My Journey With Jace

Happy Mother's Day to all Moms, but especially to those who had to say goodbye.

💔

🖤🖤🖤

Grief is messy. Things I thought I worked through are surfacing again. Anger. Guilt. Reasoning. My brain needs to know why this happened. My heart wants the pain to stop. But my soul, my soul is tired. I don't know how to think of you and not feel like I lost who I was supposed to be. Who I would have become if you had lived. I know it isn't healthy. But I don't know how to let these thoughts go... I don't want to let you go. 👣💔

It doesn't matter how far along, you are allowed to grieve for as long as you need. 🖤💙💜

Just when I thought I was actually healing from the devastating loss of my son, life decided to remind me that I still have a long way to go. In a single moment, life changed and I went right back to where I was when we lost Jace.

Broken. Shattered. Hopeless. The overwhelming GUILT. It all comes rushing back, full force, crashing over me. Like a wave, pushing me under, drowning me so quickly. As if I never really reached the surface before. And all that time trying to pull myself out of the darkness was for nothing.

My heart still aches to know that you are not here... where you belong. It has been 9 years since I held your little body, though your soul had already left this world. I didn't even get to really meet you. I didn't know anything could hurt so much. I didn't know the journey you had planned for me.

I am trying to step into that role. I am trying to find my place. I am trying to heal. I am trying to be strong. But with every beat of my heart, I miss the life we should have had. I miss you more than I thought possible. Even after all this time, I just miss you.

I wanted you before I even knew you existed. And I have loved you for even longer. Nothing, not even death, will ever change that.

💙 Jace Alexander 💙 5/19/11

Nine years ago today my water broke with Jace. I spent the next 3 days fighting for both of our lives. I honestly thought I was strong enough for the both of us. Even though the doctors tried to explain the severity of the situation, I never imagined that I would leave the hospital without my baby. It never occured to me that Jace would die.

Those days in the hospital were so hard. I thought we would have to learn to care for a sick baby. I thought we would have some struggles ahead of us. The thought of a long NICU stay broke my heart. It would be hard to divide my time between the new baby in the hospital and my 2 little girls at home. I thought that life was going to be difficult. I had no idea that it would be so much worse than I imagined.

It took me a long time to accept that I couldn't go back to the me I was before losing Jace. In fact, many of my posts reflect on how Jace's death changed me. I thought accepting that fact would be enough and allow me to step into the next chapter of my life. But, as usual, nothing is ever that easy when grief is involved.

How do you learn to love and accept the girl you don't even recognize when you look into the mirror? For almost 9 years, I have been focused on the parts of that girl that were broken and shattered. For the longest time, I could only see her pain and fear, feel the weight of the overwhelming guilt she carries with her. I have only defined her by the loss she experienced.

But I was so focused on those flaws that I didn't see the beauty and strength of the role she had stepped into. The healing that has taken place in her. I will always see her scars, but I am starting to see so much more in her. ✨❣🌠

❤

She was Broken and Shattered.
Put back together piece by piece.
Only to realize she will never be whole.
For a piece of her died that day.
A part of her is gone forever. 💔

Warning: language (apparently I am feeling angry and frustrated today 🤬)

One of the hardest things for me to accept is that the death of my son was beyond my control. I honestly don't understand why this happened to us. I did everything right, I made all the right choices. Yet, there was nothing I could do to prevent Jace from dying. There was nothing I could do to protect him.

That admission is difficult for me to write. It actually makes me feel worse about the entire situation. It makes me feel so fu***ng insignificant. I hate that there was nothing I could do. With everything I am, I hate it. Why do I try so hard to do everything right in life??? If in the end, it doesn't really stop the bad s**t from happening. It doesn't change anything at all.

As if I wasn't struggling enough, it somehow became the month of May yesterday. 💔

If you are struggling, just remember... 🖤🖤🖤

These past few days I have felt the weight of the world on my shoulders. The uncertainty we are faced with each day, the fear that has spread across the nation, and the loss of our normal lives has been weighing on me. I am trying very hard not to slip back into that dark hole. But I am struggling. I am struggling to see the light.

After we lost Jace, I was extremely worried that I would lose another child. I would check on my two girls all through the night to make sure they were breathing. I couldn't sleep unless I could place my hand on their chest to feel their heart beating. And when Callie was born, her lips would part open as she slept. I remember thinking she looked like Jace. He looked like he was sleeping too, but he wasn't.

I couldn't imagine surviving that pain again. These thoughts and fears have consumed my mind again. I know I have to change this pattern of thinking. I know it is not healthy. But how do you find the light when the entire world has gone dark?

I know it can be difficult for others to know what to say. I get it, I do. More than you know. Because, in all honesty, I know there is nothing you can say that will make things better in the moment. We both know it. It never bothered me when people didn't know what to say.

But it did hurt when they used these two words. As if there were something I should be grateful for. There is no "at least" when your baby dies. There is only you and the unfathomable amount of pain and destruction left in its wake.

I will never stop speaking out about pregnancy and infant loss. And I will continue to share my journey of love, loss, and grief with the world. It's more than just a big deal. Losing Jace has been everything. 🖤🖤

For all those who continued to love me when I had forgotten how to love myself. Thank you for not giving up on me. 💜

I don't think there will ever be a day that goes by where I don't think of you. I have been waiting for that moment, the one where I would find pure happiness again. I am happy. I laugh and smile often. But your death changed everything. Since that day, everything is shadowed with grief. I thought I could escape that feeling, that one day I could smile and not instantly think of you. When I could look at the girls and forget for just one minute that our family will never be completely whole. I think I was wrong. I don't think that moment will ever exist for me.

I wanted to share something I wrote last May but never shared. This memory still replays in mind 18 months later, and it still bothers me that people can be so ignorant. For this woman, I'm sure the conversation was meaningless and her comments are long forgotten. But not for me, I will always remember this moment and how I felt. And so will my daughters. Remember that the words you speak matter. Your words have power. (And to Justin, thank you for saying the perfect thing at the perfect time...for once 😉😁😘)

Last September, on our way to a football game in Kentucky, a lady approached our table as we sat down to eat a quick lunch. The woman looked at Justin with a sad smile (ignoring us girls) and told him how sorry she felt for him that he only had daughters. Before either of us could respond (we get this comment often enough 🙄), she continued on about how much money the girls would cost us. How girls need expensive dresses and nicer cars than boys. She told Justin it was too bad he didn't have a son to share football with. I sat there numb for a moment, completely shocked at her rudeness, when I realized the girls had heard every word. I quickly stole a glance at each of my daughters. But all 3 pair of eyes looked to Justin...silently waiting. I could see them questioning if they were enough. And as I tried to figure out how to politely tell someone to
f%$& off, even my own heart betrayed me.

I know she couldn't possibly know about our son. How Jace was born without his heart beating; how he never even took a breath. A baby I never got to take home from the hospital, a baby I had to let go of. She couldn't possibly know about the 5 other miscarriages, or what I wouldn't do to be able to have another baby, boy or girl. Because to me, it never mattered, not until we lost Jace.

I had so many things to say, I was so angry at her for saying this in front of the girls. But I couldn't form a single thought or word. All I could think of was Jace. Because deep down inside I wondered if there was truth to her words. Does my husband want a son more than anything? I know I wanted Jace, and it's my fault he isn't here. Does he blame me too? And before I can even comprehend my own (irrational) thoughts, Justin looks at me and he knows.

He knows this stranger's words hurt me deeply. He knows the thoughts that are playing in my head. Hell, he knows them better than I do most days. He knows how much I needed Jace to be with me. Justin has a smile on his face as he slowly looks to each of his daughter's eyes; giving them the confirmation they were seeking. And then he says to the stranger very proudly (even though he is looking at me) "I'm not sorry at all, I think we are pretty lucky." ❤

Last year, I decided that I needed to share my experience of losing Jace with the world. I had two main goals. I wanted to share my story to help other women who experienced a pregnancy loss. And I wanted to break the silence. The idea that we should not talk about pregnancy and child loss is not only ridiculous (it affects 1 in 4), but it is extremely harmful. I wanted to make sure no other woman felt as alone as I did when we lost Jace. I hoped to create a safe space for others to share thier stories of loss. I wanted to help others heal.

In May, I shared my "19 days of Jace" on my personal page and it made others uncomfortable. I not only shared our experience, but I shared my thoughts, feelings, and grief. I shared my darkness, the things we often keep hidden from the world. Family and friends became worried about me. Other friends unfollowed me. And a few people began to share their losses with me. But in the process, I discovered that writing about Jace was something I needed to do. Although my intentions were to help others, it seems I was the one who needed the help. I gave myself the greatest gift when I shared about Jace. I allowed myself to begin to heal.

To be honest, 2019 was not my favorite year. (I still hate the number 19) It was a challenging and difficult year. But it was also rewarding in the end. I have learned that healing is not easy. It is raw, unpredictable, and messy. It is real. And it is a beautiful thing.

Merry Christmas Jace Alexander. You will always be my Christmas wish.🎄❄🕊❤💚

I am learning how to live a new life, trying to figure out how to let go of the life we imagined with you. I am healing (or atleast moving in that direction), discovering just how strong I can be. Writing about you has been both challenging and rewarding.

But even if there is wisdom in the process, I would rather have been blissfully unaware. 🧡

I know you don't see the battle inside me, but perhaps you have seen the scars. Although they are not physical, they still run deep. And I know that if you looked hard enough, you would see the scars I carry.

It would have been so easy to give into the darkness that I was left with after we lost Jace. The emptiness was consuming. There was nothing else. It was like being swallowed into a deep, gaping hole where nothing and no one could reach me. Except the pull. The pull to be with Jace was the only thing that felt real.

I have felt the pull since the moment Jace died inside of me. Everything changed in that moment. I knew with every fiber of my being that this was the end of my life. That I would never be the same again. A part of me died that day with Jace. And that is when I first felt the connection of our souls.

It feels like an imaginary string that wasn't completely severed when Jace died. On one end of the string is my soul. And tied to the other end, is Jace's soul. It connects us between worlds. Between life and death. A gentle pull to be reunited with Jace. A battle within myself that I undoubtedly will be fighting for the rest of my life. And my scars are a powerful reminder that I am fighting.

There is not a day that goes by where Jace does not enter my thoughts. After 8 years, I often think of my sweet, little boy and smile. And other days, the simplest thought can bring me to my knees.

Today, it was the snow. Jace never experienced snow and for some reason that was too much for my heart today. Jace will never know what it is like to play in the snow, how it feels wet and cold at the same time. Jace will never see snowflakes falling from the sky. He will never have a snowball fight with Justin or build a snowman with his sisters. And even though I HATE the cold, (I rarely choose to go outside in the winter) I would do anything to play outside in the snow with Jace.❄❄⛄⛄

Forever in our hearts. 💙

Eight years ago today was our due date with Jace. I often play that day over in my head and wish for a different ending. But no matter how it plays out in my dreams, the truth is you are not here with me. And that breaks my heart~ every single moment of every single day. I loved you before I even met you. And I will love you until the day I take my very last breath and my heart no longer beats in my chest.

I am not afraid of dying, not anymore. Not after losing you. I'm only afraid that when I die, there will be nobody to remember you. That your life will no longer have meaning. And that thought hurts me so deeply. Because your life meant everything to me. 💔

October is pregnancy and infant loss awareness month. If you don't think this is something important for women and their families to be able to talk about, think about which child of yours you could live without. Because that is what we do every day. 👼💔

I tried to post the other day on the 19th and was having trouble finding the words. I know. Me. At a loss of words. Almost unheard of.

I don't really know why I couldn't type the words in my head. Maybe because I write what I feel, and I was not feeling the words that day. It was storming outside and I wanted to post about healing. And hope. But I wasn't feeling that at all. The dark clouds rolled in with the storm, heavy with rain. All I could think of was how I felt like the storm. My heart was like a dark, heavy cloud threatening to release the emotions inside. I missed you. And I just wanted to cry.

I don't know why we aren't allowed to do just that. To just let the tears fall when we need to. To just release the power and beauty like the rain cloud in a storm does. Maybe not all days have to be sunny and full of hope. ☔

I don't think people realized how much I thought about ending my life. I was good at hiding my thoughts. After we lost Jace, I didn't want to feel the pain I was enduring every single day. Knowing your child is dead is a feeling like no other. And it never goes away.

I thought about how to do it. I planned the details. I thought about how I could do it so that it wouldn't hurt because I didn't want to feel any more pain. I thought about how to make it hurt the most, since I deserved the pain. I blamed myself for destroying our life when our baby died.

I could even justify ending my life. It was easy. At the time, I felt the girls would be better off without a broken mother. I felt like a bad mom because the girls no longer made me happy. I cried all the time. And people kept telling me that I needed to be happy for the girls. I didn't know how to be happy without Jace. I knew Justin would find someone else to love him. Hell, I wasn't even doing a good job of that. I was angry at him because he didn't grieve like he was "supposed" to. My world was shattered, and I didn't know how he could function and take care of everything like nothing happened. I didn't know how to talk to him anymore. I didn't know how he could love me when I was a mess.

I could justify it all because I wanted to be with Jace. I could feel the pull of my soul trying to find him. But there was one thing that kept stopping me. One reason that I am probably still here.

I didn't want to give this pain to my mom. I knew losing me would cause her the same pain I felt when we lost Jace. I would be giving the worst pain imaginable, the pain of losing a child, to my own mother. How could I expect her to handle the death of a child if I couldn't? She needed to help raise my children since I wouldn't be here. But she would be broken, just like me. I didn't want to break my mom.

I can't even describe the pain of losing a child, it hurts just to breathe. It hurts to wake up in the morning. It hurts to go on. It just hurts. I don't know how the rational part of my brain understood that I couldn't do this to my mom. I'm not sure why this thought was the only one that bothered me, when they all should have. But grief isn't always rational.

How lucky am I that my mother gave me life, and then she unknowingly saved it?

(Please know that I no longer experience any thoughts of su***de. I knew I needed to heal for my girls. One day, I just decided to be stronger than the pain. One day at a time, over many years, I become stronger than I thought was possible.)