The Walking Volcano

I was about a month old, and living near Seattle, when Mount St. Helens erupted on May 18, 1980. In the two months prior to that major eruption, the volcano was active; earthquakes and small eruptions occurred. The mountain was preparing itself for a major explosion.

October has been a difficult month for me, which I didn’t expect. I thought by this time– twenty-five weeks post-delivery–I would be well on my way toward healing. Instead, I feel more discouraged than ever. My anger has become significantly worse and I feel like a walking volcano, ready to erupt. Like Mount St. Helens, I have warning signs, little earthquakes and small explosions happening.

In the checkout line at the grocery store: a sign requesting money for breast cancer research. Boom. What about stillbirth research?

Picking up my anti-depressant prescription refill: tiny pink breast cancer ribbon on the cap. Boom. WHAT ABOUT STILLBIRTH RESEARCH?

At a remembrance walk for infant loss: everyone else with massive teams and me with just my living daughter. Boom. Where are all my friends?

Same remembrance walk: Christian prayer opener. Boom. Eff God.

At a birthday party for my daughter’s classmate: TWO mothers who delivered living babies this past spring. Boom. My baby should be here too.

Infant Loss Awareness Month: My 40-week stillbirth gets lumped in with a 6 week miscarriage. Boom. It’s not comparable.

Reading information about kick-counting and movement monitoring. Boom. I failed my baby. My midwife failed my baby and me.

Knowing my living daughter doesn’t really ‘count’ her sister as a sister.  Boom. Knowing she can’t, it’s not real to her. 

Thinking back to one year ago: nausea, vomiting, misery. Boom. All for nothing. ?

Not talking to friends for weeks because one is pregnant and one has a living baby. Boom. Knowing that our friendships are over because my baby died.

Reliving my entire pregnancy and every decision I made/didn’t make. Boom. Seeing my baby’s urn on my dresser. Boom.

I wonder when/if “the big one” will hit. Will I one day explode? Will I go off the deep end?


How has anger affected your grief process? Have you found healthy ways to manage and process your anger?

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CYG Day 25: Indestructible Heart

I once had a job, not long ago, working directly with pregnant and postpartum moms, and their children. Occasionally, my coworker, who frequently combed the obituaries, would bring in to work a tattered clipping for a baby or small child. “One of ours,” she’d say. My coworkers and I would huddle in our meeting space trying to fathom what could have happened. Sometimes, I could identify what likely happened: “Oh, that baby was a 24 weeker,” or “heart defect.” (I followed all the high risk cases). Occasionally, a staff member would offer up that the mother had risk factors for SIDS. Or there had been a house fire or car accident.  Other times we just didn’t have a clue.

I would think (and sometimes say aloud), If my child died, I would die too,* or be admitted to a mental hospital.

But when my child’s heart stopped, mine kept on beating, though the physical ache was real. Checking in to a mental hospital would only separate me from my husband and living daughter; it wouldn’t bring back my baby.

Worldwide, across cultures, people endure unfathomable tragedies. They survive, and they build meaningful and joyful lives despite trauma.  This is resilience. In Option B Sandberg and Grant discuss the three P’s (coined by Martin Sligman) which prevent someone from reclaiming their life after trauma.

Personalization: Self-blame. It’s my fault that my baby died. If only I had paid closer attention to her movements. If only I had sought more ultrasounds.

Pervasiveness: When tragedy infiltrates into every aspect of our life. I failed to keep my baby alive, therefore I’m not a good mom to my living child. I’m not a good wife. I’m not a good employee. I’m not a good friend.

Permanence: Feeling as though the severity of the trauma will never end. I am never going to feel better. For the rest of my living days, I will always be the mother of a dead baby and there is nothing I can do to change that fact.

I am still working on the three Ps. I’m not certain that my heart is truly indestructible. It feels quite shattered, actually.

*When I say I thought I would die, I’m not referring to suicide. I’m referring to the belief that I would stop existing if my child died. If you are contemplating suicide, please know that there is help available. For countries outside the United States, click here.


What do you think about the three P’s? Have you built resilience? Is your heart indestructible?

Remember Your Strength 

Capture Your Grief Day 3: Meaningful Mantra

#CaptureYourGrief2017 #WhatHealsYou

My friend, Amanda, gifted me with this gorgeous bracelet, made at Saucy Jewelry. Engraved inside: “Remember Your Strength”. That’s been my mantra since I got it. I wear it everyday. And when things feel too difficult, I touch my bracelet, close my eyes, and tell myself “Remember Your Strength. Corva Florence.”

What’s your mantra? Do you have an ‘anchor’ to ground you? 

Remembering Babies, Gone Too Soon

Capture Your Grief Day 1: Sunrise Blessing

In 1988, then-President Ronald Reagan declared October Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month, saying “When a child loses his parent, they are called an orphan. When a spouse loses her or his partner, they are called a widow or widower. When parents lose their child, there isn’t a word to describe them. This month recognizes the loss so many parents experience across the United States and around the world. It is also meant to inform and provide resources for parents who have lost children due to miscarriage, ectopic pregnancy, molar pregnancy, stillbirths, birth defects, SIDS, and other causes.”

Like other awareness campaigns (think “pink” for breast cancer, “purple” for Alzheimer’s and “red” for HIV/AIDS), the PAIL community uses a blue and pink ribbon as a symbol to heighten awareness. Pregnancy and Infant Loss Day (October 15th) is recognized in the U.S., as well as five additional countries.

In his speech, Reagan highlighted 3 goals: recognition of baby loss, information for parents, and resources for parents. However, something vital is missing: raising awareness to the public. Before I was a statistic I was only peripherally aware of PAIL Month. Sure, I’d seen blue and pink ribbons on Facebook profiles, but I didn’t truly understand. Now I am that parent. I frequently remind others in the loss community that “people are uncomfortable with death, but they are exponentially uncomfortable with dead babies.”  The death of a baby is shocking and unanticipated–babies are not supposed to die.

If you are someone who has experienced the loss of a baby, I challenge you to speak up in a way that feels right to you. This could be using a Facebook profile frame for PAIL month, writing a note to a friend, speaking up during a conversation about loss, or commenting on a Facebook post. And if you haven’t personally experienced the loss of a baby, you know someone who has, even if you don’t (yet) know who in your life that person is. So if they bring it up, be ready.

On October 14th, I will be walking in the 2017 Empty Arms Remembrance Walk for my Baby C and all babies gone too soon. I would encourage everyone to check this site to find a local event to offer your support.

If nobody speaks up, then nobody knows.


Before your loss, how aware were you of Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month/Day. How, if at all, will you commemorate your baby this month?