Emotional Rollercoaster

Let me just say that grieving is a huge emotional roller coaster. You just have to ride the ride all the way through without hopping off, or shutting it down. The instant you shut that roller coaster down, you shut yourself out from the entire world. After the loss of Emma in May, my husband and I decided right away to seek a counselor and get the help we needed. Unhealthy thoughts can lead to an unhealthy life, and if you don't know where to begin to channel those thoughts, you could find yourself in some deep trouble.

The first day we seen our counselor, he gave us a packet to read together called "Coping with Grief." It explains to you what grief is, that not all people grieve the same way and to NEVER compare yourself to someone else, and then it goes into reactions. The entire list of emotions defined me. I felt like some how someone had gotten into my head and wrote down exactly how I was feeling. I was taken back by how this list nailed what I was feeling: Sadness, anger, guilt, anxiety, loneliness, hopelessness, shock, yearning for Emma, numbness. While I was drowning, a week after it happened, I felt like everyone was swimming to the top breathing, splashing each other, laughing and having fun. I absolutely hated myself. I hated myself for not being able to hold Emma in my tummy any longer. For not being able to give my husband the best gift of life like I was supposed to. For doing all the bad things in my pregnancy instead of focusing on being healthy. I drank caffeine daily, I never exercised, I didn't gain a pound like I was supposed to. What kind of mother was I being? I felt like the worst parent in the world.

After so many sessions with the counselor, you learn that it is okay to feel this way. Your thoughts are normal. Your feelings are normal. The reason it felt like someone was in my head was because someone has been in the same situation as me. They may have handled it differently, experienced grief differently, but in the end, when that roller coaster came to a stop, we are ALL THE SAME!

When Tim went back to work, I felt so betrayed. I felt like I was here alone, dealing with the death of our daughter by myself. But he wasn't doing it to hurt me. He had to get back to work at some point and the distraction was a blessing. Tim was here for me through it all. Through my yelling, screaming, kicking, punching, attitude, you name it, God Bless him because I went through it all and sometimes within a matter of seconds. I am still grieving, but in order to live life again, you have to take it day by day.

At one point, I was so pissed off at the world, I was ready to jump ship and run away. First, our plumbing stopped working in the house. Next, we lost Emma for absolutely no reason. Then my car window got bashed in. What is next? How much can one person take before they absolutely can't handle it anymore. I wanted to give up. Throw my hands in the air (haha yes part of a song) and give up! But when Tim said we would try again this year, it gave me all kinds of hope. I want my Rainbow baby. I want our second baby. I want to give Tim a gift of life.

Never will I stop grieving for my daughter. I recently joined three Facebook groups to help me through this tough situation. Not only do the groups help, but they give you hope. The light after the dark. I was talking to a friend one night and she told me how this had happened to someone she knew as well. She told me to go friend her and that is exactly what I did. I talked to her and she had lost her baby girl the week after us. She started a fundraiser for her daughter to buy items in her memory. That got me thinking, I started one for Emma too.

http://www.gofundme.com/a6qjz0

So far, we have raised enough money to get everything we've wanted, but we still want to buy more. We want her surrounding us. Never to be forgotten. My grieving process will never be over. Emma made me a mother, she made Tim a father. We will always be her parents. We will meet again someday and it will be absolutely amazing to hold her once more.

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Sleeping Beauty

My husband had recently received employee of the quarter as his work, and as a reward, we were sent to Chicago for a trip that started our wonderful, but ended in tragedy. On May 15, 2014, our baby girl, Emma Elizabeth Bradley, would be born sleeping, never able to wake, to cry, to move. No one should EVER have to go through such a miserable experience.

What happened: On May 14th, 2014 at around 7pm, I started to feel awful pain and pressure in my stomach. At first, the typical thoughts go through your head: maybe its a bowel movement (sorry if that is TMI) or maybe I ate too much. After dinner, we were supposed to catch a cab to go see a comedy show about 10 minutes away, but instead, my pain progressed to the point I could barely walk. Tim just wanted to get us back to the hotel 3 blocks away from where we were eating dinner. I could barely walk. Cramps began, back pain began. At that time we determined that our best bet was to head to the hospital about 5 blocks away in a CAB of course.

In Emergency, they asked me to change into a gown, and go ahead and give them a urine sample. At that time I discovered an immense amount of blood on me, and on the floor. Instantly, I started to cry. There shouldn't be that much blood when you are 21 weeks pregnant! After they did an exam, they determined that my water was outside of my cervix and it was ready to burst. The doctor blatantly stated "sorry, but this pregnancy will not be going on any longer." Tim and I started crying. We were shaking in fear. Our first baby, our first experience in that department. Being in too much pain to ask questions sends you into a worse misery. All I wanted to ask was:

- Will our baby be okay?
- Can we put her in NICU?
- Can she survive if we deliver her and fly us to Michigan to a childrens hospital?

My fear progressed but so did my pain. Tim was trying to call my mom, as well as his parents to let them know what was going on. Not only that but the nurse was trying to get more information from him. I felt so bad. I couldn't even tell them my name it was so bad.

After about an hour in Emergency, they were sending me up to labor and delivery. Immediately they asked if I wanted an Epidural. Thank the lord for that. My pain soon stopped, and I couldn't feel anything. I didn't want to feel anything. All I could keep saying is "this isn't supposed to be happening!"... "my baby girl is healthy!" After another hour, they stated that my water was now coming down the canal. They would like it to stay intact so that we could get the baby out easier. It took two seconds, and I felt a "pop"... Emma was born sleeping. She didn't cry. She didn't fuss. She was so peaceful.

You're asked before the birth if you want to see or hold your baby even though she wouldn't be born alive. I couldn't. Not that night. Although I regret it now, at that time I couldn't have handled it. My nerves were shot. I couldn't drink. I couldn't eat. I was sick to my stomach. Looking at that curtain, knowing my baby girl was behind it when she should be in my belly, was the worst torture anyone could endure. Tim held her and seen her. He was brave. He stated that she was small (she was born 13oz, and 10 1/4 inches). Her eyelids were still sealed. But he claimed she was perfect. The hospital takes pictures and keeps them pretty much forever. 30 years down the line, I could call the hospital and retrieve those photos if I wished.

My heart hurts every day. My stomach feels empty. My boobs are full of milk (sorry another TMI). But there is no baby to hold, no baby to feed, no baby to hear cry. Something inside of me died that night. Rather it be part of my soul, or even my heart. I can't stand to see children on TV. I have hidden all of my friends baby and childrens pictures. I can't handle seeing them right now. I asked the counselor if that is selfish, but he stated that it is all about grieving. I have to grieve how ever I see possible. If that means deleting photos of babies, then so be it. If that means deleting people off Facebook, then so be it. The stores are the hardest. How can you not be sad when you see a family of 4, with parents that can hardly stand taking their children to the store? It breaks my heart.

Not only am I dealing with grief, I am dealing with finding out who truly is there for me. Most people ask what happened and then never talk to me again. Most people say sorry, and that is enough for me. Not knowing what to say when you lose an innocent life is perfectly normal. I have my family and Tim's family that have been very supportive. Then I have a few select people that have actually asked how I am (sadly I can count on one hand). I thank the people who have been there for me. Who put up with my depressing posts. It is really hard to be "happy" right now. I may get out of bed and try to put a smile on, but in reality, if it wasn't for my husband, and my two amazing puppies, I would be living in bed. The walls of this house is like my sanctuary. I am protected from the outside world in here. Protected from the harsh but innocent words of other individuals.

To go from not only picking out your babies name, to falling in love with the growing child inside of you, to buying clothes and items your baby would need, to having nothing is the sadest thing I will ever go through with my husband. You picture a baby playing in the yard with your dogs, or even on a swing set. You picture holding and feeding and playing. You picture your babies nursery. But now, I will never know what Emma would have grown into. I will never experience her firsts. I will never see her laugh. Her personality. Who she looks like more. Would she have had curly or straight hair? Would she have hazel eyes? Those are the things that make you fall in love more and more with your baby, the life growing inside of your belly.

We love you Emma Elizabeth. More than you will ever get to know. We will never forget you, and we will display what we have left of you, especially love.