I have tried to figure out what about this grief has changed and for the most part, I am convinced it's on hold. I am anticipating a crash back into reality this summer. That's what I've read about this pattern of grief of losing a baby and rainbows, anyway. But for now on some level a peaceful acceptance has risen. It seems silly to say "I accept that my baby died, God" but really, in my heart it was pure denial. And I think there are still times I deny that death is final. Part of my brain still thinks one day I will get to drive down to Texas Children's Hospital and see her, bring her home... ??????? I think I'm crazy too, so it's okay if you think so!
But while acceptance has made a home in my heart for now, little has changed in the way I look at things. One of the biggest differences is not that I don't think malicious thoughts about other newborn babies and happy-go-lucky preggo women, it's just now I feel bad about it.
I ran into someone whose daughter was named Jenna the other day and it >>>STUNG<<<
Instantly reaction - WHY DIDN'T I GET TO KEEP MY JENNA?! She's got like a MILLION kids anyway...
But then I felt bad. Really bad. Why doesn't she deserve to keep her Jenna? She worked just as hard as I did to bring her baby into this world. I can rationalize away my anger on some level, which is definitely progress. Before I was just so angry and there was no rationalizing within a million miles. I felt justified in my anger.
It's a weird place, but peaceful nonetheless. Her pictures are still hard to look at. The songs we played for her in her incubator on her little MP3 player are still hard to listen to without crying my eyeballs out. Visiting her is still hard...
Her things, her memories, her face... all still hard... hard... hard...
And I don't look for signs anymore. I think that's sad. I didn't even realize it right away, but I don't search the clouds anymore hoping I'll get a glimpse of her riding on the back of her pony, or a heart drawn in the sky, or an angel carrying her. I really used to look for her in the clouds. Maybe because clouds are the closest thing to my idea of heaven??? I don't know, but I did. I sort of miss that very raw pain that drew me to a child's faith. It was no place I could dwell for long, as I have realized. The rawness is gone. And it's sad that the search for signs are too.
But that's where I am. At the mercy of this grief as I have so often repeated myself.
And that brings up another thought that I have been wrestling with. When will I have exhausted this space with the same two hundred thoughts written over and over again? How long will I need to type here to remember her? I feel guilty for even thinking like that, but will it be a lifetime journal? Will it be for a year or two? Will this turn into one of those blogs that haven't been updated in years?
I guess one hope I have always had for this space is that her future siblings can come here and read about their sister and become acquainted with the grief that we bore through her loss.
:::
It's almost 10 months later I can honestly say grief does NOT define who I am; my daughter's life, her existence has redefined me. There was a day that I believed grief - my sadness would define who I was for the rest of my life. It's strange to be able to "look back" on where I have been in this grief, because more often than not, I felt at a standstill and I did not feel like I was moving in any direction except backwards. For the most part, I am still on a roller coaster with very high ups and very low downs. But the rawness is behind me. And when I am in the pit of grief, or on a mountain top, I can at least recognize that this is just the way grief is going to be. Unpredictable.
20 comments:
I just wanted to say you are on my mind often and in my prayers.
Hugs!
I'm so glad that you are able to put into words the way I have been feeling because i haven't been able to come up with it.
I am kind of the same place as you are. xxoo
You have said so beautifully, what I have been thinking...how will I deal with Amelia's death. How will I ever NOT be the mommy who is always in grief? What signs will I be seeking, for confirmation that she is where she is supposed to be? It is strange to see a glimps of what is to come.
I'm so glad you are reaching this place.
I have often wondered the same things about my blog - what will it turn into? I still can't even decide for sure if I should keep the blog separate from my future children. I go back and forth. And I wonder too, will my blog turn into one that is never updated, one that people happen to stumble across 10 years in the future when they're going through the same thing?
Thinking of you...
It's funny I was just thinking this morning that, looking back to a few months ago, I have completely changed in my grief. I still look for signs everywhere I go, but I can't beleive how far I've come. And how six short months since I lost my son has totally changed my whole life.
You ask the questions we all do, Franchesca. If we give up the intense grief for peacefulness, do we lose are babies? If we stop writing about the pain, will we forget? If we chose peacefulness over fear...will life move on?
i am in a similar place. seeing babies and pregnant women isn't as difficult, but only when i expect it. if i see/hear a baby or a pregnant woman (whom i didn't know was pregnant) at work, for example, it will still take the breath out of me. many things are still hard, and for a while, i thought that the grief and the pain of losing Calvin would define me forever, as well, and i was okay with. i was willing to fight for that. i think i am ready to want to be happy again... i just need to keep reminding myself that it doesn't mean i love my babies in heaven any less.
thank you for sharing your heart in such a beautiful way, as always.
I don't think you are crazy Franchesca. Well if you are, I am too!
Part of my brain definitely still thinks that I will go back to that hospital one day and bring my daughter back home. I woke up in a bit of a panic one night because I realised that the NICU where she died had shut and my half asleep brain was thinking 'but how will I find her?'
I'm sorry you didn't get to keep your Jenna. It isn't fair and I don't think that there is a reason. Anyone would be angry and it is hard to rationalize that anger away.
I suspect I might be coming to the end of my blog. I've also written the two hundred thoughts you describe every single way that I am capable of. But it doesn't mean that we are leaving our daughters behind. xo
that happened to me the other day for the first time. I was looking through some ethiopian adoption blogs and found one of a family who named their little boy Asher. I just cried. I wish I had my Asher with me now ... it broke my heart. But, it also confirmed that we truly are supposed to adopt from Ethiopia! I am praying for you...
You are not crazy. I admire your honesty so much. In a way I hope that I one feel this way too. Enduring this pain is just crazy and at one point in my life I want to be able to accept without resentment and fear. Sending you a big giant ((hug)).
I hope in time I am in a similar place, your post gives me hope - to be redifined instead of defined by my grief. I hope that makes sense.
hugs.
You give me great hope. Beautiful post! XO
So beautifully put, Franchesca. I know what you mean - grief gives you breathing room, and then draws you back in. I hope that your days are filled with breathing room and sweet memories of Jenna.
It's hard to imagine we will ever be any different now.
We will always remember, Franchesca, regardless of whether we write it down or not. We will remember our babies and each others babies too! xoxo
Lifting you up and praying for you as you take each new step (or retrace ones taken...)
xoxoxo
I have given thought to what Carleigh's space will eventually be. It'll always be there for other families but I know eventually there will be a time when I don't post as often as I do. And I think that's ok. Like you said, it's there to look back on.
Thinking of you...praying for you. I like how you described grief as unpredictable and said you were, "at the mercy of this grief". That is exactly how it is. But, it doesn't stay that way...so raw and intense forever. As you are experiencing.
Praying for you as you continue this journey...
I could relate to so much of what you wrote here. You said: "Part of my brain still thinks one day I will get to drive down to Texas Children's Hospital and see her, bring her home... ???????"
I feel that way every time I head down the highway in the direction of her hospital, like okay, time to go see Peyton. It is just so hard, accepting the finality when you never brought your baby home.
Keeping you in my thoughts and prayers on this, and every stage of your grief.
I often wonder about the same thing as I talk about my babies in one blog and our TTC journey. Like you say, its a blog I can always go back to and just read about how I was feeling. How I dealt with loss.
I am glad to see you in this place of some acceptance. It can bring some peace. *hugs*
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