Servicing the Front Range and High Country communities of Colorado, A Walk to Remember is a non-profit, all-volunteer organization focusing on bereavement care resources and support for those touched by all types of infant loss, including pregnancy loss, miscarriage, stillbirth, neonatal death or SIDS.
My Loss Journey
Written and shared by Mandy Seely at the 2009 Walk
In a song by Matt Kearney called “Closer to Love” there’s a verse about how we’re all one phone call from our knees. Every time I hear that song tears fill my eyes because it takes me back to an ultra sound room in March of 2007 when my husband and I were told our baby’s heart was no longer beating. I remember sliding down the wall to the floor wondering how I was going to get up again and face the challenges ahead. When we walked out of that building, the person I had been for the previous 27 years was also left behind, as well as the dream that our third child would arrive to us safely. The path that my life was abruptly placed on was not only devastating because of our loss, but also filled with so many unknowns, and I felt ill equipped to handle any of them.
The most surprising to me was the rage that consumed me. I raged at my body for failing me, God for leaving me and allowing this to become my story, and the dream that would never become reality, a little girl who would never live outside my body. I raged at pregnant women because they were able to continue their pregnancy while mine had ended in devastation. I raged at anyone who still held the innocence that life was an enjoyable ride, and pity the person who tried to offer me comfort with words like “it wasn’t meant to be” or “it was God’s will”. I raged when people couldn’t understand this new person I was becoming, even though I didn’t completely understand her either. What happened to the one who loved to share life with others? Who was this person who had withdrawn into herself and didn’t want to leave the house?
I was asked to leave groups because my grieving process made them uncomfortable. My mom came to my defense by saying, “It may make you uncomfortable for an hour or two, but Mandy lives with this everyday.” I still find it hard to forgive those individuals because when I needed them the most, they turned me away. I had friendships that crumbled, and some people that I willingly let go from my life because grieving with an audience who couldn’t understand was so much harder than just grieving alone. I attended events like the Angel Memorial through Rowan Tree and the Walk to Remember and clung to groups like MISS, Assistance with Grief and New Beginnings because the people involved shared my new definition of normal. I was blessed to have family and a few kindred spirits that persevered. My mom would attend MISS meetings with me to lend support and probably to make sure I really wasn’t cracking up. My dad attended grandparents night even though he isn’t a talker. My sister handled my anger and harsh words when she told me she was pregnant because she knew my heart was breaking due to my own loss and inability to get pregnant again. I had friends that would meet me for dinner every other week and talk to me on the phone about my doubts with God. They stayed with me even when it was uncomfortable and they loved me through the darkest time in my life.
There were times I struggled because my husband, the other half to my whole, didn’t grieve the same way I did. He didn’t cry when I did, didn’t demand the answers from God that I wanted, and seemed to keep functioning when I was coming apart at the seams. I’ve come to understand in the time that has passed that Ryan just grieved differently. He chose to be the support I needed to keep standing. He came to every meeting I asked him to attend, even if he had nothing to share. He never blinked when we had McDonalds for the fifth time in one week because I just couldn’t find the energy to get up, let alone cook. He never said a word when I chose to lose myself in books, checking out of life, instead of being his partner in parenting. I still worry how the months following Audree’s death will affect my living children. Will they remember when Mommy struggled to get out of bed or when she would cry in the Target aisle because she saw infant Halloween costumes? Will they remember how broken I was? I hope they remember that I was very sad for a period of time, and while that sadness still exists in me, I hope they also see that I survived, as a family we made it through, and have the opportunity to love and lend support to those just starting the journey we have been traveling the last 2 ½ years.
The reason I wanted to speak today was because I know there are many of you out there who are much further along on your path of loss than I am, than my family is. Some of you have helped me in dealing with the struggles that I have faced, and for that I am so grateful. I will never forget the first MISS meeting I attended, and when I started to share my story and my anger, women in the group began to nod in understanding. I remember thinking “I’m really not crazy? You understand me? Please tell me I will survive because I don’t know if I have what it takes to get through this.” For those of you who have just started your journey, you will survive. One day the anger will fade and the tears won’t fall daily or even weekly. You’ll come to terms with God, even if you can’t find peace in your circumstances. You’ll be able to laugh, act silly, and see hope where once you were surrounded by despair and sorrow. You may not resemble what you did before your loss, but you will gain strength and compassion. One day your story will help someone else find comfort. And while I still feel that I would trade in all the lessons I’ve learned and people I’ve met through my loss, to just have my Audree back, that is not a choice I have been given. So instead I hope by sharing my story with you all today I have made her proud and offered a little comfort.
