Shutter Sisters

Looking for light

By

At this time two years ago, I was one month pregnant and overjoyed with our luck. We had just moved to Nebraska and I couldn’t believe that our plan to start a family was working out so perfectly. I remember the vibrant fall colors and the golden evening light falling over the rolling hills that October. I took a lot of pictures during that time, partly because I was exploring my new surroundings and partly to keep myself busy as we anxiously waited for that first pre-natal appointment.

During the ultrasound the doctor was cheerful and casual at first, but her mood suddenly turned serious as she tried desperately to find the heartbeat. The baby had died at 8 weeks, just a day or two before the appointment. It was devastating, heartbreaking and cruel. But we had hope. We had conceived once, and we would do it again.

But two years later, multiple blood tests, doctors and procedures it gets harder and harder to find the positive aspects of our not-so-unique situation. We seem to be in a constant battle between hope and despair, with one of us often helping the other find the light on dark days.

This year as I take pictures of my fall surroundings, I find that the colors are just as vibrant, the light just as beautiful as it was two years ago. But now the beauty of this season somehow cuts into my heart and brings me a certain sadness. I can’t explain why exactly. It could be my whacked out hormones or my current fragile mental state. Maybe it reminds me of our loss two years ago. Either way, I’ll continue to capture the bittersweet fall beauty with my camera because it makes me feel something.

So today show us a photo that makes you really feel something, anything.

Comments

  1. oh paige, i’m so sorry. this is something that many of us experience and many of us don’t know how to respond to. our society doesn’t have any instructions on ‘things to do’ after miscarriage (other than sit at the table with you and share some tea, listen to words, cry on shoulders) i also believe that certain ‘time of year’ holds memories, and that it’s ok to sit with that sadness awhile, as long as you need. and carry those memories in your heart just as you carried that baby in your womb. i just recently found a quote that i really liked and so i’ll share that here instead of a photo.

    "You must understand the whole of life, not just one little part of it. That is why you must read, that is why you must look at the skies, that is why you must sing, and dance, and write poems, and suffer, and understand, for all that is life." – J. Krishnamurti

    it’s a beautiful, sometimes painful experience. and all the more reason for us humans to simply be human and share with one another. so we all feel a little less alone even if just for this moment.
    xo.

  5. I, too, feel the emotions of your words… and know too well the feelings of bittersweet. Thanks for putting these feelings to word, and to image. Feelings and words that some just don’t understand. Blessings.

  7. You are right Paige, though our situations are different, we still have a unique connection. People don’t usually use "motherhood" and "struggle" in the same sentence,but that is really what it is for many of us.

    I’m glad that we can find strength in our cameras and in one another.

  9. Oh Paige. I don’t really even know what to share here your words so closely echo my own story. It will be 12 years in Dec. since my 1st miscarriage…I found out I was pregnant on a day not unlike you describe in October. 12 years, 8more miscarriages, and two beautiful miracles later I do see hope in the light of fall again.
    Thank you for sharing with us here.
    This is where I go, where I take my daughters, where I remember hope, beauty, love, faith, joy and intense sorrow.

    http://www.flickr.com/photos/sufferingsummer/3994795556/
    loves to you.

  10. I’m so sorry for your sadness, Paige. This time of year is terrible for me, too. I hope you’re able to lean on family and friends for some support to help you get through the valleys and back up to the mountains.
    My dog has been my saving grace the last two years, both in fall and throughout the year. Watching her explore makes me smile.
    Sometimes she just sniffs, and is patiently intense in her curiosity:
    http://www.flickr.com/photos/tippingpointphoto/3767691098/in/set-72157610809399360/
    Other times, she’s just rambunctious and full of life, but graceful…most of the time:
    http://www.flickr.com/photos/tippingpointphoto/3766892203/in/set-72157610809399360/
    Hope these help you smile today. Thinking of you.
    -Liz

  11. I too have been down the road you speak of, and it is a turbulent journey. Often times it seems the emotional valleys are endless. And it is a trip that will leave you forever changed. But there are mountains you can climb, and hopefully reach the summit, and then the view is amazing.

    Wishing you peace and a safe journey.

  13. Nebraska certainly is beautiful. I lived there for a year and a half. Fall often feel melancholy to me and I don’t have the untimely loss as a reminder. My husband and I tried for just shy of 5 years to get pregnant with our boy/girl twins. It’s a rocky road so many of us have to travel. I hope you can find the path right path to parenthood for you.

  14. I am so sorry to hear about your loss. It hits close to home. We just lost our daughter at 20weeks pregnant only a month ago. The emotion is still so raw as I sit her typing this. But, I am trying to find hope in our situation as well and our daughter Bella has inspired me to heal through photography. I actually just started a blog in her memory:

    http://bellarosephotography.wordpress.com/2009/10/06/new-beginning-new-venture/

    And, this was a photo I took just last week on a vacation we took to help us heal:

    http://www.flickr.com/photos/berylayn/3983256913/

    Thank you for reminding me I am not alone as we work through our loss.

  15. I don’t have a picture, and there simply are no words to take away the pain of your loss. Suffice it to say, i know that sorrow, and will pray that soon you will be blessed with the joy you are longing for.

  16. First time comment from me, Paige!

    Your story hits so close….the pain in the words of a mother whose child is not growing up before her eyes, whose cheeks she cannot kiss: it is tangible.

    I don’t have much to share, just that I am sorry and hope that sharing this helps you not to feel alone. My first, a son, and more recently, at 24 weeks, a daughter have been taken to heaven. God knows our sorrow and our tears. He is the only reason I am still breathing.

    Praying for you, Paige!

  18. I had two miscarriages. Held one tiny baby in my hand. It changes you. Even though I have 3 others now, there is always a place in my heart for those children I lost. Thoughts come about them at random and unexpected times. Sorry for your loss.

  21. My heart goes out to you, Paige. I’m so sorry for the loss you’ve experienced and the challenges you’re going through. It was a long and difficult road to motherhood for me. The only thing I can tell you is to hold on to hope no matter what and take care of yourself. Do what you need to do to protect your emotional well being. I’m so glad you have photography as an outlet. I will pray that soon your joys will outweigh your sorrows.

    One of my favorite shots, taken just a little over a month before my daughter was born and very symbolic of the hope that I held in my heart:
    http://www.flickr.com/photos/31417716@N00/2651882138/in/set-72157606063031167/

  22. oh paige, i’m so sorry. so many of us have walked this road, and it’s not a fun one. on thursday, oct 15th i’ll be lighting a candle at 7pm, hopefully with people all over the world in remembrance of lost pregnancies and babies, and i look forward to the light it will give. i just wrote a post about it yesterday, actually. peace to you.