Is Social Distancing The Best Option For Everyone?

I know everyone is struggling right now. People are worried about their grandparents. They are worried about the effect this will have on the economy. People are losing their jobs or being furloughed temporarily. Children don’t understand why they can’t go to school or play with friends. It’s hard for everyone. But for some people, could social distancing be doing more harm than good?

I can’t imagine being stuck in a nursing home, knowing your time on earth is coming to an end soon, and not even being allowed to see your kids or grandkids. That lack of interaction with people that love them might kill some faster than the virus itself.

What about the kids who live in abusive households? The stress of finances, the lack of access to free school food, and the constant close quarters will create storms inside some households that some people might not weather. Many, many places have reported a huge increase in the number of domestic abuse calls. But with shelters full or completely shut down, if these people are even ready and able to walk away, where do they have to go?

Then, there is a huge population of people who are struggling beyond the “average” person because of preexisting mental health issues.

I have struggled with anxiety and depression, and my struggles are nothing compared to some. I have never once hurt someone else or harmed myself. I have never considered suicide an option. But right now things are harder than normal. I still won’t hurt myself or others, but I am really struggling.

Living in a world without my baby feels like a cruel punishment. It constantly feels like my heart is sitting in someone else’s hand and they are squeezing just enough to make me aware that at any moment they could decided to crush it. It is a constant ache. Even though it hasn’t even been 3 months, we have official reached a point where it feels like most everyone has forgotten what we are going through. I have one friend who checks in frequently and one church leader who checks in regularly. My friends from before and family usually answer my calls or texts, but 99% of the time, I am the one reaching out... and I am running out of energy to always be the one initiating any kind of interaction. 

Add in the worry and turmoil in the world and the calls for social distancing and I feel really isolated.

And I am one of the luck ones! I have my girls to keep me busy and make me laugh. They would like more social interaction, but since they have never gone to school or daycare, their lives haven’t drastically changed. If the weather was warmer and it wasn’t raining so often, their outside time would make up for the social distancing. 

I also have many, many coping techniques. Breathing, reading/writing, essential oils, and etc that will get me to the other side of this okay. 

My husband has job security through this and though there are many things he doesn’t like about his job, they are financially taking care of their employees and providing great sick leave policies at this time. We aren’t stressed about paying our rent and we feel very blessed for that right now.

Even still, I am struggling more than I have ever struggled before. I am taking good care of my girls. They are well fed, have clean clothes, are getting lots of my attention, and know they are deeply loved and wanted. My home is a little messy, but nothing extreme. There isn’t even a mystery Tupperware full of mold in the back of my fridge right now and let’s be honest, that’s pretty impressive. I am taking care of what needs to get done. The important things aren’t being neglected. But not much more than that is being accomplished. 

Having a stillborn is isolating. People don’t understand how isolating it is. Add in not being able to get out of the house or see the two people that might understand what I am going through... and I know there are phones. But phone calls aren’t the same and it’s hard to talk about important things when my kids are screaming to say hi to whoever is on the phone... and texts... I don’t know. A lot gets lost in a text. And sometimes you just need a hug from someone who has been where you are. 

I have never spent so much time on my knees pleading for comfort. I do feel lost, lonely, and forgotten right now. 

But I also know I am doing a lot better than other people would in my shoes... and a lot better than other people who have different struggles than me and are without the coping mechanism or faith in God that I have... so if I am struggling this much, how much are others?

Sooo social distancing might be for the best, in many situations... but maybe there are exceptions. Maybe some mental health needs are higher priority, but no one is talking about that.

Early Morning Musing

One thing I don’t think people understand is how the sweetest moments of my day can suddenly take on a bitter taste without warning. It is strange. One minute I am watching my girls use their imagination, pretending to  be princesses on an epic adventure to save the world, and getting along in a way that can only be described as magical. Then, out of nowhere I remember that Cayden won’t get to play a role in these games of imagination. I remember that he should be having tummy time on a blanket on the ground. I should be reminding the girls to give him some space so they don’t smother him or to look where they are running so they don’t trip on him. I should be reminding them to use indoor voices so they don’t wake up their baby brother... not telling them to give me a minute so I can pull myself together and to plaster on a smile so I can respond to them with the appropriate level of enthusiasm when they try to pull me into their games.

It isn’t fair that their lives will always be colored by this. They will always be older sisters to a stillborn baby brother. On days when we are celebrating their accomplishments and big life events, we will also wondering if he decided to leave heaven for a few moments to celebrate with us. In the back of our minds, we will wonder if he would have had the same interests and would have joined the same activities. We will always feel the hole he has left in our family. We will always would what he would have been like and what he could have done. We will always wonder “what if...?”

Fine

*I named my blog Authentically Aubrey because I don't want to filter my thoughts or feeling. The name is a reminder and promise to me. I don't want this to be a social media highlight reel. I don't want this to be life through rose-colored glasses. I want this blog to show the ugly, messy, and real parts of my life that you wouldn't know about unless I put it down in words here.*   

*Also note that this blog post is raw, vulnerable, and anything but optimistic because today is March 6th: the 2 monthiversary of losing Cayden. This post was written as word vomit and free therapy for myself. No edits. No filter. I decided to post it to show that grief isn't linear. You don't simply feel a little better every day until you eventually forget the heartwrenching, gut-punching loss. Grief is strange. Dates can trigger it. Songs can trigger it. Guilt for being happy can trigger it. Sometimes, grief smacks you in the face with no warning and no trigger at all. Grief is a bad word that I won't type here but that I am totally saying out loud to myself.*


Right after the news of Cayden's death spread, people would ask how we were doing and we couldn't answer "fine." We were drowning and if we said "fine", we would have lost the last air in our lungs, replacing it with water. We were drowning, but we weren't allowed to die. Obviously, we couldn't reply "fine." 

Instead, we would say things like "as good as can be expected" or "functioning". Often, we would just shrug our shoulders and make a half-hearted attempt at a smile that came out as more of a grimace because if we inhaled we would have choked on our own tears.

For a few weeks, no one expected us to say we were fine and these answers were expected and accepted. Eventually, we felt the expectation to say "fine" again. I mean, we were both working again. Eric back to the night shift at the store. Me, taking care of the kids, the house, and researching and writing blogs for a family company during infrequent naptimes and after bedtime. Since we were functioning on a level that no one, including us, expected, what other answer was there? If anyone had stopped by the house, they would have seen an empty sink, folded laundry, dinner simmering in the crockpot, and the girls in clean clothes, their hair braided in hopes of keeping it free of the glitter and glue of their daily art project. What conclusion could they make other than that we were fine? Fine became the automatic answer that we regurgitate without thinking and that everyone swallows without chewing. Okay, a gross metaphor for visual thinkers, but accurate nonetheless.  

I have grown to despise the word "fine." What does fine even mean? Does anyone ever think before they spit it out? Do people actually mean it? Fine. Blahhh! FINE! *grinds teeth and pulls out hair* 

Is not falling asleep until 3 am due to trauma-induced insomnia fine? Is meticulously cleaning the fridge, organizing the pantry, and scrubbing the bathroom floor because the OCD you thought you had overcome has suddenly come back with a vengeance fine? Is screaming into a pillow because you are exhausted, overwhelmed, grief-stricken, and isolated fine? Is needing to hear both of your living children breathing in order to relax fine? Is begging and pleading at God to let you know that He hears you fine? Is crawling out of bed at 2 am so your angry, heartbroken sobs don't wake anyone fine?

If so, I am fine.

Rest assured, this isn't all the time. Well, the insomnia is relentless, but the exhaustion is overcoming the obsessive cleaning and organizing. The sobbing is pretty infrequent, replaced by silent tears that only come when things are silent and arms are empty. The need to plead with God is... basically nightly.

But how can you explain this experience to someone who says "I can't imagine what you are going through" BUT there is still so much pressure to be fine?

It might seem ridiculous that we feel so much pressure to be fine when today is only the 2 monthiversary of losing Cayden, but we do. When you have always been the "golden child", the "peacemaker", the "helper", the child parents don't have to worry about because you have always had a firm hold on the rod, and the friend that people come to when they are struggling, are you even allowed to not be fine?

And even if you reach a point where you are ready to scream "I AM NOT FINE!" who is there to hear you when their focus has shifted back to 'normal life'? It doesn't matter that they can't hear you though. You can't scream when you are drowning.

Is This A Faith Crisis?

I have always been blessed with what I have called "easy faith". In high school, I had many friends trying out different churches, separating out their personal beliefs from their parents, and questioning whether a higher power was even out there.  I was happy for my friends who found spiritual homes and I ached for my friends who were struggling to find answers to their questions. I loved talking to my friends about religion and discussing our different beliefs. I always felt and still do feel that God cares more about what kind of person we are than what church we go to, so these conversations usually just helped my friendships grow as we understood each other better.

Watching all these spiritual journeys made me realize that I had never really questioned the religion I had been raised in. I had prayed before my 8th birthday for confirmation that I should be baptized, but that was really it. It seemed strange that at 16 I hadn't felt the need to ask again, and I couldn't very well trust the faded memory of the experience of my not even 8-year-old self. I didn't feel lost or confused, but I decided that in order to continue sharing my religious views with friends, I needed to do what my church tells their investigators to do: Read the Book of Mormon and pray to know if it is true. I knew the stories in the Book of Mormon and I had started reading it a dozen times, but I had never actually read it cover to cover. 

It took a couple months, but I finished the entire Book of Mormon. When I prayed to know for myself if the Book of Mormon was the word of God, I heard in my head "You already know." When I asked if the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints was the right church I heard "You already know. You've always known." My heart felt warm. Then, I remembered various times that I had felt the spirit in my life. I knew I had my answer.

After that, I turned to God every time life got hard or confusing. When my heart broke when the boy I thought I was going to marry suddenly broke up with me, Heavenly Father let me know He had a better plan. When I was overwhelmed and confused as I tried to pick a major, He answered me with an article in a church magazine. When I was dating a new boy who was having a hard time committing, God told me to hang on and have patience, but that he was the one. When I struggled with health issues that doctors were less than helpful with, God promised me that I would find healing. When I had a miscarriage, I felt God's guiding hand. When motherhood was harder and more isolating than I could have imagined, Heavenly Father reminded me that I was doing exactly what I was supposed to and He put a couple great friends in my life. Every. Single. Time.  I struggled, He answered me. The answers weren't always immediate. Sometimes it took a couple weeks of searching on my part. Sometimes the answers were vaguer than others. Often the answer was simply a warm feeling and the thought 'Trust me. I've got you." But there was always an answer.

But He is silent right now. No warm feeling. No voice saying "I've got you." No reassurance that God has a plan for me. No scripture verse saying exactly what I need to hear. Nothing...

and it freaking sucks. 

I know the saying "The teacher is always silent during the test." I know the story of Job. I know that my past spiritual experiences were real. I know the church is true. I know my Heavenly Father loves me and has a plan for me. I am also very aware that it is hard to feel the spirit and receive answers to prayers while still hanging on to angry and bitter feelings to God. I just desperately want Heavenly Father to assure me that Cayden's short life mattered. I need to know that this heartbreak isn't for nothing. I want confirmation that Cayden knows we love him. Truth be told, I feel entitled to these answers... which doesn't help the bitter feelings.

I know it's unlikely that God will send Cayden to me in a dream to let him explain to me what he is doing now and why he couldn't stay. I know that some answers don't come in this life. I believe I could come to terms with unanswered questions if I could just get a little reassurance from God that He hears me.

While I wait, I will hold on to the promises Heavenly Father made to me in the temple and in my patriarchal blessing. I will hold on to the memories of every time I felt the spirit and had my prayers answered in undeniable ways. I know if I do my part, Heavenly Father will keep those promises, I will be with Cayden again, and the silence will eventually give way as I let go of my anger... but it is going to take time.

Things NOT To Say To A Grieving Parent

I want to start this blog out saying that I am fine. I don't take anything people say personally. I know that most people have good intentions, so I typically just take the love and leave the unintentional offense behind. That said there are things I would highly advise not saying to other grieving parents in the future. These are all things multiple people I know who have had experienced miscarriage, stillbirth, or infant loss have told me they have been told, and they all agreed they are wouldn’t like to hear again.

1. "At least you know you can get pregnant. You can just try again!"
Just "try again" makes it sound like the individual spirit that came and left way too soon is inconsequential. That baby was a unique individual and they mattered. The couple might be able to have another baby, but that doesn't replace the baby they lost.
It also isn't simple to just try again. Some people have a hard time getting pregnant and the emotional toll of trying month after month is impossible to understand unless you have been there. Other people have had losses that you might not know about. These losses change how they view pregnancy forever. Even if the person has a clear history of delivering healthy, happy babies, pregnancy is not easy. The puking, aches, pains, migraines, and a million other things are worth it when the end result is a healthy baby, but what about if there isn't a baby to take home after months of suffering and sacrifice? “Trying again” isn’t simple.
Several people made this comment to us before Cayden's body was even in the ground. We know they were trying to be comforting, but the idea of another pregnancy gives me a panic attack. I have been pregnant 4 times, and I only have two children here on earth. I know if we decide to have another that it will be a hard pregnancy emotionally. I do have some serious PTSD. I know every single thing that can go wrong with a pregnancy and that fear will be a dark cloud over any future pregnancy if we even get a prompting from God that is strong enough to convince us to muster up the strength to “try again”..

2. "At least you have a healthy child here now."
Parents who have children on earth and in heaven know how blessed they are to have a child on earth, especially if that child is happy and healthy. That doesn't magically take away the grief they feel. 
I know that my girls keep me busy enough to distract me from my grief during the day most of the time. I am grateful for them every single day, but I still want Cayden in my arms. I still ache to know what kind of big sister Brielle would be and I ache as I see Allison struggle to understand where her brother went and why.

3. "They are in a better place."
I think the "better place" comment might bring comfort if the person who passed away was in pain before they died, but many people don't find this sentiment comforting. I am sure heaven is wonderful, but I don't think any place is better for a child than their parent's arms.

4. "What went wrong?"
You really need to have the right kind of relationship to ask this question. This can be super triggering. It is probably better to just let that person know that you are happy to listen if they want to talk.

5. "I bet your next baby will be another boy (or whatever gender they lost)."
This goes back to #1. You can't just replace a human life with a new life. It isn't that simple. 
To be honest, this is the one comment that really rubs me the wrong way. I don't know if we will ever be ready to try again. If God clearly makes it known that we need to bring another spirit into this world, we will follow through, most likely. But it really does give me a panic attack to think about. It also rubs me the wrong way because God doesn't just give random people revelation for other people. I don't know if we will have any more kids so you certainly don't know it will be a boy.

6. "Everything happens for a reason." or "God has a plan."
 The not understanding the reason and the plan God has can keep grieving parents up at night for years.

7. "How do you even get out of bed each morning?" Or “I don’t think I could live through the nightmare you are going through.”
These comments and ones like them are just unnecessary. It can make that person feel even more isolated in their experience and can make them feel like you are judging their process. Does functioning on some level make it seem like they didn’t love their baby enough? You only see what that person allows you to see and maybe not even that. Maybe they need to be at work because the routine is what keeps them going. Maybe they don't have the option to stay in bed because they have kids to clothe and mouths to feed. Maybe their house is a mess and they have missed enough work that they aren’t sure how they are going to pay rent. 

8. "At what point are you going to finally move on?" or "You can't avoid these things forever."
It is hard for someone who hasn't experienced the loss of a child to understand how that grief never goes away, but it doesn't go away. It just might get easier to live with, but it is still there. Things that don’t even make sense can trigger it. You don't get to judge anyone else's grieving process. If they are making decisions that are dangerous to the health of themselves or others making sure they are getting the right kind of help is necessary. If they are simply avoiding triggers, like hospitals, pregnant women, or children that would be the same age as their own, let them. They have enough on their emotional plate without you adding guilt or judgment.

9. "I know how you feel."
Unless you actually experienced the same thing, you don't. Losing a grandparent is hard, but it isn't the same thing. Getting a divorce is hard, but it isn't the same thing. 

10. "You must be so special for God to have picked you to be the parent of an angel." 
It's hard to explain why this one rubs so many grieving parents the wrong way. Many grieving parents wonder if they could have done something differently to save their baby. Many of them feel like they failed their child. This just makes some people feel worse.

11. "God wouldn't put you through this unless you did something wrong. You should figure out what you did wrong and repent before you try again."
Anyone with commonsense would know that you shouldn't say something like this to a grieving parent, but grieving parents have heard this. Just don't. Bad things happen to good people all the time. Have you read about Job in the Bible?

13. “Did you see that Susie is pregnant? And Sharon had her baby!”
Grieving parents would not wish a similar loss on anyone... but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt to see other people blessed with something they had taken away. It might be considerate to give them a heads up before making your own pregnancy or birth announcement, but they don’t need to hear about every single person’s baby.  

14. “This world is really scary right now. Maybe it’s a good thing your baby isn’t here.”
Yes, the world is a scary place, but there is no “good” reason for a baby to have died. Yes, the world is scary and dark right now, but if my baby was here the world would be a little brighter and happier... at least my world would be.

I know reading a list of what not to say might make you scared to say anything at all. I would like you to know that if you have said something to me on that list, I don't have any hard feelings. Don’t let the list scare you away from reaching out to people who have experienced loss. The love and support extended really do help. It is especially nice when someone remembers and reaches out down the road when it feels like the rest of world has moved on and forgotten.