Grieving. The word itself makes me cringe. What does it even mean? That once I complete the "grieving process" I will be okay again? I will be the old me that I have been so desperate for? I won't hurt anymore? I wish it was that simple but somehow doubt that it is. I have received many books from family and friends on this very topic. Some are about grieving in general, others more specifically about grieving the loss of a child, but they all have one thing in common: it is a roller coaster of emotions and a lifelong process.
Which goes to say that I am going to be grieving for the rest of my life on this Earth, I am going to have this constant ache and no matter what I do, no matter how hard I try, it will never go away. Not until he is in my arms again.
I finally attended a Pregnancy and Infant Loss Support Group last week (although I was reluctant to go, I am happy that I did.) As we all shared our experiences with each other, I was amazed at how similar they were. Even our feelings and reactions to our situations were alike. At the end of the meeting, I felt a sense of normalcy that I know I needed. My circumstances didn't change, but I no longer felt alone. It saddens me that there ARE other women who have gone before me and suffered this terrible loss, and there are women who will come after me and experience the same tragedy. It's the 20th century, babies should not be dying with no known cause or explanation. It just doesn't make sense.
All my life I was taught that there is no greater calling than motherhood, and I had no reason to doubt that. From my earliest memories, all my life plans and goals were centered around being a mom. I planned a future of pure bliss, in which the laughter of my children could be heard throughout the entire house. Never for a moment did I think that I'd be grieving the loss of a baby, before celebrating the birth of one.
Babies are born every day. People die every day. But a baby's death does not seem like such a natural occurrence and definitely not something that would happen to me. And yet it did. And now I am left to pick up the pieces and learn how to live all over again. It is definitely a process. My life is not the same as it was before, I am not the same as I was before. I think differently, react to situations differently, look at people differently. I have truly had to learn to live all over again. Even the smallest of tasks, such as going to the grocery store, require much effort and I am very aware of every infant and pregnant woman in the entire store. I am bitter, I am malevolent and my situation makes people very uncomfortable.
I am not exactly sure what the purpose of this post is. I guess it's just been one of those days...or weeks.
Easter came and went without you, it's strange to watch the world move on knowing that you are no longer a part of it, at least not physically. I thought about the holidays often while I was pregnant with you, but I think about them even more now. The Easter basket you didn't get to open, your first birthday presents that you will never see, your first Christmas gifts from Santa, first Halloween costume...all the little things that I couldn't wait for while I was pregnant, the things that I no longer have the opportunity to do for you. I feel so helpless, wanting something so badly and knowing that I can't have it.
I attended my first Pregnancy and Infant Loss Support Group last week, I could feel you there with me the whole time. I loved being able to talk about you, Kyler (although you already know how much I enjoy doing that :) ) It gave me the opportunity to keep the memory of you alive. I feel you around me more often now than I did in the beginning, I knew you'd come, I'm just not very patient. Please stay with me, you make the bad days a little easier to get through.
It's still so hard to believe that you have been gone for five months. Five months is such a long time, but no where near as long as the rest of my life without you. It's hard for me to look to the future knowing that I have (at the least) another 60 or so years without you. How awful is that? The only silver lining to this whole disaster, is that I know when my time here is done, YOU will be the first to greet me and for that, I will try to be patient. I just can't wait to see you again!
When I leave the house, do you hear me turn on your music box? I hate leaving you in the silence. The song that plays is "Jesus loves me." I know He does, Kyler. I know you are in good hands, although I wish you were here with me. I can't wait to see you again, one day closer than yesterday.
I miss you so much, I love you more than I ever thought possible.
See you soon, handsome.