We All Have a Story: Martha, Rochester, NY Portrait Project

In 2017, I began to work on a photography project that has changed me in so many ways. We All Have a Story now has a part 2 and I'm happy to be posting bi-weekly so I can share this round's images to those who were unable to see the exhibit from December 2019.

Please make sure to check back frequently for the rest of the stories (there are 20 this time) and CLICK HERE if you'd like to find out more about the project from a previous post or HERE if you'd like to view the WHEC-TV 10 story.

The Glitter Left Scattered in the Wind

Within twelve months I lost my best friend and two babies. My grandmother used to tell me, “Life is like a bird, it flies away from you.” But this was different. These were unexpected, untimely.

I was surrounded by love when Jamie passed. Her absence in my life is a deafening silence, but I don’t bear that burden alone. She lived her life like she was on fire and now, it’s as if I am watching the embers fade. I share stories of her laughter and love with those who were close to her. We have a common bond through our connection to her. It is a family knit together with tears and shadows. Her sparkle has faded only a little, for it will shine through the darkness as we continue our battle to hold on to her.

And then I lost two babies. The storm clouds seemed to be forever chasing me. When you lose a child, especially one that has not yet been born, no one knows what to say. Only I knew those little beings, the tiny heartbeats inside that matched my own. I spent a lot of time searching for some kind of sign that would point me in the direction in which to go. It was like my compass was broken, my sense of gravity gone. Many people didn’t know and many still don’t. Grief is much kinder when shared. I already had two children at the time. From the outside, it looked like I had it all. A boy and a girl. But there was a burning desire inside me that knew there was one more little soul that needed to be here. After losing two, we tried one more time. 

Juniper was born nine months after the doctors told us she most likely would never survive in the outside world, let alone two more days in my womb. She came out with shocking jet black hair and she was wailing loud enough to shake the walls. I finally felt like I could breathe again. Juniper is our rainbow baby. She survived the storm and came out shining to light up the darkness I had been frozen in for so long. 

Though Juniper will never erase the two hearts we lost, she will forever help to fill those holes with love. I decided to get a tattoo on my arm of the two little birds that flew away so that others could see their presence too. I appreciate when people ask me about this stamp that I bear because it helps me to not suffer in silence anymore. 

It has been a long road from that day when Jamie took her last breath. I continue to struggle sometimes when I least expect it. I am learning that grief can be juxtaposed with joy, and that life can continue through sadness without leaving behind the ones we have loved. Jamie and my two angel babies have forever changed me. Sometimes it takes unimaginable trials to realize how strong you truly can be. On the day we buried Jamie I read a letter I had written to her. I ended it with a quotation: “She never seemed shattered. To me, she was a beautiful mosaic of the battles she’s won.” I realize now that I am a mosaic as well, put back together with the glitter that Jamie left scattered in the wind. 

Martha Sullivan

ELA Teacher

Webster Thomas High School

 Make sure to leave a comment for Martha or me and thanks for visiting!