Tuesday, March 12, 2013

All I can do

Sometimes, I wish I could just disappear. I wish I could close my eyes and just slip away, never to return; to be done with this mess forever. 

Life can go on without me. I can see that it does for everyone around us. I could just be done forever and life would keep on going for the rest of the world, just as it does now. Only I wouldn't have to see it.

I keep trying to push ahead. I keep trying to fit back in. Little by little. Every time I do, I just end up right back where I started, but slightly worse off. I think, "it'll be okay to be around people with babies/kids". Nope, it's too painful and I end up resenting everyone I see. "It'll be okay to make plans with friends". Nope, massive anxiety attack.

Today would be a good day to just be done forever.

I didn't want this. I don't want to run babyloss groups and write a blog about babyloss. I don't want to be in the babyloss world. I don't want to feel like it's my purpose in life to keep his memory alive. I just wanted to be a mommy, not a crusader. I just wanted to raise him, not awareness. I don't want to only have friends who have lost babies.

But I don't fit in anywhere else.

Today, I'm just really tired. I'm worn out. I'm done.

Somehow, despite the many, many times I've wanted to quit, I just keep pulling myself up, again and again. Somehow, I keep going even though I'm so worn out.

The other day, I read a nasty comment someone left on another loss mother's FB page. The mother was lamenting about being without her daughter on her birthday. The ugly commenter said (I'm paraphrasing her ridiculously ignorant, rude, hurtful, and long comment) "I'm tired of you being sad...yes, it's a nightmare that [your baby] died, but at some point you need to wake up from that nightmare and move on with your life".

First, I freaked out and corrected her for being a moron. Second, I thought about what she said. I'm sure people who have never lost a child think it's a choice that we feel this way. I'm sure everyone gets fed up with hearing about our pain. I'm sure it's seems like there should be a time-limit.

But here's the ugly truth: You can't just wake up. You can't "decide" to not feel sad anymore. It comes straight from your broken heart. You think you're fed up with hearing about it? We're fed up with living it!

Believe me, no one on this earth wants to feel like this all the time. No one on this planet would choose to feel this badly! But there is no escape. You can't wake up. You can't run, you can't hide. It's always right there with you. There is no "choice".

Sometimes I just want to scream when I hear people adding pain to already hurting people. Why anyone does this is beyond me. If someone is grieving, shut your mouth and listen. Hold them, help them, and listen. That's all. NOTHING you can say will take away the immense pain they are feeling.

I wonder what would happen if, instead of adding to people's hurt, people surrounded those who are hurting and held them up. Instead of saying "move on", they could say, "take all the time you need", and "how can I help make your life easier while you work through this tragedy?" I think we would all be better for it. Maybe people would feel safe to share their hearts and hurts, instead of wondering if they are going to be judged. Maybe everyone would grow in compassion and love for other people. Maybe, we all wouldn't feel so alone.

There are lots of times when I've thought of ending this blog, leaving FB, and just keeping to myself. When you openly tell your story, you are opening your heart up for the hurt inflicted by people who don't understand. You are letting people into a very private place in your heart. Many times, I feel unheard and my pain unrecognized.

But every once in a while, I'll get a comment, or an email, from someone who has lost a baby and who reads my words. They say how reading our story has helped them and how it's given them a voice for their own pain. That's when I remember why it's worth it.

I don't write for my friends or family. I write for Samuel. I write for myself. I write for other parents who are living without a piece of their hearts. Parents who are struggling, weekly, daily, hourly, to make it in a world that no longer makes sense. Who feel torn between heaven and earth. Who would do anything to stop the hurt, but also embrace it because it speaks of the great love they have for their baby(ies).

When my days are empty, my life feels meaningless,  and my heart is about to burst from love and longing for Samuel, I turn to a blank page and let the words come. When I want to disappear but can't, I put it on the page and somehow find a new determination to keep going. When I wish to be raising my beautiful baby, but instead find myself alone all day, I open my heart and let it flow out in words.

Sometimes it's all I can do.

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