Monday, May 20, 2013

A million things

I've have a million things to say, but can't seem to find a way to get them out. I've come here time and time again the last few weeks to get it out, but the words don't come together.

The fuzz-brain of grief combined with the meaninglessness I feel every day has taken it's toll on my ability to find the words. But tonight I've decided to try. This is why:

I've noticed something lately in the babyloss world. Grieving mamas feeling as if their time is up. Like they have lingered too long and their feelings are not what they "should" be. I've heard the exact same sentiment from several people: "I feel like I have nothing new to say. Like people think I'm a broken record and should be done by now" (or something to that effect).

I have to be honest, I've been succumbing to that same feeling too. Like I "should" be moving on and "done" with this.  Like people are as tired of hearing about it as I am of feeling it. So I've keep it inside. Why bother to explain the same thing over and over again.

But here is the truth of it all: there is no moving on. Every single day I wake up to the same empty life and hurting heart. Every day I wish nothing more than to be spending time with my son. To watch him grow, learn and explore. Every empty day my heart hurts more and more. There is no end. There is nothing I can do differently. There are times when I WISH I could "move on". To stop hurting and feeling so lost and empty. (Please don't misunderstand that for wishing I could forget about Samuel!) What makes it so hard and the reason grief is what it is, is that it's permanent. I will have to do this for the remainder of my life.

So I got to thinking, why should I feel badly for talking about it? I'm the one who has to face it every day. It's my life that's been forever changed...why pretend for the sake of people who have no clue what it's like for me? Anyone who grows tired of hearing about it can just walk away. (As so many have done; lucky them to have such an easy life). So I'll write for the people who are walking this same ugly path. The ones for whom there is no escape. The group in which I am a reluctant but permanent member.

My grief is different now. There are moments where I feel as if I can actually do this. When I think I can find a way to incorporate his death into our lives enough to keep going and making a new version of life for us. But it's usually not more than minutes or hours after feeling that way that I'm back to sobbing my eyes out and screaming inside for life to be different. There is no escaping the feelings. This is not how it should be. There is no way to forget that.

I miss him all day every day. Most days, it's all day long. He's the first thing I think of when I wake up and the last thing I think of before going to sleep.

There is always this alternate version of reality going on in my imagination. One where he was never sick. One where he lived and lives on. I can see it playing out all day long: this little shadow of our life as it should be. A big boy with a toothy-slobbery grin, chunky legs and busy little hands. I can hear the sounds that are constantly missing. The "dadadada's" and the laughs and the fusses. The banging and rattles and crashes of toys on the floor, and dishes on the highchair tray. I can smell the cheerios, and diapers and sweet "all-clean" baby-after-bath smells.

I'm still so angry. It seems that everyone on this earth is having babies right now and every single day it haunts me. Why us? How on earth did this happen to us? I have no idea how to ever be around babies ever again. For the protection of my already broken heart, I have to stay away.

It boggles my mind how I can be living such a nightmare all the time, while most everyone else has no clue what it means to hurt like this. It's a very hard way to live when the way you feel all the time is mostly indescribable.

If I could only find the words to say how utterly empty, meaningless and pointless life seems when the joy of your life is stolen away for no reason.

I guess the only way to say it is this: imagine all the joy and happiness, busyness and meaning, hope and love that comes from a new baby. All the plans and dreams of their life, the goals for how to raise them and play with them and enjoy them.

All of that dies when a baby dies. What remains is the opposite of all that. And there is nothing you can do about it.

All the while, you watch as everyone around you lives that very life. That's why there are no words to describe it. It's the shattering of your soul and heart. How could anyone "get over it"?

1 comment:

  1. There is no 'getting over it' and I also wish people would stop expecting it to happen. I lost my daughter Jan 17th, 2012, and I too live with the alternate reality running parallel with the actual horrible reality of my life. Each day as I walk to or from work (or anywhere) I'm really seeing myself pushing a stroller with a sparky, bright eyed one year old babbling to me. I wake up imagining I've heard the sounds of Mama coming from a crib that isn't there. I totally understand and identify with your entire post and as I read it tears streamed down my face - you express exactly how I feel. I wish I could show it to everyone when they make comments about 'moving on' or 'getting better' which alternately anger and upset me.
    Thanks for your post. I will continue to follow your blog, as we continue on this horrible path together.


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