SHARE Parenting After Loss

This was taken from the most recent issue of SHARE.  This month's topic was Parenting After Loss. I think I could have written the below article myself (as I'm sure many of you could have as well)!

I Am...
Written by Jessica Dipaola

My first child, Jocelyn, was stillborn born at 38 weeks. After her death, we went on to have a

healthy son. So much about me has changed due to my experiences, especially my beliefs and my philosophies on life.  I view a lot of my thoughts and feelings as think I would have been if my daughter had-

both negative and positive in the years since losing my daughter.

To begin, I am not the religious person I used to be. I no longer walk a solid line. I now am very open to the idea of any and all thoughts of life after death, hope, Gods, etc. I have chosen to bring my son up choices. Someday when he is old enough to understand and ask questions we will openly discuss all religious options. I want him to make the right choice for him. I cannot justify telling him anything I do not know

to be fact.

Which brings me to the question of what happens when we die? I haven't the slightest clue. I cannot comfort my son with answers. I have learned there are so many things we do not know. I have accepted that all we can do is hope for the best, to try and find comfort in optimistic thinking and wishing.

I am more passionate as a person, yet I am also much more bitter and angry. I have a hard time accepting this new part of myself. When I reflect on my tragedy, it kills me to think of how my child will also someday experience pain. I question how I will teach him about the truths in life without taking away his innocence. I do not want to give him too much information about life, yet I do not want to sugar coat it all and lie. Basically, I hate that I have had my innocence stripped away. I would do  anything in the world to stop him from losing his someday.

Obviously, I ponder the great questions of life more now than ever. I worry more. I contemplate all sorts of things. I dig deep. I fret over getting it "right" with my son.

I am much more overprotective than I think I would have been if my daughter hadn't died. I hardly let anyone babysit. I am happy to be with my child all day, every day. I dread him growing up. In the same breath, I am so proud to have him. I am so appreciative of him and I am aware of what a miracle he is. I watch him play and tears brim over on more days than not because I never take him for granted. I suppose I buy him everything. I have kissed him enough times to have broken a record. I love him in such a way words give my feelings no justice.

As an individual, I am proud. I am stronger than I ever thought I could be. Often others say the notorious line, "I can't imagine what you've gone through. I couldn't do it." I respond with what I feel to be the truth…"I don't know how I did it either. I didn't have a choice. I figure you can live or you can kill yourself. I chose to live. I continue to live my life as best as I can because my daughter does not get to live her life. I continue on because I refuse to let grief win. It's taken enough, it won't take my quality of life." I am glad to pass that strength and philosophy on to my son. I hope to be his inspiration that no matter what, you must trudge on.

I am not the person I used to be, and I am not always happy with the person I have become. But every day, all day, I smile at my son. He is my sunshine, and I try to be his. By living this way, I have no guilt, no regrets. I hate that I stand in my own shoes, yet I take it for what it is. This is the person/parent that I am, there's no turning back, and I hope I make my son proud someday.

I am someone I wouldn't have recognized three years ago. Parenting a child after losing a child has to be one of the hardest things anyone will ever do. But, by learning from my daughter's death, by honoring her by teaching from the experience-- it's not something huge, but as least it's not letting her die in vain.