A Defining Moment in Time

While many of us have momentous moments in our life (both good and bad), I’m not sure that everyone has a moment that defines time for them. As I look back at my life, there are certainly moments that are seared into my brain – graduating from college, my Dad’s death, my Mom’s breast cancer diagnosis, and marrying my husband. While all of those moments are markers in my life, the death of my daughter is a definer in my life. All of my life can be organized in one of 2 time periods – BV and AV (Before Vivienne and After Vivienne).

The day of her birth and death aren’t just a date for me – they are a marker of time much like BC and AD are for everyone else. Everything changed on that day, including me. As I think about who I am, there is the Me that existed Before Vivienne and the Me that exists now After Vivienne. They are not the same person. The experience of bringing her into this world and saying goodbye to her changed almost everything about me and how I look at life.

I suppose this is true for anyone who goes through a truly tragic event. So much in a tragedy forces you to evaluate what you believe in, who are you, and what your expectations are for your life. It requires you to put your life back together from scratch, and it changes everything.

In my Before Vivienne time, I was an optimist. I believed that if I wanted something enough and was willing to work for it, it would happen. Good things came to people who believed and worked hard. I operated under the illusion that I had some control over my life and that as long as I did what I was supposed to do, things would work out.

I have to admit that the AV Me looks at the BV Me like a stranger. I don’t know that person anymore. As I think about BV Me, there is a mix of jealousy and pity. I envy the innocence she had that allowed her to be so positive and believe so strongly. And I pity how foolish she is for thinking that way. Poor BV Me who doesn’t know that life can be so cruelly unfair.

Not everything about AV Me is so negative. Sure, there are the waves of sadness, bittnerness, and anger that come with this new person. But the AV Me is also stronger, more understanding, and more appreciative of what matters in life. This new Me chooses not to take some things so seriously – work, keeping the house perfectly straightened, and caring what other people think of me. I have seen the real value in family and friends who have stood by us. I find more purpose in helping others – mostly other Moms who have been through a similar experience, who I can help by listening and understanding. In AV time, I have a clearer understanding of who I am than I did at any point in BV time.

I am grateful for the lessons I’ve learned since Vivienne’s death. I’d still go back to BV time and the Me that existed there in a heartbeat, but that isn’t an option. I live in AV time now. All I can do is continue to learn about this AV Me and hope that the good points will outweigh the bad.

Innocence Lost

I’ve been thinking a lot lately that I want to go back to college. Not back to take classes, get another degree, or anything, but I want to be 21 again and living the carefree naïve life that college provides. I know what you’re thinking—everyone wants to be younger. But it’s not that I want to be younger, I want to be back in a world where everything seemed like an opportunity, and I never thought about the bad things that could happen.

I’ve heard from lots of friends since losing Vivienne, and we always end up with the same conversation—“remember when we thought this would all be so easy?” It covers so much—friends who haven’t found their spouse yet, people struggling with infertility, parents of children with developmental delays or chronic illness, people losing parents, grandparents, and yes, children. There was a time where we thought it would be easy and that things would just come together somehow. But now, some of our innocence is gone—we know that life is hard, that it isn’t fair, and that bad things happen that stay with you for your entire life.

I miss the innocence I had before losing Vivienne. When I was pregnant with her, I was worried, but I could be at least a little carefree about it. I was still able to think about names, plans for after the baby comes, plan a baby shower, and register for baby gifts. Now I know that if I’m lucky enough to get pregnant again, I won’t plan. You know how they say God laughs when we make plans? That’s about how I feel.

I wish I could still find that optimism that I had before. But now, I know so many bad things that can happen (it’s the bad side of support groups—you hear everyone else’s story, and recognize a thousand other things that can go wrong). I know that passing certain milestones like the first trimester or the 32 week mark doesn’t mean you’re safe from tragedy. I know that going into labor with a healthy baby at full term doesn’t mean you’ll get to take a healthy baby home. I know the other side of pregnancy and childbirth. And while I’d like to say that knowledge is power, it really feels more like a punishment.

I have to admit that I get kind of bitter listening to other pregnant women plan for their child’s arrival. It comes with the innocence that I envy—they don’t know that nothing is for certain, and that things will happen that are completely out of their control. I don’t wish what happened to my husband and I on anyone, and I certainly don’t want to be the person telling expectant mothers “don’t be so sure about that” (I’m pretty sure that makes me an evil character in a fairy tale). It’s not that I want to take their carefree innocence away—I just want mine back.

When I started this blog, it was to explain to people what the loss of a child feels like. As I write more posts, I realize that in losing Vivienne, I lost much more than my daughter. In a lot of ways, I lost my hope.