06/21/2024
06/21/2024
It’s been almost 90 days since Hazel became sick with an
illness that would take her life. I see her in my dreams, and I hear her in my
mind every day. Almost all day long. I crave to hear her voice and hold her
hand. It’s been a journey to build confidence as a mother.
When Hazel was a baby, I know now, that I was experiencing
post partum PTSD and Anxiety. I could not sleep for long. I kept worrying Hazel
would die in her sleep like my sister Heather Jo. After the first few days of
not sleeping, I was getting worse. Paranoid, irritable toward Bob, and just an all-around
mess. Thankfully Bob could see what I needed and helped me out. Finally, I slept
for 4 hours straight. When I woke up, I cried for a while in bed. I made my way
downstairs and apologized to Bob in tears.
I knew I couldn’t go on in the same way. I had remembered a
training I had taken and dug out my notes. The training was on Polyvagal Theory
in therapy. I had remembered that singing helped activate the vagus nerve,
which is the seat of connection and self regulation. I immediately thought of ‘You are my sunshine’
a song my mom sane to me. It was short and I knew the words. It was good, but I
needed something else. I needed to resource my new mom part. She was struggling
to find footing. The first person that came to mind was my friend Jenny. She
had an amazing singing voice, and was incredibly tender and loving toward me.
She used to sing ‘Women with wings’ and ‘Down to the River to pray’ often. I
started signing down to the river to pray. I pictured Jenny signing with me to
Hazel and encouraging me to keep going, to steal myself against the anxieties
and insecurities.
I sang ‘Down to the River to Pray’ to her every day and
night. Some nights I would lay her on my chest, rub her back, and rock her
until she slept. I started talking to Hazel like she could understand me. I
would recite validations to her, one for each letter of the alphabet for the
first year of her life. I would smell her head too and work on my attunement to
her.
I miss the weight of her body, and her smell. I miss the
rise and fall of her chest. I miss her smile. I miss the way she would tell me
what we were doing on any given day. I miss signing with her in the car. I miss
every ounce of her. Every minute of our life with her alive within it.
