Dearest Anya, We're OK : Five Months Later

Dearest Anya,

Yesterday was the five month anniversary of your death.

As a special something to commemorate your life, dad and I wanted to write you a letter. We wanted to let you know that we're OK.

• We still enjoy the sunshine.
• Our hearts are filled with more love than ever.
• We're both back at work, trying to serve others and make a difference.
• We carry you in the most precious part of ourselves, as we make our way into the world.
• We continue to build our home, a place that belongs to our family, a place that belongs to you, a place that is witness to our journey : the tears and the joy.
• We are even talking about baby #2, a younger brother or sister to you.

These are all the things we wanted to share with you yesterday... and I tried to dig deep down inside and find the words, but I couldn't. Yesterday I just didn't feel OK.

You left a big hole in our hearts, and it isn't always easy to fill it with love... but everyday we try.

There were so many things we wanted to give you, to share with you, to teach you... yet you're the one who taught us the biggest lessons in our lives.

• You can't take life for granted.
• You have to enjoy the time you have with those you love... even when your heart is breaking

We try to honour these lessons everyday. Slowly we're finding our way back to normal... a new normal.

So don't worry about us Anya. We are thinking of you. We love you. And we're OK.

Sending you all the love inside of us,

Mom and Dad

Crafting for Anya: Four Months Later

Tomorrow will mark five months since Anya was born and died. Alex and I are planning a little something special.

For now, I wanted to take the time to show you all the beautiful art that was created almost a month ago now, on April 19, by the family and the friends who joined us in celebration of Anya and the love she brought us.

You can view the album here.

From Crafting for Anya: Four Months Later

This art is a testament to all the love in our lives. To me, it is more beautiful than any of the million dollar art pieces sold at auction.

I am truly grateful to have so much love in my life. Anya's legacy is love - simple, powerful, love. I carry it with me everywhere, and I integrate it into the new me.

The Day After Mother's Day

Mother's Day was hard, but it was also filled with love and celebration. On Mother's Day, I felt like a mother, as my mother heart and its suffering were recognized.

And the day after Mother's Day? It's hard too. It's hard because I woke up to sunshine and birds chirping and a fresh breeze blowing into our room. I woke up to summer, and Anya still wasn't there. I still don't get to be a mother to her - at least not in the way I want to be.  And on the day after Mother's Day, who will celebrate my broken mother heart?

I'm jealous of all the mothers out there whose children love them, hug them, kiss them everyday. I'm jealous because they still feel like mothers on the day after Mother's Day.

I try to be strong. I try to see the good in life. But on the day after Mother's Day, all I feel is grief because my daughter will never know the smell of summer.

Mother's Day

I have a secret to share with you. This isn't really my first mother's day.

My first mother's day was one year ago. I remember it well. We surprised Alex's mom with a happy grandmother's day card and shared our joyful news.

I am grateful for that mother's day with Anya. I am grateful for the time my daughter and I got to spend together.

This mother's day is harder. It loomed ominously over me all week.

On Tuesday I bought myself a mother's day card to try and ease my pain.

On Wednesday I tried to reframe my heart-wrenching reaction to every pregnant woman I cross, not despairing at my loss, but taking the opportunity to remind myself of the perfect 9 months I had with my daughter.

Still, by Friday I was in tears, unsure if I would even want to get out of bed on Sunday.

This morning I did get out of bed.

With the pull of all the love around me, and after being served breakfast in bed.

Alex had another surprise, an invitation to celebrate our daughter and my motherhood.

Today, on my second mother's day, we planted a tree in our garden, with the hope that over the years we might watch it grow as we had dreamed Anya would.

And a few years from now, if new life and small hands comfort us on mothers day, we will look at Anya's tree and think of all she gave us.

Motherhood taught me to love, deeper than I ever had before, and that is my mother's day gift from Anya.

How We Move Forward

Rule #1 of Grief: Everyone experiences loss in their own way.

Death doesn't discriminate. We are all hit by the finality of death sooner or later. Since we approach life with different baggage and personalities, so it is with death.

But the loss of a child is a different kind of loss. Or so they say... I don't have any other point of reference. How does it compare to the loss of a spouse or to facing one's own imminent death?

Rule #2 of Grief: Don't compare (see Rule #1).

Is miscarriage less sad than full-term pregnancy loss? Is it harder to lose a child you had a few years to get to know? Or is it harder to have only 9 months and 1 day of memories to look back on?

All the books I've read seem to say it depends on the person.

Don't compare.

And yet, we all compare ourselves to others. Everyday.

Am I normal? Am I better? Am I worse?

Did I love my child enough?

That is the question I ask myself, the guilt I feel...

When I hear about mothers who spiraled into clinical depression after the death of their baby. They can't sleep. They can't get out of bed.

I sleep like a baby. I get out of bed every single day.

Or when I read quotes like this one, from Still Standing Magazine's Facebook page,
"It takes invincible strength to get out of bed every day and parent our children we can no longer hold, see, touch or hear. Every bereaved parent is a hero."

It doesn't take me invincible strength to get out of bed. I just do it.

I still love life. There is so much I want to do!

Did I love Anya enough?

Of course, I know these feelings are irrational. I am thankful for my (and Alex's) incessant optimism, contentment and happiness, persistent through all this grief and pain.

But I still have that mild nagging guilty feeling in the back of my mind. I still compare my experiences to others.

Dear Anya (From Dad)

Dear Anya,

I first saw your face four months ago, today. I have seen that beautiful face everyday since. In my thoughts, in photographs, and, as I go about my day, in the many babies of the world. Sometimes, I see myself in the parents of these babies - and I wonder.

What kind of parent would I have been to you? How would I have helped you through the difficult times in your life? I picture myself drawing on all of my experiences to give you comfort, encouragement, and the strength to get through anything.

But none of my experiences can help you get through death. I do not understand it. Although I like to hope that you still exist in some form (other than in our memories), I feel powerlessness at being unable to help you through the next step of your existence. And that's a difficult thing for a parent to feel.

I didn't have the chance to comfort you in life, and I am stuck with an unquenchable need to find some way to do it. So I find work that, had you lived, might have brought you a bit of additional comfort. I work around the house - the home you never got to see. I paint. I fix things. I make it a little bit better, bit by bit. It helps, but it also makes our home more and more different than it would have been were you still with us.

As time goes on, the differences between the life we lead today, and the life that we should have led together get bigger and bigger. While that makes me sad, my daughter, you should know that me and your mom's lives are still better for having had you in it, if only for the briefest of moments. I feel so much love for you, Anya, more than I knew I could feel. Thank you for bringing me this love.

I miss you. I love you. I carry you in my heart every day.

Dad.

Old Me, New Me

Good things still happen.

A case in point: I have been named the recipient of the 2014 CLA Emerging Leader Award.  I have been honoured by my library peers. I feel so happy, grateful and (I can't help but repeat myself) honoured! The library community is filled with passionate and dedicated leaders. I have the pleasure of working with them, learning from them every day.

So why am I writing about this here, instead of on my 20-Something Librarian blog?

Because I am a different person now. I no longer feel like the 2013 version of Kayleigh Felice who won this award. And I am struggling with that.

As I was telling a friend this morning, my focus has shifted. Anya's death changed my outlook on life. Wise person that she is, said friend pointed out, Anya's living would have changed my priorities too...

No longer,

Kayleigh Felice
Librarian.

But rather,

Kayleigh Felice
Mother (first) and Librarian (after).

I still love libraries, undoubtedly. I am still dedicated to my job. I believe libraries can play a crucial role in building more educated, inclusive and close-knit communities. I want to work with my wonderful colleagues and my amazing community to make our library better.

So why do I have this nagging feeling that I am no longer the emerging leader I once had the potential to be? Again, I come back to shifting priorities. Over the past 6 or 7 years, my "extracurricular" and volunteer activities have been largely focused on libraries.

Now I feel like I might have been a bit myopic. There are just so many other projects to which I also want to dedicate my time. To name a few...

• There is so much to do (so much I can do) to help the thousands of grieving parents touched by perinatal death in our community.
• My grandfather is 84 years old, and I want to share as much time as I can with him.
• My brothers and sisters are just becoming teenagers, and I feel like I have something special to offer them. For that I need to be present, available.
• I want to garden.
• One day, I want to have more children.

These and more are all things I want to do for myself and for Anya. I want her to live through me. I want to keep a part of Anya alive through the change, the growth and the increased capacity for love she gave me.

So yes, I want to give back to the library community. But I also want to do so much more with my precious (and short) time here.

I think that makes me a more well-rounded person... but what does that mean for Kayleigh Felice, CLA's 2014 Emerging Leader?

I guess it is the never-ending struggle for balance faced by mothers everywhere.