, we estimate approximately 10 million people in the United States may be suffering in this way," Shear said.<br />Goldstein, of Boston Children's Hospital, said that his study and others contribute to awareness about the many unrecognized parents who may suffer from prolonged grief -- and how prolonged grief is different than depression or post-traumatic stress disorder.<br />"It is true that people can get depressed after loss, but there are very significant differences in the behaviors that we're talking about when someone's depressed after loss than what is seen in prolonged grief," Goldstein said.<br />"One aspect of depression is withdrawing from attachment figures, whereas someone with pathological grief can ruminate and seeks more proximity with those that have died," he said. "PTSD is characterized by a certain kind of intrusive fear, while the intrusions in the grief that we've been studying have more to do with yearning and emotional pain."<br />Symptoms could include persistent yearning or longing for the deceased; intense sorrow and emotional pain; preoccupation with the deceased; preoccupation with the circumstances of the death; reactive distress to the death, such as self-blame or avoiding places associated with the deceased; and social or identity disruption, such as a desire to die to be with the deceased or having difficulty trusting other people.<br />Treatment options for prolonged or complicated grief might include a combination of psychotherapy, behavior modifications and possibly medications, such as antidepressants for people who have clinical depression as well as complicated grief, <a href="https://www.mayoclinic.org/diseases-conditions/complicated-grief/diagnosis-treatment/drc-20360389">according to Mayo Clinic</a>.<br />Yet "more research is needed to specify the condition of 'persistent complex bereavement,' " said Rheeda Walker, an associate professor and licensed clinical psychologist at the University of Houston.<br />"Part of the challenge of grief, particularly when there is the loss of a loved one, is the expectation of what the reaction is supposed to look like and how long it's supposed to take. In my observations, people think that grieving ends once a loved one has been funeralized. That is rarely the case," she said. "What we would expect to see is a gradual progression or decrease in sadness or numbing with some seeming 'setbacks' or 'good days and bad days.' "<br />The inability to adapt to a loss also can be described as becoming "paralyzed" in prolonged grief, said Gail Gross, a psychologist and author of the book "<a href="http://drgailgross.com/">The Only Way Out is Through: A Ten-Step Journey from Grief to Wholeness</a>."<br />"Grief is a normal response to bereavement, and everyone has their own timetable and style of grieving. You will always miss the person who died and will always experience the pain of loss. However, that pain does not have to become suffering," Gross said.<br />"Pain accompanies grief, and if you contract against your pain, it becomes suffering. That's when grief is unhealthy, and that's when you can get caught in PGD, prolonged grief," she said. "People who grieve can live again, vitally if they allow themselves the time to grieve."<br />Though Gross has not experienced any type of complicated grief, she knows the grieving process all too well. Her 24-year-old daughter, Dawn, died of cardiomyopathy with fibrosis, a heart problem, and was found dead in her apartment on April 12, 1990.<br />Gross wrote her book on grief as a service to others, hoping that they could benefit from her experience, and she said that for people experiencing symptoms of prolonged grief -- such as losing a sense of self or feeling suicidal -- it is important to seek professional help.<br />In 2008, a therapist who knew Muldberg, the New Jersey woman who lost her son, saw a presentation on complicated grief given by <a href="https://complicatedgrief.columbia.edu/about-us/our-team/">Columbia University's Shear</a>. <br />"She waited until the end of Dr. Shear's presentation, and she went up to her, and she said she knew someone who seemed to fit the condition described in the presentation. Dr. Shear was kind enough to say, 'Well, why don't you have her call me?' " Muldberg said.<br />"I went in to see Dr. Shear. I filled out a lot of forms, and I filled out a form called '<a href="http://www.apa.org/pi/about/publications/caregivers/practice-settings/assessment/tools/complicated-grief.aspx">The Inventory of Complicated Grief</a>,' on which I scored incredibly high," she said. "I went in the following week, and I started a <a href="https://complicatedgrief.columbia.edu/professionals/complicated-grief-professionals/treatment/">16-session therapy</a>."<br />Muldberg said the therapy helped her.<br />"Usually, grief is acute in the beginning, and it becomes integrated into a person's life as they adapt to the loss," Shear said.<br />Adapting to loss can entail accepting the reality of the death, including its finality and a changed relationship to the person who died, and seeing the possibility of feeling joy again in the future as time passes.<br />Muldberg now volunteers at the Center for Complicated Grief, helps run support groups and is again involved in her community and spends quality time with her family and friends.<br />"Grief never ends, but I've learned how to integrate it into my life," she said.</span>Jenna Brandthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04626212578092484574noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4725565922835628694.post-5162337397131255342017-11-23T11:48:00.002-08:002017-11-23T12:16:00.932-08:00Exposing Our Scars<div data-p-id="7cec6d4c23da3d6355858e81893b7293" style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #555555; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 18px; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 24px; padding: 0px;">
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"This too shall pass." It sounds cliché, but the truth is, it's gotten me through a gambit of hard times. An abusive relationship with my biological father, childhood bullying by peers, the near-fatal car crash of my spouse, and the death of my adopted father and infant son only one year apart. In my life, I have suffered countless losses and tragedies, but through them all, I try to focus on the positive, knowing traumas are what stick with us the most.</div>
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But our misfortunes don't have to define us. We can push through the hurt, and remember, nothing in this life is permanent. Everything is temporary, which means, the pain you are feeling right now, it won't feel this bad forever. Pain does lessen over time and you can find a way to not only survive, but thrive. Your future will still bring moments of joy: the exhilarating feeling of a first kiss, making the winning goal for your team, getting the promotion you earned, or watching your baby come into the world. Each of those life-changing moments can help you see past the pain of your difficult days. If you remember all the good times, and hope for all the ones to come, you can withstand anything.</div>
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I remember when I published my first book and I received my initial negative review. I'm not going to lie; it hurt. I cried myself silly over that first one and I had to accept it wouldn't be my last. But I had to make a decision. Was I going to let the negative people out there define me? Was I going to let them keep me from writing the truth my characters and their stories deserved? I could have stopped writing. I could have changed my name and hidden in anonymity. I could have let their brokenness break me—after all, hurt people, hurt people—but I chose to keep telling my truth. To keep telling the stories I knew needed to be told. I chose to ignore the nay-sayers and the self-appointed "critiques" who hide behind computer screens, or tvs, or other people. The ones who are too afraid to try to make anything of themselves, so out of bitterness, beat other people down who are creating. That first negative review changed me, but not in the way the person who wrote it hoped. I learned a valuable lesson. Nothing is more important than believing in what I do.</div>
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So, even though our misfortunes don't have to define us, I do think we should allow them to change us. Not into bitter people, but better people, willing to share our experiences to help others. I write what I feel. Out of my deepest pain, comes the deepest truth I can share with others. We are not alone in this world and our greatest purpose is to help others by exposing our scars.</div>
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*photo copyright pixabay.com</div>
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Jenna Brandthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04626212578092484574noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4725565922835628694.post-2155102291900704712017-06-26T20:40:00.001-07:002017-06-26T21:06:02.041-07:00Celebrating my Son's Fourth Birthday While He is in Heaven<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I woke up today feeling melancholy and I have been fighting the feeling all day. I want to be better, for this day to get easier, but I have come to realize, some days will always be hard. </div>
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The first year, I did everything for everyone else. I was afraid everyone would forget Dylan and it scared me. I planned a massive balloon release at the cemetery and had a cake made for his 1st birthday. We spent the evening at my house, talking and sharing. It had been beautiful but exhausting as it proved overwhelming, pretending to be "alright" for everyone else. Deep down, I was anything but alright. I was broken, in deep pain and hiding it from everyone. But as women, we are taught to put our own feelings aside and focus on everyone else. And so, I did. It took the next two years for me to realize it was okay not to do what others expected or wanted from me, but to do what was the most healing choice for my family. </div>
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This year, we kept it intimate. Besides my husband and kids, only my mom and oldest friend were at his grave. I didn't want to have to fake being happy or have my hair and makeup done. I wanted to go to his resting place and just be. Be able to miss him, to feel sad, to think about him without having to plaster on a smile for everyone else. Because I do that, often. I fake it. That old saying, "Fake it until you make it" has become my motto. I feel like I have been faking it for the past three years, ever since my son passed away from SIDS (Sudden Infant Death Syndrome) at almost 9-months-old. But I woke up today, and I didn't want to fake it anymore.<br />
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It had been difficult getting through Dylan's fourth birthday without him. It still feels surreal to celebrate a birthday without the person being there while you do it. I think of what I would have done, had he actually made it to four. I think this year, I would have loved to throw him a superhero party. I'm sure his dad would have bought him a ton of Avengers toys and he would have loved the idea of a superhero pizza party. We would have invited all our friends and family and it would have been a blast. But instead, I spent the majority of the day, trying to focus on anything else, besides the sadness of the day, but having my mind drift back and focus on it anyway.</div>
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-65XGp-dqRcw/WVHR6qaMX8I/AAAAAAAADaI/W1KBP3UowvISowd_7v8hzl2ZuyV_pqqbACKgBGAs/s1600/IMG_3444.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: justify;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-65XGp-dqRcw/WVHR6qaMX8I/AAAAAAAADaI/W1KBP3UowvISowd_7v8hzl2ZuyV_pqqbACKgBGAs/s320/IMG_3444.JPG" width="240" /></a>As I sit next to my rainbow daughter, a gift I believe my son sent down directly from heaven, I think of how I wish she could have known her brother. My oldest asked me today, "Is Dylan her older brother or baby brother." What is the answer to that? Technically, he is her older brother but he will forever be remembered as a baby. Even she points to his picture on his headstone and says, "Baby." I reply, "Yes, that is your brother Dylan, but he would be four now." She doesn't get it yet since she is only two. I'm a lot older than that, and I don't think I get it either. All I know is today, we went and spent time thinking about the little boy that changed all our lives forever, and I am grateful, he has not been forgotten.</div>
Jenna Brandthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04626212578092484574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4725565922835628694.post-56967655183031934952017-05-03T09:06:00.000-07:002017-05-03T09:10:29.501-07:00Mother's Day as a Grieving MotherMother's Day has always been a favorite holiday of mine. I loved seeing my mom and grandmother’s faces light up when I gave them the special gifts I made for them as a child and later picked out for them as an adult. There was something magical about making the maternal figures in my life feel special in gratitude for all they did for me. But sixteen years ago, that holiday was darkened when my maternal grandmother died on Mother’s Day, a bitter irony for my own mother and a deep loss that profoundly shook us to the core. My grandmother had been our anchor in this world and we didn't know what we would do without her. Over time, we were able to heal and remanence on the many wonderful years we shared with her, rather than dwell on the loss. The sadness of the day was further removed eleven years ago, when I was blessed with my first daughter. I loved being a mother and making memories together with my own mom. It renewed my love for the holiday and I fondly remember how special it was the first year after having a child. Two years later I celebrated with a second daughter, and five years later I had my first and only son. I had the picture perfect family and looked forward to sharing the day with my completed family of five. But my hopeful plans were destroyed when my son passed away from SIDS (sudden infant death syndrome) one month before Mother’s Day. I was devastated. I was broken by the fact I never got to spend a single Mother’s Day with him, and I feared every single one after, would remind me of my tremendous loss. I never wanted to celebrate Mother’s Day again. But life doesn't work that way. My daughters still wanted to make me cards and gifts and I didn't want to hurt them by showing the pain the day brought me. And the most surprising thing happened through my allowing them to love on me, I slowly began to appreciate the holiday again. This year, with my two older girls and rainbow daughter, I am finally looking forward to it once more. I will always be a paradoxical mother with mixed emotions, celebrating both as a mother of three daughters who are here with me while never forgetting I am also a mother to my little boy in heaven. I chose to live for the ones who are still here, never forgetting the ones who are forever absent. But time does bring healing and three years later, Mother’s Day has a deeper meaning than ever before. Not to spite my losses but because of them. I appreciate being a mother more deeply, knowing how temporary life can be. Each day with my children is a gift and I plan to make the most of each one. So, this Mother’s Day, I plan to bask in the love my family graciously chooses to give me, never forgetting that although I only see three, I will always be a mother to four.
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0fvENR-9rss/WQn_VwfccmI/AAAAAAAACbg/rXa7R8zYdII6Y8qe_eduuip6IMHcDJgIwCPcB/s1600/IMG_1815.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0fvENR-9rss/WQn_VwfccmI/AAAAAAAACbg/rXa7R8zYdII6Y8qe_eduuip6IMHcDJgIwCPcB/s400/IMG_1815.JPG" width="400" height="300" /></a></div>Jenna Brandthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04626212578092484574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4725565922835628694.post-17449672182832166842017-03-23T16:12:00.001-07:002017-03-23T16:32:05.165-07:003 Years Without My SonI wouldn't say it gets easier but it does change. The beginning is so different from 1 to 2 to 3 years, but the missing and longing never goes away. You just learn to live with it and give yourself room and permission to feel it.<br />
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How are you doing? I get asked this often, espicially when it's angelversary time. There is no easy answer. No formula to get through the day - the worst day of my life. This day is and will always be dreaded and mourned, it is, after all, the day my 8 month, 26 day old son was taken from me, when all my hopes for the future ended and turned to memories. There felt as if there was no future without him. Along with my child, I lost pieces of myself. My identity as a mother to a boy, a mother of three, naivety when it came to parenting and the sense of a complete family. There will always be a piece missing where Dylan used to be and should be.<br />
Today, I think of how you would be at almost 4-years-old. You would already be in preschool and you would be going to Sunday school every week. I think you would love toy trucks and Star Wars because of your daddy, Disney princess movies and dress up because of your sisters, and story and cooking time because of mommy. You would be the perfect mixture of rough and tumbly along with your ever-present sensitive heart. Your hair would be blonder than ever and your crystal blue eyes would twinkle with joy.<br />
I miss you every day bubsy, but what gets me through all the difficult times, when the loss threatens to overwhelm, is knowing, one day, we will be reunited. I look forward to hearing you laugh again and finally getting to dance with you while choirs of angels sing. Oh, what a glorious day that will be when I see you again and nothing will seperate us. Until then, I will continue to hold vigile. You are not forgotten. You are still loved beyond words and never doubt, mommy is coming to be with you one day.Jenna Brandthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04626212578092484574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4725565922835628694.post-77609950818674371342016-11-15T23:40:00.000-08:002016-11-16T08:40:01.354-08:004 Common Questions That Have Complicated Answers For a Bereaved Parent<div style="text-align: justify;">
A dead child. It's a taboo subject. People either don't want to or don't know how to talk about it. Before I lost my son, Dylan, to SIDS (Sudden Infant Death Syndrome) at almost 9-months-old, I felt the same way. I had only met a handful of people who had lost children and even fewer that were willing or able to discuss it. The problem with continuing in this manner is that it isolates the survivors and creates an atmosphere where common questions manifest complicated answers.</div>
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<strong><span style="color: #bf9000;">1. How Are You Doing?</span></strong> Everyone asks this question when they run into people. Most respond with the automatic, "I'm fine." I realized quickly after losing my son, I wasn't really fine anymore. But with over packed days, few people have time to listen to how we are really doing. If I'm checking out at the grocery store and the cashier asks, "How are you doing today?" I know they don't expect to hear the answer, "I just cried my eyes out for two hours because I came across the sock of my son who passed away." The person behind me doesn't have the time for it either. So, you get used to giving the contrived response, "I'm fine." It's not to say, I haven't blurted out how I'm really feeling, especially in the beginning when the emotions were so raw and uncontrollable. Over time though, I figured out how to manage my responses. But even now, two and a half years later, sometimes, the pain is still so overwhelming, I respond without a filter. Even with friends and family, I wonder if they really want to know the brutal details of how I have flashbacks, nightmares and sobbing spells. This lead to the other cliché response I got use to saying, "As well as can be expected." Writing it out, it seems so silly a response; how does anyone think a person that just lost a child is doing? Most people literally say, "I can't even imagine" because its unimaginable. Even when you are living it, it feels that way. You feel like you are living someone else's life because in no way does it resemble the one you had imagined for yourself. The truth is, once you have lost a loved one, how you are doing can no longer be summed up in one simple sentence. </div>
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<strong><span style="color: #bf9000;">3. Are You Planning to Have Another child?</span></strong> Because I only have girls, I get asked this often. It opens up mixed emotions because I feel like I have to explain the fact that I have a son, he's just not with us any longer and I did have another child after him, she just happened to turn out to be a girl. We have always seen ourselves with just three kids, we can't have anymore of our own and I don't want to keep chasing the idea of having more children to fill a void that I have come to realize can never be filled. Especially since I finally made peace with the fact I know I will never have a living son on earth again. It took me a long time to accept that, to be able to say it out loud and a find a way to not be angry or disappointed when someone says, "Oh, you have all girls. You think you will try for a boy?" There is one thing that does give me comfort: the possibility that one day I might have a grandson. It may seem odd to think of something so distant in the future since my girls are only 10, 8 and 17 months, but it gives me solace to think that one day, I might have a little boy in my life again via one of my daughters.</div>
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<strong><span style="color: #bf9000;">4. Do you want to come to my baby shower/child's birthday/son's wedding?</span></strong> Milestones are painful, whether it be the ones our own living children reach or the ones of friends' and family. Invites to events that used to be reflexively yes become difficult to decide whether you are able to attend. The old you would have said yes with no hesitation but the new you knows these type of milestone events create triggers sparking upheaval. Going would be like walking through an emotional minefield and when you already hurt every day without triggers, how do you muster up the courage to purposefully walk into a situation rife with them. For the first few months immediately following my son's death, I couldn't even be around other babies without crying and I didn't know if I could ever be normal around them, let alone hold one or be at an event for one. Then around six months, things changed for me. I started finding joy again in other people's celebrations. I even decided that I wanted to try for another baby, something my husband had wanted right away but I couldn't think about. I helped plan and attended my sister-in-law's baby shower, went to two first birthday parties for little boys and a dear friend's wedding where he danced with his mother all within the first nine months. These were huge milestones for important people in our lives and I wanted to be a part of them. Their special moments made me smile with happiness for them but if I am honest, they also brought twinges of deep pain. It was the first shower I attended since my own for Dylan and I found myself constantly forcing myself to push away thoughts of him. Dylan never made it to his first birthday and one of the cousins was the little boy with whom he was supposed to grow up. When our friend danced with his mother, I realized I would never get to dance with my son at his wedding. All of those moments were ripped away for me when my son died. With time, it gets more bearable but it never changes. I was recently at another shower for a baby boy and the same thoughts floated across my mind. It doesn't mean I don't want to be invited to your baby shower, child's birthday or son's wedding but when you see me at your event and I have a sad look on my face or a tear in my eye, realize that it's not a reflection of what you have but as a result of what I have lost. <br />
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Basic answers becomes labyrinthine after deep loss. It causes one to live a duel life in which two sets of emotions are simultaneously felt, happiness for others mixed with sadness for what will never be. </div>
Jenna Brandthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04626212578092484574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4725565922835628694.post-78420665465149498242016-09-16T14:31:00.000-07:002016-09-16T14:31:56.294-07:00On the 10 Year Anniversary of My Husband's Near-Fatal Wreck<div style="text-align: justify;">
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I'm crying right now as I look at my baby girl who would have never been born if God had not saved my husband 10 years ago. That night, he had been working doing his job like any other night when he was nearly killed by a drunk driver. It was the hardest night of my life, not knowing if my husband would survive emergency brain surgery. I remember sitting in the quiet room so afraid that I might never see my husband again. He was my partner, my best friend and father to my child. I didn't know what I would do without him. I was still recovering from giving birth to our first child, Katie, who was barely five months at the time. It was so scary to hold a newborn baby in my arms while praying for my husband who was in the trauma center barely hanging on to life. I was told he had less than a 20% chance of living and if he did survive, to prepare myself because he would be in a persistent vegetative state. He would never be my husband again. He beat those odds and did survive but spent over two weeks on life support in an induced comma to combat his brain swelling followed by two weeks in the medical intensive care unit and over a month in a physical rehab facility. He had compound fractures in his right leg and left arm including a completely destroyed elbow, a broken pelvis, a fracture vertebrae and a 10 cm brain bleed. Even though he survived and the doctors finally released him from their care, his recovery didn't end when he got home. He had over two dozen surgeries, battled multiple infections and underwent intense physical rehabilitation over the course of six long years. It was full of up and downs and emotional and physical setbacks but every step of the way, I was by his side. This was where the “for worse” part of our marriage vows came in. I loved him through the worst of it and that was what allowed us to make it to where we are now in the better times. We weren't alone during those difficult days, God saw us through with the help of family and close friends. Our lives have changed so much since then, some wonderful things have occurred such as the birth of three more children as well as some tragedies when our son Dylan and my Dad both passed away less than two years apart. But today I can say we are exactly where we are meant to be, doing exactly what we were meant to do, surrounded by the perfect people God has put in our lives. I am grateful for the struggles because I can more greatly appreciate the victories. My husband is a walking testimony that God is still in the miracle business. He has overcome disabilities and odds stacked against him. I know now God saved him that night because God still has things for my husband to do and I feel blessed to be able to walk along side him while he does them. </div>
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Jenna Brandthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04626212578092484574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4725565922835628694.post-67118947769743258652016-08-18T12:42:00.002-07:002016-08-18T12:42:53.526-07:00Ritual Vs. Relationship: a hard look at choosing to engage in life<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><strong><span style="color: orange; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">We live in fast food, live-streaming, ATM cash dispensing, instant credit card swiping culture</span>.</strong> Figuring out how to balance the most important aspects in our lives and keeping them from becoming a habit is difficult. But if we purposefully choose to engage in our own lives and take a hard look at how and why we do things, it can really change not only the way we do them but the outcome.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><strong><span style="color: orange;">Family and Holidays</span></strong>. How we chose to parent can become a system that we don't even think about and do out of routine. Get the kids ready for school, pick the kids up, extra curricular activates, homework, dinner, baths, bedtime, rinse, repeat. The key to turning ritual into relationship is by thoughtfully participating in the tiny moments that make up each of those steps. Engaging with our children: asking them questions, listening to their stories, savoring each kiss and hug creates an unbreakable bond. Sometimes its hard, especially when we have had a long day and not a lot of sleep but that's usually when its the most important to stop and actually participate in our lives, not just hit cruise control and have it all pass us by. I was never more aware of this until after my 9-month-old son, Dylan, passed away from SIDS in 2013. Luckily, at the time, I thought he was going to be my last child, so I really immersed myself in every moment I had with him. Looking back, I'm so grateful for that. But what if he had been my first child or my second? Would I feel the same lack of regret? If I'm honest, probably not. I had a lot going on when I had my first two children, external events that took my focus off of savoring those small moments of perfection. I didn't realize until after my son died, how truly precious all the little moments really are and that sometimes, they become even more valuable than the big ones we focus so much of out time on. After my son died, my husband and I choice to have another child, my third daughter and I can say, I am keenly aware of how valuable each moment is with her as well as her sisters. Parenting properly is important but being a loving parent is paramount. We should strive to give our kids all we can and do right by them but it needs to be balanced by letting them be kids and showing them their inner worth. Would I rather my child grow up being a concert level pianist that never felt loved by their parents because of the focus on exterior things or a child that maybe spent half as much time being shuttled to and from lessons allowing more family time causing them to feel more important than what they could do? People always quote, "Quality over quanity." If I can't give my child lots of time, I will just make sure to give them quality time. But I really believe it need to be both. Children need to feel they matter and the best way you can do that is to spend a little less of our time watching tv, reading a book or surfing the internet and play a board game with them, go outside and count the stars at night or take a walk together. Another area where ritualism can form is with our spouses. Fatigue and stress of daily life can cause us to treat our spouse as a ship passing in the night. By the time the day is over, we have no energy to engage in any type of intimacy. I feel this way often but my husband needs to feel connected and needs to know that he is a priority, not at the bottom of my "to do" list. We have to make ourselves do that extra little thing they like, tell them how much they mean to us, cook them dinner even when you don't feel like it just because you know it will put a smile on their face. It's important to nurture that bond because when our kids grow up and we retire, all each of us will have is the relationship we did (or didn't) create with our spouse. We don't want to wake up one day, look over at a stranger laying next to us and think, "I have no idea who that is or what's important to that person." Another area that we can find ourselves following tradition rather than making purposeful choices is during the holidays. I know that I personally have fallen victim to this. I want to do activities on certain holidays a certain way because of nostalgia and/or guilt. One example: Going around and making everyone say what they are thankful for on Thanksgiving. In the past, I always made it a point to do this because I grew up ever year doing it. Another example is opening one gift on Christmas Eve because we always did that when I was a child. It's hard for me to not want to keep things the same. It's even harder to merge two sets of traditions together and even though my husband and I were both raised in Christian homes, we celebrated many of the holidays differently (in some cases not at all, like Halloween). Trying to find a way to accommodate both sets of expectations and needs is extremely hard during an already stressful time like the holidays. But what should really matter is following those traditions (or not) because they personally mean something. We can also make new traditions that are special and significant to your family. We used to let each of our children pick out an ornament for Christmas and now that our son has passed away, we didn't end the tradition, instead, as a family we have evolved the tradition into picking one for him and placing it on the tree right beside the others. We can also look at the holidays differently rather than the way we always have in the past. Like on Thanksgiving, we should be saying we are thankful every day, not just once a year because that's what's mandated. We should allow ourselves to acknowledge that there are seasons where it's difficult to find a grateful heart in the midst of deep turmoil or grief and when Thanksgiving comes around during those seasons, God will understand, if from our broken place, we tell Him how we really feel rather than sugarcoating it. The holidays don't need to fit into the perfect photo album. It's okay to not be okay.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><strong><span style="color: orange; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Graveyards and Funerals</span></strong>. Most people like to use the term "visit" the cemetery. I don't so much as see myself as a "visitor" as much as an honorary citizen. I have my plot already picked out next to my son and I know one day I will be a permanent citizen but in the meantime, I am content to upkeep the grounds and commemorate those that have gone before me. When I go to the cemetery, it's a way for me to continue to have a relationship with my son and my father even though I know both of them are in heaven now. Because I have gone to the cemetery often over the past two and half years, my living children have grown up playing amongst the trees there, fixing the flowers of strangers' graves, taking gifts to their baby brother and grandfather on special occasions and doing balloon releases on their birthdays. Through doing these things, I see my children finding a acute awareness of what's to come after this life and a deep knowledge of how limited our time here on earth really is. I think visiting a graveyard becomes ritualistic when we do it out of habit or out of guilt, when there is no thought behind it other than "I should do this" or "this is what I always do." In the beginning, I went every Sunday to see my son simply because the cemetery was by my old church but now that we have moved and my son's grave moved with us, I tend to go more sporadically and I found more freedom in that. Sometimes I will go several times a week, sometimes only once a week and there have even been times where I haven't made it there every week due to various circumstances. The thing is, my son and dad aren't really there. I know that but I go there to feel connected to them and to give me a quiet place to reflect and process my loss. It's about honoring the relationship I had with both of them here on earth and the relationship and I know will be restored again one day. Funerals can be viewed the same way. Many people have funerals out of habit because "it's what you do" when some dies or they do it out of obligation to please everyone else. A friend of mine's father died recently and their family chose not to have any type of official ceremony and instead had an intimate dinner with close family. They chose to forgo ritual and chose relationship because that was what they wanted. They honored him the way he had asked them to which was more important than doing what they thought they should by cultural standards.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="color: orange;"><strong>Faith and D</strong><strong>evotion</strong></span></span>. Why do we go to church? Many of us were raised going. I can admit that there were times in my life that I went solely out of obligation or routine. It doesn't mean God isn't there or that He can't talk to us even when our motives aren't necessarily pure. Honestly, sometimes when we don't want to go, that is the time when we need to go the most and when God has the biggest message for us. But I truly believe going to church should be something we look forward to and something that doesn't feel like a chore or punishment. If it does feel that way, chances are high that we aren't going to the right church or our heart isn't in the right place. If we are at the wrong church or church that doesn't fit our personality, we will most likely become stagnant. God says he wants us to be either hot or cold, he doesn't want us to be lukewarm. If we feel like we are, than we need to find another church that is a better match. The good news: there is a variety of churches out there. If we are lucky enough to live in the USA, we have the luxury of openly trying out churches until we find the right fit. I want to encourage people to not give up because the right church is out there where each of us can find our calling, our purpose, our extended family and a true connection to God. Another area that can become bogged down with routine is our prayer and devotion time. My pastor, Jason Hanash, said recently, "Little prayer, little power, more prayer, more power, no prayer, no power." When we are taught to pray as children, often we are given a cookie-cutter prayer such as this: "Dear God, thank you for everything you do for me, bless my friends and family, keep us safe, Amen." It can vary and be tweaked but usually its somewhere in that ballpark. That's great if we are just starting out in our prayer life but does our prayer time mature from that? Prayer should be like a conversation, ebbing and flowing. Giving time for God to speak to us and telling Him our deep truths, worries and hang-ups. It's easy when we're busy or tired to just hit the easy button and go back to what we were taught as children but we are busy and tired often and if we hit the easy button too many times, our prayer life will be stunted, never making it past the adolescent years. Another spot in our lives we can fall into a pattern is when we are reading the Bible. It's hard sometimes to carve out the time to sit down and read the Word. I know, because I often find myself coming up with excuses just like I do with my prayer time. And when we do read, how often is it a quick word of the day or scripture that scrolls across the screen of our computer. We take a momentary glance and then continue about whatever we were doing before that moment, not even giving any true time for God to speak to us through His Word. The problem is that if we are not going to church, praying and doing our devotions, things won't get easier and we won't find more time. We need prayer and devotion time to refuel and refocus on what is most important: our relationship with God.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><strong><span style="color: orange; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Daily Life and Habits</span></strong>. I'm a stress eater. What that means is that when I am stressed out, I turn to food to comfort me, usually without even realizing it. Something goes wrong in my life ie. problems at work, fight with the kids, rude driver on the road, I will inevitably find something to eat to make me feel better. When problems become pitfalls, like when my son or my father died, the eating becomes more frequent with bigger portions. I didn't realize this until lately. Never knew that something I need to do every day could become such a drawback in my life. I wasn't looking at food in a way that it was substance to keep me alive and healthy but as treat. When things were really bad, I would wait until everyone was asleep and reward myself with food I didn't have time to eat with my stressful schedule during the day. I would feel guilty and swear I wouldn't do it again but the cycle kept on happening. I'm realizing now the only way to combat these food rituals is to seek God to help me. I've tried it on my own, with little to no success. I've also had to acknowledge that it will be something I will battle with most of my life but if I choose to allow God to fight for me, I can come out the victor. I think food is an area where a lot of us struggle with and one that is overlooked quite often. Spending habits is another daily activity that most of us don't want to analyze. It's hard because we want to be able to buy whatever we want whenever we want. Most of us have been raised inundated with it. I remember when I was handed my first credit card at 18 at my local junior college. They wanted to get me hooked early. Spend what I make tomorrow on what I'm buying today. What they didn't mention to me at the time I signed-up is that I would be paying off the interest for the next 25 years and if I lost my job, well it would be going to collections. I was part of the rat race for many years. I fell sucker to all the clichés like "trying to keep up with the Joneses" and "the grass is always greener on the other side" but I came to realize that money really can't buy happiness. It can be a blinged out Band-Aid on a festering wound but the Band-Aid is going to fall off and the wound is going to be toxic. Another important point my pastor made is that "the antidote to materialism is generosity." I want to be the type of person that is more generous to others than I am to myself and I want to instill that same principal in my children. True happiness comes from finding your purpose in life and fulfilling it, not how many dollar signs are present in your bank account. A twin problem to materialism is being a workaholic. I have known people that let their work become their number one priority and have had to struggle with balancing their work life with their home life. This is an issue that directly affected me because I was married to a workaholic. My husband had a job he loved more than anything else in the world. His priorities were work first, family second and everything else after that. It didn't seem so bad until he started missing the kids school awards shows, didn't make it home for dinner for the hundredth time or stayed an hour late just because he would rather be there than with his family, then I realized it was the worst feeling in the world. I can use my husband as an example in this area because my husband has profoundly and irrevocably changed and is no longer the same person. I know God wanted him to change his priorities sooner than he did but my husband has always been stubborn. It took two major events to shake up my husband's misguided priorities. First, my husband almost died in a car wreck that caused him to be unable to do the job he loved. It was devastating to him and he fought for years to get back to the career he valued more than anything, nearly ruining our marriage. The second event was the death of our son. It truly was the breaking point for my husband. He finally realized he had been focusing too much time on the wrong things. I'm grateful to say that he is a better man now: kinder, more generous and helpful that he has ever been but it is because he finally gave his whole life and all control up to God. When he did that, it was like a lightbulb went on and this new man emerged that was everything I had ever prayed for and more. But it was a difficult road to get to this place. In some ways, we are still navigating it but I know we are headed in the right direction because my husband just told me the other day, with our new business and our new life, he is happier than he ever was with his first career. I attribute his happiness to being right where God wants him to be and that's because his priorities shifted to the right order: God first, family and God's work second, career third.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When we strip away all the rituals and focus on our relationships, we are capable of anything. It's a choice, a tough one sometimes, but if we make that choice to engage in life, we will never regret it.</span></div>
Jenna Brandthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04626212578092484574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4725565922835628694.post-38002409285125499592016-05-26T21:34:00.000-07:002016-05-26T21:45:06.278-07:00 Rebuilt-A Poem <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Broken to be rebuilt</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">A reminder every day</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">You can't become bitter</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">He wouldn't want it that way </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Sometimes it's a struggle</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Your loss takes its toll</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Not sure how to live</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Whil</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">e giving up control </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Constant work in progress </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Hesitant how life will look</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">But God always gives</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">More than He ever took</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Fear is a tricky partner</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Divorce is never final </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Even when you see it</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">There’s some level of denial </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">With just one word </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">With just one flick </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Given in a moment</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Taken just as quick </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The road we travel</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Isn’t the road we planned </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">God never gives us more</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Then we can withstand </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Nothing lasts forever</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Nothing on this earth</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Heaven is all that matters </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">From the moment of our birth</span></div>
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<br />Jenna Brandthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04626212578092484574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4725565922835628694.post-21099773051840414362016-04-28T02:08:00.001-07:002016-04-28T02:11:47.067-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="background-color: black; color: cyan;"><strong>HOPE.</strong></span> <span style="background-color: white; color: black;">It's a <span style="background-color: white;">four</span> letter word with which I constantly struggle. I want to hope for a future filled with joy and peace and I know God will provide it to me but whenever I start to rely on His promises, doubt seems to creep into my mind. Why did God let my son die from SIDS? Why did God move me home just to have my dad die only months later? When I find myself in a place where I doubt the hope He provides, I turn to this scripture, "We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure." Hebrews 6:19 (NIV)</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: black; color: cyan;"><strong>FIRM.</strong><span style="background-color: white;"><strong> </strong><span style="color: black;"><span style="background-color: white; color: black;">I am told so clearly by His very Word that my hope doesn't rest in what has happened to me but in what He promises to give me. I am a child of God. Chosen, set apart. He is resolute in His choice to adopt me. It's irrevocable and my name has been written in the Book of Life.</span> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: black; color: cyan;"><strong>SECURE.</strong><span style="background-color: white; color: black;"><strong> </strong><span style="background-color: white; color: black;">I have hope I will live on forever and one day be reunited with all my loved ones. I need to remind myself that this world is only temporary and that in the grand scheme of things, its just a <span style="background-color: white; color: black;">fraction of eternity. When I am reunited with my son and my dad, what a glorious reunion that will be.</span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: black;"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: black;">Another translation, "This hope we have as an anchor of the soul, a hope both sure and steadfast." (NAS)</span></div>
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<strong><span style="background-color: black; color: cyan;">SURE.</span></strong> <span style="background-color: white; color: black;">God is unhesitating, unshakable, definite.When I start to get pulled down by my doubts, I need to remember God is certain to fulfill what He has said.</span> </div>
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<span style="background-color: black; color: cyan;"><strong>STEADFAST.</strong><span style="background-color: white; color: black;"><strong> </strong><span style="background-color: white; color: black;">He is loyal, faithful, dependable, constant and true. He is unwavering in his devotion. He will never leave me or forsake me. He is tireless in his pursuit of me.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: black;">Another translation, "Hope's an unbreakable spiritual lifeline, reaching past all appearances right to the very presence of God." Hebrews 6:19 (MSG)</span> </div>
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<span style="background-color: black; color: cyan;"><strong>UNBREAKABLE.</strong></span><span style="background-color: white; color: black;"> <span style="background-color: white; color: black;">God's love is long-lasting and indestructible. He has seen me through all my trials. I am never alone because God Almighty who was, and is, and is to come is always by my side. He never lets me down, He never abandons me, He never fails.</span></span></div>
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<strong><span style="background-color: black; color: cyan;">LIFELINE.<span style="background-color: white; color: black;"> </span></span></strong><span style="background-color: white; color: black;">When I feel like I am alone, God is always with me and he surrounds me with His presence. God is my constant connection to my son. My son was not taken from me, he was just allowed to skip to the head of the line. The hard part is being stuck at the back of the line, waiting without him. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: black;">By praying, reading His Word and worshipping, I will not sink. He will keep me in safe harbor as long as I trust in Him and allow His hope to be my anchor.</span> </div>
Jenna Brandthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04626212578092484574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4725565922835628694.post-2334289062119370022016-04-25T09:14:00.000-07:002016-04-25T20:42:42.538-07:00My interview with ABC NewsMom of Child Who Died from SIDS Pens Blog to New Baby<br />
By JOI-MARIE MCKENZIE<br />
Mar 24, 2016, 5:09 PM ET<br />
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In a moving blog post, Jenna Brandt addressed her now 9-month-old daughter on the same day her son passed away from Sudden Infant Death Syndrome (SIDS) two years ago.<br />
"Nicole: today you are 8 months, 26 days old - the same age your brother, Dylan, was when he passed away from SIDS," she wrote. "He never reached 9 months old, so I pray and hope you will make it past this day.”<br />
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In her post, the Bakersfield, California mom opened up about her fears of losing her daughter just like her son.<br />
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"Sometimes, I am consumed by my fear that lightning can strike twice. I watch you sleep and touch your arm just to see you move to prove to me that you're still breathing," Brandt wrote. "I want to live free from the burden of fear, but losing Dylan was the worst moment of my life and I can't fathom going through it again if something should ever happen to you."<br />
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SIDS affects 3,500 children in the U.S. yearly, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. SIDS is often the result of health issues that affect infants while they sleep or conditions around their sleeping area, such as soft bedding, pillows, objects or becoming entangled in cribs.<br />
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But the deaths are often listed as unexplained. Such was the case for Brandt's son.<br />
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The mother told ABC News she was "naive" about the ordeal.<br />
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"You think, 'Oh, that's not going to happen to me.' You hear these stories of people who've lost children and you think, 'That won't be me,'" Brandt said. "But now I'm very aware that you can lose a child.”<br />
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“It literally is the worst feeling in the world," she added.<br />
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Brandt said she found comfort in the positive reactions to her post, which have been read by thousands of people.<br />
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"I had such a huge response [from] it," she said. "No one talks about infant loss. They're afraid people are going to be uncomfortable.”<br />
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Since losing her son two years ago, the mother of three daughters said she's changed how she parents. Although her son Dylan didn't die because of his crib conditions like most SIDS deaths, Brandt still said she now uses a sleep monitor for her daughter and has removed toys and blankets from Nicole's crib. Instead, she dresses her in a wearable sleeping blanket.<br />
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"It's just changed my perspective," Brandt continued. "It sounds so cliche, but I take in every moment more and I look at it like this could be my last moment with them."<br />
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She said that even in moments of frustration, she stops to think. “I say, 'But what if it's the last thing I say to them? I want it to be, "I love you, have a good day.'"<br />
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Brandt credits her faith and counseling with helping her to overcome her fear while parenting her newborn daughter. She and her husband decided to have another child through in-vitro fertilization, but she says it wasn't because she was trying to replace Dylan.<br />
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"I always say she didn't erase the pain, but she helped ease it. When I look at her and she smiles and she giggles and I'm playing with her, it makes me happy," Brandt explained.<br />
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"I'll be honest, there's always a twinge like, 'Oh now she's doing things he didn't do,'" she added. "It sounds funny, but holding her and focusing on her, it really helps ease the loss of him."Jenna Brandthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04626212578092484574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4725565922835628694.post-63461169520146965022016-04-14T00:08:00.000-07:002016-04-22T14:59:19.225-07:00Just Beyond the Horizon<div style="text-align: justify;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: right; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-oa36bqO9kGM/Vw80W5GV0uI/AAAAAAAABto/p7utD4Hb57MDc3K-cJITVydrRe1SJlb8ACKgB/s1600/IMG_1957%2B-%2BCopy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-oa36bqO9kGM/Vw80W5GV0uI/AAAAAAAABto/p7utD4Hb57MDc3K-cJITVydrRe1SJlb8ACKgB/s400/IMG_1957%2B-%2BCopy.JPG" width="298" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dylan & me at Newport Beach 8-8-13</td></tr>
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I feel the ocean breeze, ever-so-gently blowing
my hair across my shoulders and cheek. I am amazed at how much peace and
tranquility the beach has always provided me. An oasis when my life is in
crisis, a refuge from the world that so often has brought me pain. You, my son,
were my greatest surprise and my greatest loss. I find it profound that
one little soul could hold so much influence but you changed everything for me.
You were the perfect
little boy I had always dreamed of but thought I would never
have. When I looked into your eyes, nothing else mattered. God blessed me with you and I couldn't imagine my life without
you. And then you were gone in a blink of an eye. One moment here and the next,
you slipped away like the waves fall back into the ocean. It was so quick, so
brutal and so final.</div>
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As I am looking out at the ocean and
thinking of you, my third born and only son, I realize you would have loved it
here. Even though you did get to visit the ocean one time before you departed
this world, being only two-months-old, you never got to experience it the way a
child should. You never felt the rush of having the waves crash into you or the
salt water engulf you in a sea of foam. You never got to feel the soft
sand tickle your feet as you dug your toes into it or feel the warmth of the sun
dry your wet skin. <br />
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I watch your sisters and cousins play in the
ocean and I think of how you are missing. No playmate for my nephew who is now
the only boy in our family. No little duck tagging along after them, trying to
keep up with the "big" kids. Like every other moment of every day,
you are gone. Absent in a way that I have accepted but will never be accustom
to. I can't escape the feeling that every moment is lacking you.</div>
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In the moment, the moment I knew you were gone and
I would never see you again on this earth, I changed, morphed into someone
else. In some ways, a fraction of the person I used to be but in others, I have
grown in ways I never thought possible. Most of the time, I'm good at hiding
my pain but there are the rare occasions that I am awkward, that my words come
out odd or I answer with tears. I accept my new me and hope others can do the
same. I have become acclimatized to the world I live in and the person I have
become, a mother to a child that has died. I can say it a thousand times
and I can write it a thousand more but it will never become easy. There is
nothing easy about losing you.</div>
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The ocean is vast. As I look out over the water,
as far as the eye can see, there is just endless blue. I find it comforting
that even though we are farther than even oceans apart, that there is
something out past the horizon. I may not see them but
there are others past the deep far-reaching sea. I can't
see anyone right now but someone is just beyond. It makes me
think of how earth and heaven might be. I can't see heaven right now but it
doesn't mean you're not there waiting for me, just past where I can't see,
just past the horizon.</div>
Jenna Brandthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04626212578092484574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4725565922835628694.post-84588873079833274822016-03-16T17:43:00.001-07:002016-04-07T12:06:44.597-07:00To my infant daughter on the day she turns the age my son passed away.<div style="text-align: justify;">
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Nicole: today you are 8 months, 26 days old-the same age your brother, Dylan, was when he passed away from SIDS. He never reached 9 months old, so I pray and hope you will make it past this day. </div>
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Sometimes, I am consumed by my fear that lightning can strike twice. I watch you sleep and touch your arm just to see you move to prove to me that you’re still breathing. While you are awake, I monitor your every action, scanning to make sure nothing happens. Every cough, every cry, I hold my breath and wait to make sure it's not a warning sign you’re in trouble. I hate that I live this way and fight constantly against the fear of losing you like I did your brother. I want to live free from the burden of fear but losing Dylan was the worst moment of my life and I can't fathom going through it again if something should ever happen to you.<br />
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I wonder sometimes how different life would be if your brother hadn't died. I watch you play on our living room floor or swing at the park and imagine how much fun you would have had with your big brother, but you will never meet him on this earth. What would he look like now as he approached three-years-old? Sometimes just for a moment, I see him in you. When you scrunch your face up just a certain way when you laugh or when you blow raspberries just how he did, I see a glimpse of him just for a second and my heart skips a beat. It confirms to me you were hand-picked in heaven to help me through this difficult time. Losing your brother was like surviving a storm. Choosing to have you, didn't erase the damage, but you do help ease it. The aftermath is still all around us but God promises to help us rebuild. </div>
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Today will be difficult. I will cry, most likely hard and often and it will be the same on this day for the rest of your life. But it is a testament to how deeply I love each of you. Each of my babies hold a unique place in my heart made up of special moments that are just for you. </div>
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I will never be the same-I know this. It's odd to think you will never know the mother I was before your brother passed away. Your sisters may tell you stories of what they got away with before I was so keenly aware of how one moment can forever change your life. It's impossible to unknow something once you’ve become aware of it. I know now how fragile life is and how vigilant you have to be to protect it and sometimes, that's not even enough. The mother you have is wiser, stronger, braver in some ways but also broken, humbled, and cautious. I live a paradoxical life: a mother to three living children and a mother to one child who is missing. But to you, my youngest daughter, you will only know this version of me. I hope I succeed in making you happy, keeping you safe and caring for you during the time I am graciously given to love you. </div>
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Tomorrow, for the first time in your life, I will no longer be counting down the days to when you surpass the life of your brother. Together, we will be stepping into new territory. I might even stop holding my breath and breathe a sigh of relief. You made it baby girl, you're 8 months, 27 days old.</div>
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Jenna Brandthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04626212578092484574noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4725565922835628694.post-60071758279702112932015-11-23T00:04:00.000-08:002015-11-23T00:10:20.784-08:00Living Without: Navigating a Season of Loss<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">I am living without a complete family, without answers, and without the future I imagined. My son, who was the light of my world and my dad, who was the rock I could depend on, both passed away without me knowing why. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-isQEzt9PFZs/VlK_GtVWenI/AAAAAAAABp8/F71VN65UjUg/s1600/2end.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-isQEzt9PFZs/VlK_GtVWenI/AAAAAAAABp8/F71VN65UjUg/s400/2end.JPG" width="400" /></a><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><strong>Living without a complete family.</strong> I thought my family was complete when my son was born two and half years ago. Two daughters and a little boy but then that little boy died and my family was torn apart. We pulled together, rebuilt, and pushed forward. It didn't mean the pain was gone or that we were over it because no one ever gets over the loss of a child but we managed to start living again. We prayed about our future and felt God was leading us to move closer to family. Then, four short months of living near my parents, my dad died. The results: I have two gaping holes where my son and father should be. Their absence is felt in everything, not only in my heart, but in my every day life. Emotionally, the pain is incredible; sometimes debilitating, often relentless and always present. I look around the dinner table and both my son and dad are missing. Family dinners aren't the same and never will be again. Two empty seats remain where they should be. I don't get to see my son stuff his face full of turkey this Thanksgiving or open Christmas gifts this year. I will never see him graduate kindergarten, high school or college. My dad will never see my 5-month-old daughter turn one or see my oldest daughter get baptized. He will never get to retire and start traveling again with my mom. I feel robbed of the time we should have had with both of them. People ask how I am doing and because it easier, I've learned to automatically say, "I'm doing ok." Then they ask how my mom is doing, and its even more difficult because how do I answer for someone else when I can't even answer for myself. There is no true "ok" when someone dies suddenly and out of sequence. I have had this happen, not once but twice, and within a year and half of each other. Both healthy just having check-ups weeks before: my son at 8 months, 26 days old, and my dad at 57-years-old passed away for no known reason, leaving us with only questions.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Living without
answers. </b>I think not knowing how or why makes their deaths even more
complicated. I was naïve before, believing that life and especially death, was
made up in black and white and that answers were always at the end of a medical
examination or doctors diagnosis. But now as I live without, in a world void of
many of the answers I so desperately wish I had, I realize that life is really
made up in a world of infinite shades of grey and often there are no answers.
SIDS by its very definition is the ruling when a baby dies for no known reason.
My dad died the same way but there isn't even a name for what happened to him.
I know this now, however, making peace with it is the most difficult thing I've
ever done. I was told by my grief counselor it was going to take twice as long
as others to get through the bargaining part of grief because accepting the
fact I will never know what happened to them compounds the process. Often, I'm
flooded with questions and replays of the days when they died. I've tried to
deal with it on my own, by pushing the questions away or distracting myself by
staying busy, but I've come to realize that the only way I can survive this
viscous cycle of questioning what happened is by giving the questions to God, day
by day, sometimes minute by minute. Faith is the only thing that combats fear
and when I am overwhelmed by the fear manifested by the losses in my life, my
faith is what sustains me. We must choose not to give into our fear. Fear can have two meanings: Forget Everything And Run or Face Everything And Rise. I want to rise up and change my future for the better, not despite my losses, but in honor of them.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><strong>Living without the future I imagined. </strong>I thought I knew where I was going, where my projectory for life was taking me. I was one month away from being a self-publishing novelist and realizing a life-long dream. I had three wonderful children, a good husband, a supportive family and a strong relationship with God. Life was what I imagined for myself. With one sentence from a doctor, "We tried everything we could, but we just couldn't bring him back," my future was shattered. How was I supposed to live in a world without my son, let alone plan a future without him. I found myself drifting aimlessly around, going through the motions of what was required of me but not really living. I definitely wasn't looking towards the future because it looked bleak and empty. But ever-so-slowly, without me even noticing, the days got a little easier, I started to find myself thinking about living in a world with a new future, different from the one I imagined. It prepared me for when my dad died because I have adjusted with the changes happening around me and I've learned that its possible to have an alternate future other than what you expected. Second choice doesn't mean second best, sometimes, it just means different. God often uses our deepest pain as the launching pad for our greatest calling. I find myself in a place where I can help others in ways I never knew possible and my family is much stronger than we were before.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Living without will profoundly alter a person, how it alters that person is up to them. Living without has taught me not to judge people because we really don't know what others are going through. Everyone has a story just below the surface, from the coffee barista to the office assistant, and each of our stories, change us in different ways. My story has shaped me into a kinder, more compassionate person who doesn't take anything for granted. As the holidays approach and I live in as season without, I am consciously making a choice to turn outward: to give to the needy, support those who are in pain and help anyone struggling with loss. </span></div>
Jenna Brandthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04626212578092484574noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4725565922835628694.post-41738397221636953882015-11-06T19:28:00.001-08:002015-11-06T19:30:56.476-08:00The tow truck driver: saying goodbye to my father <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-LhIRoBEUksg/Vj1u7NfdhEI/AAAAAAAAA6g/yaeqlEk9FOI/s1600/IMG_6473.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-LhIRoBEUksg/Vj1u7NfdhEI/AAAAAAAAA6g/yaeqlEk9FOI/s320/IMG_6473.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Tom Brandt 10-2-58 to 10-30-15</div>
<span id="goog_1664327770"></span><span id="goog_1664327771"></span><br />
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Our dad was the tow truck driver. This was the title he jokingly gave himself because he was the person in our family who was always cleaning up and fixing any kind of mess. From buying and taking shoes to one of the grandkids at school when their shoe broke to one of us locking ourselves out of the house three times in a period of an hour, yes that really did happen, he was the one person we all could depend on to come any time, any wear to help. Now, to most people, this could become daunting or even down-right annoying, but not to our dad. It was just who he was. Not only to us but to all those who knew him. He was a servant to everyone and would help anyone. From giving candy to a little girl in the laundromat whose mom couldn't afford it to adopting two children who were fatherless when he married their mother 20 years ago, he made everyone feel wanted and special. He truly was the kindness person in the world. Since his passing, hundreds of stories of generosity, selflessness and compassion have been told to us. Not surprising since his goal in life was to always demonstrate God’s love in everything he did and he never got tired of doing the right thing, no matter the cost. He changed our lives when he chose to be our dad. He showed us what to look for in a spouse and how to treat them once we got them by how wonderfully he treated our mother. We feel so privileged that God blessed us with him for as long as he did. He was the best husband, father and grandfather anyone could ever have. And although we now must find a way to live without our tow truck driver, we can rest in the knowledge that we will see him again one day when we are reunited in Heaven. Until then, we will do our best to live up to the legacy he leaves behind by loving others, helping strangers and trusting God.</div>
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Jenna Brandthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04626212578092484574noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4725565922835628694.post-73615750575725933952015-07-20T00:45:00.000-07:002017-06-11T13:37:57.288-07:00Lost Today Without You<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="color: white; font-family: "uictfonttextstylebody"; font-size: 17px;">I miss you so much today. Not sure why it's hitting so hard. Maybe it's because I've been dreaming about you again. When I wake up, all I can do is think about you. You're always there, haunting me in the background but on the really hard days, you are in the very forefront of my thoughts. I wish I didn't feel a pang of sadness when I think of you. The pain is so deep I feel like my heart is going to explode from the hurt. I want to remember the good times: how happy you were when you were here but it seems impossible when all I can do is feel the overwhelming loss. I didn't think this would be my life or that such a permanent wound would live inside me. Is this to be MY thorn in MY side? I think of Paul and hope to have the same courage he did when his thorn was not removed. He lived with it for the rest of his life and managed not only to survive but thrive. God help me to do the same. Help me to seek you, not look to myself. Help me to focus on what I have, not what I've lost. Help me to trust you, not give in to fear. Help me be your vessel, not shut down. Today has been hard. I'm not going to deny the bad days but I'm also not going to give in to them. I want to honor you, be the person you could be proud of. I love you, always, forever. Nothing will ever change that. Nothing could ever change that. You are, at my very core, the most important part of me. I guess that makes it normal then that I think about you all the time. How could it be any different when someone holds such a special place. Until I see you again,I will be thinking of you today and always.</span>Jenna Brandthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04626212578092484574noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4725565922835628694.post-32897782747389762842015-04-30T16:51:00.001-07:002015-04-30T16:51:49.655-07:00Temporary Bandage-A Poem of Contemplation<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><strong>Time stands still <br />As I wait on the other side<br />To finally hold you again<br />If I could forget my loss<br />Long enough to remember <br />All that you had been <br /><br />Trivial tokens mean so much <br />Once the passing of you <br />Became so resolute <br />Denial kept me hidden<br />Pretending you weren't gone<br />Often took root<br /><br />Focusing on anything else<br />Temporary bandages <br />Meant to alleviate the pain<br />But nothing can fix<br />The broken remnants <br />Of what I used to gain<br /><br />Translucent memories<br />Shifting through my mind <br />Like sand in an hourglass<br />Tried to weave through it<br />But not enough moments <br />To help with the past<br /><br />Looking for comfort<br />From all those that offer <br />But nothing can aid<br />Only the one who created<br />Who holds us all <br />Can end the suffrage made<br /><br />One day we will be reunited <br />And in that moment <br />Oh the joy I will feel<br />For you are waiting for me<br />As I am waiting for you <br />Oh, to be able to wholly heal<br /></strong></span>Jenna Brandthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04626212578092484574noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4725565922835628694.post-36587999783802365222015-04-22T14:56:00.001-07:002015-04-22T14:56:32.139-07:00Absence (reflection from a broken heart)<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I thought we would have</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">More time than we did</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">You should be here with me</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">That's how it should be</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">But every day</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">I have to live with how it is</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Living without you</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Is the hardest thing </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">I have ever had to do</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">I feel like I am holding my breath</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Because I'm scared all the time</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Ever since I lost you</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">I don't know who I am anymore</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">You were my everything</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">My sun and my moon</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">I don't want to be broken</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">But I don't know how to be whole</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">The very core of me</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Has been ripped away</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">What do you do</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">When the love of your life dies?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Everywhere I go</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">You should be there</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">I look around and think</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Can't anyone see me </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Dying inside?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">I go through the motions</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Of living this life</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Hoping one day</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">I won't feel so destroyed</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">But all I feel is left behind</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">And forced to face life</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">With you no longer here</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">I'm tired of life being this hard</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">All I want to do </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Is crawl up into your blanket</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">And let the world melt away</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Sometimes I wonder</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Will this be the thing that breaks me?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Will your death be my undoing?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">I don't want </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">My strength to turn to stone</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">I don't want</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">For you to be gone</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">I want you here in my arms</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">The moment I saw you</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">I knew you would change me</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Forever</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">But I didn't think</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">It would be like this</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">You may be absent</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">From this world</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">But you will always be</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">The center of my heart</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">I love you</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">No matter if I live</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Another 50 years</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Nothing will erase </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">The memory of you</span><br />
Jenna Brandthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04626212578092484574noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4725565922835628694.post-41840244562801608072015-04-15T17:27:00.000-07:002015-04-15T17:27:25.084-07:00A Well of Happiness<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
Often, people can say that they shared the last few days of the lives
of someone important to them. I have had this experience twice in my life but what makes this special time I spent with each of them so rare is that they had the best moments of their lives
right before the end. I never knew
how important those days would become to me once they were gone. </span></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-R-2lPJ5BOQU/VS76-2lw_aI/AAAAAAAAAPY/CpWQjMBFt68/s1600/pic1.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-R-2lPJ5BOQU/VS76-2lw_aI/AAAAAAAAAPY/CpWQjMBFt68/s1600/pic1.png" height="300" width="400" /></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">The first person was my grandmother. For several years, my
mother was a single mom and my grandmother helped raise me.
We were very close because of all the grandkids, I
was the most like her. She helped pay for me to go to college and when it came
time to graduate, my grandmother, even though she was 86 and could no longer
walk, made it a point to attend my graduation. I was going to a private
Christian college near Santa Cruz, Ca. My mother picked up my grandmother in May of 2001 and
along with my dad and brother, they drove the four hours to come spend the
weekend with me. We went to the Santa Cruz beach boardwalk and my grandmother was overwhelmed with
joy because it brought back wonderful childhood memories. After a fun-filled day of eating taffy and looking at the sights, we went out to eat and she had her
favorite meal, scallops. The next day, she attended my graduation and later
in the evening, we took her home, tenderly tucked her into bed before she said a special prayer over our family. It was the
last time anyone would ever see my grandmother alive. She passed away
that night, peacefully, in her sleep. That was the most beautiful weekend of my life until recently.</span></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PSHQ5xDTYNU/VS1sMZKQPhI/AAAAAAAAAOo/ZC4XkRVdWnM/s1600/DSC00197.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PSHQ5xDTYNU/VS1sMZKQPhI/AAAAAAAAAOo/ZC4XkRVdWnM/s1600/DSC00197.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Which brings me to the second person, my 9-month-old son,
Dylan. We decided to go on family vacation in March of 2014. We hadn't been to
Disneyland in a few years and thought our older daughters and our infant son
could both enjoy going there. We also decided to include a day at the Zoo and
SeaWorld. Dylan was all smiles, he loved the characters at Disneyland,
especially Stitch who he giggled at and hugged unlike any child I have ever
seen. He loved the tram ride around the zoo and cried out in surprise when the
water splashed him at SeaWorld. I didn't know he would never get to go to those
places again or that it would become the most precious week of my life. Two
days after we returned home from our amazing trip, my son passed away from SIDS
(Sudden Infant Death Syndrome).</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Both deaths hit me hard in different ways and have left
scars that will never go away. But those memories of that irreplaceable time
with my loved ones, help me by reminding me that they were happy while they
were here and I was blessed to be able to share their most special and last
moments with them. It's a well of happiness I can draw from until I see them
again in heaven. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Jenna Brandthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04626212578092484574noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4725565922835628694.post-70963374295536177342015-02-25T18:11:00.001-08:002015-02-25T18:56:44.716-08:00Compassion from a stranger <div style="text-align: justify;">
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7jF8yJEfzY0/VO6LNTD7VjI/AAAAAAAAAN8/1lpwTeT1afY/s1600/pic%2B1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7jF8yJEfzY0/VO6LNTD7VjI/AAAAAAAAAN8/1lpwTeT1afY/s1600/pic%2B1.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
Recently, I was sitting in church and the pastor was talking about the impact of the loss of a loved one. Instantly, the tears began to fall as I was taken back to the previous spring of 2014 when my infant son, Dylan, suddenly and unexpectedly passed away. The pain of that day cannot be measured or expressed adequately. His death left an enormous hole behind in my family’s life. What started out as silent, small tears turned into gut-wrenching sobs. I tried to control them since I was in a public place but the pain was too overwhelming and even though I muffled them as best I could, I was embarrassed others around me had seen and heard my sobs.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
When I went to pick up my two older daughters from Sunday school, a woman was standing behind me who gently tapped me on the shoulder and asked, “Are you alright?” I turned around and was shocked to recognize a woman who had been sitting in the row in front of me. Had she heard me crying? Did she think I was crazy? I was mortified and wished I could melt away right on the spot. Before I could say anything, she confirmed my suspicions by saying, “I noticed you were crying in service earlier. I just want to make sure you’re ok.” The tears started to pool at the corners of my eyes as I thought about covering up the honest answer with the convenient, “I’m fine.” But something happened in that moment when I looked into that woman’s eyes. I didn't see admonishment or judgment or even pity but rather concern and kindness. Her gentle probing broke down my walls and I blurted out, “My son passed away a few months ago and I am still dealing with his loss.” The woman reached out and pulled me into an embrace and said, “I am so sorry.” I rested in her comforting arms for several moments, completely amazed by the kindness and compassion that this stranger demonstrated in the most unexpected way. In that moment, she was my hero because I had been overwhelmed by how isolated I felt from my son’s death and her ability to see a stranger in need and care was a powerful act of love and kindness.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
This incident set in motion the beginning of our friendship. She has now become a close friend and has been there for me when I needed a shoulder to cry on and none of that would be possible if she had not reached out to me, a stranger in pain.</div>
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Jenna Brandthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04626212578092484574noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4725565922835628694.post-91314364044210266312015-01-20T09:38:00.002-08:002017-06-11T17:57:28.683-07:00Undone<div style="font-family: uictfonttextstylebody; font-size: 17px;">
<span style="color: white;">My empty arms</span></div>
<div style="font-family: uictfonttextstylebody; font-size: 17px;">
<span style="color: white;">Ache for you </span></div>
<div style="font-family: uictfonttextstylebody; font-size: 17px;">
<span style="color: white;">Love so deep</span></div>
<div style="font-family: uictfonttextstylebody; font-size: 17px;">
<span style="color: white;">From moments too few</span></div>
<div style="font-family: uictfonttextstylebody; font-size: 17px;">
<span style="color: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: uictfonttextstylebody; font-size: 17px;">
<span style="color: white;">Regrets so many </span></div>
<div style="font-family: uictfonttextstylebody; font-size: 17px;">
<span style="color: white;">Can't count on one hand</span></div>
<div style="font-family: uictfonttextstylebody; font-size: 17px;">
<span style="color: white;">You were everything </span></div>
<div style="font-family: uictfonttextstylebody; font-size: 17px;">
<span style="color: white;">A piece of who I am</span></div>
<div style="font-family: uictfonttextstylebody; font-size: 17px;">
<span style="color: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: uictfonttextstylebody; font-size: 17px;">
<span style="color: white;">At every turn </span></div>
<div style="font-family: uictfonttextstylebody; font-size: 17px;">
<span style="color: white;">Thinking of you</span></div>
<div style="font-family: uictfonttextstylebody; font-size: 17px;">
<span style="color: white;">Haunted by the loss </span></div>
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<span style="color: white;">Of one so new</span></div>
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<span style="color: white;">Impossible to let go</span></div>
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<span style="color: white;">Unable to move on</span></div>
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<span style="color: white;">I don't know how</span></div>
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<span style="color: white;">To accept you're gone </span></div>
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<span style="color: white;">Broken dreams</span></div>
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<span style="color: white;">Of a life with you</span></div>
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<span style="color: white;">Loss so permanent </span></div>
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<span style="color: white;">Leaves nothing to do</span></div>
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<span style="color: white;">One wish to have</span></div>
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<span style="color: white;">This nightmare erased</span></div>
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<span style="color: white;">You with me again </span></div>
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<span style="color: white;">Back in my embrace </span></div>
Jenna Brandthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04626212578092484574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4725565922835628694.post-50020833816020538102015-01-14T17:57:00.003-08:002015-01-14T17:57:40.162-08:00Faith, Family & FriendsI am approaching the 10 month mark since my son passed away. It's a new year, 2015, and this year hopes to bring more happiness than 2014 and I am happy to put the past year behind me. It was a painful year, filled with sadness over my deep loss. Even though I try to be optimistic and look at all the blessings I still have, everything seems to be overshadowed by the death of my son. I still find myself quietly uncomfortable around little babies at the age my son passed away and little boys at the age my son should be currently. I tend to dwell on what I will never experience with him rather than the beautiful moments during the 9 months he was alive. People ask me if I am having a good day. I find it an odd question, since I no longer measure my days by good but rather by degrees of not so bad. Sometimes I have really rough days filled with despair causing me to isolate in my depression and then other times, I have less hard days where I still miss him but I am able to function and participate in my life. When I am having those really rough days, three things get me through them: <strong>Faith, Family & Friends.</strong><br />
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<strong>Faith:</strong> This is the most important part of my life and the cornerstone to surviving for me. I have been a Christian all of my life and I have had my ups and downs in my relationship with God but I have always known God was there for me, even when I wasn't living my life for him. The tragic death of my son has been so exacting even with my faith that I cannot comprehend how people without it, who do not know God's presence and comfort, find their way through the grief. Worship, prayer and partnership help me on a daily basis, sometimes moment by moment. I am so grateful I serve a gracious and compassionate Savior who loves me unconditionally and is always there for me.<br />
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<strong>Family: </strong>I am blessed to have a loving and supporting family that starts with my husband and two daughters but also includes two wonderful sets of parents, amazing siblings and loyal cousins who are there for me when I need them. When I start to tear up and my 6-year-old notices, she asks me, "Are you sad about Dylan, Mommy?" and when I tell her that I am, she climbs up into my arms, and tells me she loves me and that everything will be okay. My husband lets me cry on his shoulder and helps me by being there when I need him. I can call my mother up and she listens to me when I need to talk about my son. My brother and cousins text and call me to see how I am doing and to let me know they care. My family put pictures and handprints of my son up around their homes and still send gifts for his grave. They keep him alive as much as I do.<br />
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<strong>Friends: </strong>I have found true friends through my life that have taken the time to invest in me as I have in them and those friends make an effort to reach out to me and see how I am doing. I receive calls to go out to lunch and shopping which can help take my mind off of the hard times. I have good friends that let me cry, express anger, or laugh uncontrollably without judging me or making me feel bad about myself. Some of the time, they do those things with me.<br />
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Grief can be very isolating. You feel alone and don't want to burden people with your pain or problems. You want to be better but there's no quick fix. I am keenly aware of how lucky I am. Not everyone has the network of support I have. Even when it's the worst of days, I am not alone. My faith, family and friends get me through.Jenna Brandthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04626212578092484574noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4725565922835628694.post-17894675510163042302014-09-30T15:44:00.000-07:002014-09-30T15:45:33.476-07:00Restoring Faith-a poemI am broken in this moment<br />
Build me up so I can breathe<br />
And though I feel this fear<br />
I know you will never leave<br />
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When I am weak and lost<br />
You are there to help me through<br />
You shine the light in darkness<br />
And turn the grey skies blue<br />
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Even in the deepest silence<br />
You are right beside me<br />
If I turn to you and trust<br />
You can set this captive free<br />
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Your words heal all my hurts<br />
As I live in your embrace<br />
All I will ever need is You<br />
To fill me with your grace<br />
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And as I look to You<br />
I will gratefully obey<br />
The one who gives<br />
And also takes away<br />
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And even though I grieve<br />
The loss of one so dear<br />
I believe in restoration <br />
When heaven is finally here<br />
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I wrote this poem about how my faith has sustained me through the death of my son. Jenna Brandthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04626212578092484574noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4725565922835628694.post-29061698777436400662014-08-21T23:39:00.000-07:002016-03-31T00:40:23.973-07:0010 Fears a Parent who has lost a Child faces<div style="text-align: justify;">
These are ten fears I face daily since my son died this past March from SIDS when he was 8 months, 26 days old. </div>
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<strong>1. People will forget.</strong> I have talked to several mother's that have lost a child and all of them were afraid that as time passed on from the time of the death, people would forget about their child. People get busy with their own lives, even close family and friends, and something that is still painful and excruciating to the nuclear family, tends to fall off the radar for most others. I know that this is something that troubles me often especially because some people have said that since he died so young, he hardly had any time to make much of an impact on our lives. What does that mean? That somehow because he passed away as a baby that his life had less meaning than someone who lived to be ten, twenty or thirty? Life is life and my son was here, he lived, he laughed, he loved and he changed my life and the lives of many others. That has to count for something. I feel that it counts for everything. I refuse to let people forget him just because it would be easier than dealing with the pain his memory may bring. Anyone's lost child deserve to be remember. That is why I did a balloon release for my son on his 1st birthday (which he saw from heaven) so that everyone could come to his grave and remember him with his family on the day he was given to us.</div>
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<strong>2. Being judged for the decisions made post-death. </strong>Everyone has an opinion about how someone should handle things and the death of a child is no exception. What choices to make: should he be cremated or buried? "He was a baby, does he really need such an extravagant gravestone?" If it was your child, would you spare any expense? How much would it be worth to have a place to remember your child, a place that is all their own? "Do you really need to have a cake for his birthday? It's not like he will be there to blow out the candles?" No, but its important for me, my husband and his sisters to be able to remember his birthday-because it still is <em>his</em> birthday and even though he is in heaven now, we are still here and we want to celebrate his special day. "Should you have another baby?" I have thought long and hard about this, quite often in the last month, although I received that question within weeks of my son's death, I was unable to even contemplate the idea until recently. I have come to the realization that I want another baby very much but often it is overshadowed by my worry people will think that I am trying to replace my son-fill his void. What they don't get is that <em>nothing</em> will <em>ever</em> fill the void he left behind. But having another child will give us something to look forward to and a place to put the love we still have to give. Nothing and no one can ever take my son's place but it doesn't mean I don't have room to love another baby. </div>
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<strong>3. Becoming a permanently sad person.</strong> We have all seen them or been told about them. Someone who has lost someone close to them-often a child-and that person becomes a shell of who they were. They are unable to enjoy life and avoid certain events because of the painful reminder. They skip out on kindergarten orientation, baby showers, birthdays, Christmas, etc. Everyone whispers about those people, "That's the woman who lost her baby two years ago and she's never been the same since. She's always sad." Yes, my son's death has changed me, it is still changing me and it will probably change me throughout my life. But I refuse to allow what happened to define me or shape me into a person I don't recognize or respect. My son wouldn't want that for me. He would want me to be happy and healthy. That starts with taking care of myself psychically, mentally and emotionally which is why I am in counseling, go to grief group, make myself eat and sleep and go to church. I can't let myself deteriorate into someone my son would be ashamed to call his mother.</div>
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<strong>4. His memory will fade</strong>. As a parent of a child that has died, the main thing we have to cling to are our memories of our lives with our child. If we are lucky, we have video and pictures of special moments and events but many of us know there are far more precious memories stowed away in our minds: the ordinary, every day moments. For me, my favorite memory of my son was of him in the morning. His crib was in our room by my side of the bed. Every day, I knew when he was a wake because he would either start to babble or blow raspberries. I would open my eyes and look over at his crib and he would have his chubby hands on the top rail of his crib. He would be standing up, peering over the top at me with his beautiful blue eyes with the biggest smile on his face. He would start to bounce and make little excited noises because he had made eye-contact with me and he knew I was going to come get him. Then he would reach out his hands to me and I would lift him up into my arms and it was the best feeling in the world. One of my biggest fears is that his memory will fade over time like so many have from my childhood and young, adult life. I couldn't bare to not remember the details of those most intimate moments of his life. My son loved French fries, musical toys, stuffed animals, and cuddling with me late at night. To preserve his memory, I have done many things including having a quilt made out of his clothes, had molds made of his hands and feet before he was buried, had five lockets of hair saved, zip-locked clothing he had worn the days preceding his death so I can have his scent, a friend made a wooden trunk with his name on it to keep all of his toys, clothing and mementos and I am currently creating a memory book of his life. </div>
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<strong>5. Wrecking the two I have over the one I lost. </strong>This is something God told me several days after my son passed away. I remember it vividly. I was walking into a store because I needed to find a funeral dress because even though I didn't want to go out and look, I needed to look nice for my son to honor his memory. I was very low, so deep down in the pain, I felt it had no bottom. I didn't want to do anything and then God spoke so clearly into my heart that "you can't wreck the two you have over the one you lost." Some days I still don't want to do anything and this warning, this purpose, this truth will float into my mind. I still have two little girls I need to live for. They still deserve a childhood even though we all miss their brother. I never want my girls to grow and tell their friends or husband, "I lost my mother on the day my brother died. She was never my mother after that." I'm not saying I don't cry in front of them, I do. And I'm not saying that I don't talk about their brother or have pictures of him up because I absolutely make sure to keep him alive in our home, but what I am saying is that its in proportion as it was when he was with us. I love them all the same but each hold a special place in my heart. And because they each do, I have to make each of them a priority. I make sure to go school functions, parades, birthday parties, and I read to them, play games with them and take them out for special outings, even when it hurts because its a reminder that my son will never do those things. I never want my two living children to feel like they matter less because their brother died.</div>
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<strong>6. Getting stuck in the grief cycle.</strong> Over the past five months, I have met several people that have lost children. What I have noticed is that one of two things happen: they either become broken and bitter or they manage to push through and heal. The overwhelming reason is that the ones that become broken and bitter have gotten stuck in the grief cycle. Somehow they never make it through the middle part and cross over into acceptance. I want to clarify, acceptance does not mean getting over it or being okay with the loss of your child, what it means is accepted that they are gone and learning to live with it. The problem is that people get stuck in the anger, the bargaining (the whys and the hows) or the depression. They get so bogged down in it, they can't find their way out from the grief. Most become bitter, some live in denial, and others in avoidance. I feel all of those leave you with an emotionally stunted life and unable to remember your child as they deserve. Counseling is key in this regard to keep you from getting stuck. A counselor can help you find your way out. My counselor says that's his job: to make sure that I never stay too long in one area of grief.</div>
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<strong>7. Having to explain what happened.</strong> Most people don't know much details about SIDS (Sudden Infant Death Syndrome). To be honest, until my son died from it, I didn't either. Only through research and SIDS group conversations have I been able to grasp what happened to my son. Basically, when there is no other explanation medically for a child dying, its SIDS. They believe its either the respiratory system or the brain stem malfunctioning during growth spurts but not enough research has been done to really pinpoint what causes it. Every time I have to explain what happened to my son, it's like living the pain of his death all over again. Some people seem to have a fascination with tragedies. I had people contact me and my mother asking for all the details only days after his death. And these were people that we were not close to and some that we had not talked to in years. What's even worse than that, is when I have to explain to a stranger what happened to my son. "How many kids do you have?" We are all asked this often, at the grocery store, by a new parent at your kid's school, or a doctor's office. And almost always when I tell them that I have three children, they ask "Where is my third one?" Then I reply that that he is heaven now. "Oh, my gosh, I am so sorry! What happened?" Then I have to tell that person he passed away from SIDS. It's like living his death over and over again. The worst part of this constant scenario is that I receive pity stares. I <em>hate </em>when people give me a look of pity. I've given that look and I know what most are thinking, "That's so awful! God, I'm so glad that didn't happen to my child! That poor woman!" I don't blame them for thinking it, it's a parent's worst nightmare and I'm living it.</div>
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<strong>8. Letting my marriage crumble.</strong> One of the first statistics, someone thought they needed to share with me after my son passed away was that 80% of marriages end in divorce after the death of a child. They thought they were warning me of the pitfalls ahead, but what they didn't realize was that they were putting a fire in me to beat the odds. My husband and I have beaten bad odds before. When he was involved in a horrific car wreck eight years ago due to a drunk driver, he had been given only a 20% chance of living and if he did survive, they told me that he would be brain dead. Not only did he live, he didn't have any residual cognitive damage. I was also told after his car accident that due to the strain on our marriage from the severity of his injuries that we would most likely end up divorced because 90% of brain injury victims do. We proved those odds wrong as well and I know we will do it once again because we learned what not to do through his car accident. We don't blame one another. Yes, my husband was watching my son when he passed away and during my bargaining moments, I question whether it would have made a difference if he had been there the exact moment it happened, but then I think about the fact that I watched him the majority of the time and how would I feel if my husband blamed me if it happened when he was with me instead of him? I wouldn't need the added guilt of his blame because I would be doing enough for the both of us. That's why I have made it a point to never accuse, blame, or guilt my husband over what happened. I remind myself it was SIDS and it couldn't be prevented even if he had been in the room when it happened. We also learned from his car accident, the maintenance needed to keep our marriage in good repair. We go to couples grief counseling, we go out on dates, we go to church together and we dialogue about our feelings regarding the loss of our son. We make it a point to work on our marriage and to be patient with each other during this extra difficult and sensitive time. We are not perfect. We falter and we fight but we never go to bed angry and we always say we love each other.</div>
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<strong>9. Losing Another Child. </strong>This is probably my biggest fear. Some days, I can barely breathe. When they say the pain in unimaginable, that word doesn't even begin to measure the severity or depth of the pain one feels when their child is taken. If I feel this way now, I can't even comprehend having to live through it again if one of my daughters died. I fight the urge to be overprotective and struggle to find a balance between my need to keep them completely sheltered and allowing them to be children. With allowing freedom, you have to make a choice that there is a distinct possibility that they could get hurt. I worry about my two living children often but realize it's amazing what humans can endure: during the Roman era Christian children were thrown to the lions to be eaten as their parents watched, during the holocaust children were ripped from their mother's arms and put in the gas chamber, and just a few months ago two parents lost all three of their children on Malaysian Airlines Flight 17. What my eyes have been opened to through my son's death is that the rain falls on the good and bad alike but what matters is how we handle life when the rain comes. I have realized through his passing that life is precious and fleeting and that in a split second, things can happen beyond your control. And when something truly tragic happens, I'm not talking about losing a cell phone, chipping a newly manicured nail, or not getting one of the tacos you ordered at lunch, but something that completely turns your life upside down, you decide if its going to make or break you. It's hard to get out of bed, some days all I want to do is cry but I don't know how much time I have with the ones I love and I don't want to miss out on anything. I choose to live and realize that yes, I could lose another child but they are here now and I should make the most of the time I have with them rather than dwell on fears of what <em>might</em> happen down the road.</div>
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<strong>10. That I will never feel as happy. </strong>Every day I wake up and its like a reset button is pushed in my brain. For the first few seconds, I temporarily forget that my son is dead. The pain isn't there until I look over at where his crib used to be and I remember that he is gone. Then it's like losing him all over again and the horrible gut-wrenching unbelievable pain takes hold. It lingers throughout the day and sometimes it lessons but always comes back with a vengeance. My counselor tells me that this is a normal part of grieving but it scares me because it makes me wonder if I will ever be as happy as I was when he was alive. He was the center of my world. I had plans for us: his sisters were both going to be in school full-time so the days were going to be ours to go to the park, mommy and me gym, and story time at the library. All those plans have been destroyed. Not to mention, I will never get to hear him utter his first words, see him go to kindergarten, be in the school play, figure out which sports he likes, go to college, or get married. It's hard to accept that he had such a short life and that all I will ever have is what he did in just 9 months. But he did a lot in those 9 months: he went to the beach, SeaWorld, Disneyland, Universal Studios and the San Diego Zoo and spent time with all his loved ones. And I have those memories to cherish and I know that one day, I will wake up and I can remember the happiness he brought me during his life rather than the sadness from his death. </div>
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Jenna Brandthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04626212578092484574noreply@blogger.com27tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4725565922835628694.post-76300814625031890282014-08-10T14:21:00.000-07:002014-08-10T14:21:30.852-07:00Quicksand (A Mourning Poem)<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The one who loved me for me</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Is gone now.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">His absence is like</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A gaping hole in my heart</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I ache with all my soul.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It's unfathomable</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">That the only person</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Whoever loved me completely</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And so unconditionally</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Was ripped away from me</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Before I even knew what happened</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I ache knowing</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I will never see him again.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I will never see him take his first steps</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Play in his boy scout uniform</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Get into his limo for prom</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Wait for his bride at the end of the aisle</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Look down at me as we dance at his wedding</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Or hold his baby for the first time.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I have been robbed of all his firsts.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He'll never understand how important</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He was to me.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I feel hallow inside.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I love him so much</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And no one understands</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">No one grasps who and what </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He was to me.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He was a miracle, my gift from God</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"You'll see him again someday," they say.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But someday is so far away.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I don't want to live the rest of my life</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Without him in it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If I could cut out this pain</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And feel nothing I would.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Nothingness-numbness-</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Would be better than this.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But whenever I think </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I've located the source</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Rooted it out-</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It shifts, it moves, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It eats away at me </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Because when I allow myself to really feel</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It's like I'm sinking </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Into the darkest, deepest quicksand</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">That anyone can ever imagine.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And I feel like I'm going crazy </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Because nothing makes sense anymore</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I don't know who I am anymore</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And I'm sinking so fast</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">That I feel like I'm choking </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I can't breathe</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And I know there's no way out</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Only deep down into the bottomless pit</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Quicksand has taken over my life</span><br />
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Jenna Brandthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04626212578092484574noreply@blogger.com0