My grief has not been so overwhelming this week. I feel like I can carry on my normal life. I’m not sure what normal means, but it feels more like that. It doesn’t hurt as much to go through my day. I don’t burst into tears at every second. It’s also a weird balance. I still miss him. I miss carrying him. I miss what he could have been. I miss the idea of holding him. I miss being excited for him. But the pain isn’t as visible everyday.
As I walk through my grief this week, I’ve been trying to figure out how and where I can grow from this. Not intentionally, but as a way to find hope for my future. I listen to stories from my clients, and I think of how it hurts to hear them talk, but that maybe that can still make me a better therapist. Maybe feelings and connections and going through such an incredibly painful loss can help me to help others. I think about how I felt desensitized when beginning this field just because of my own life experience. I didn’t cry or have much of a visible emotional reaction when hearing difficult trauma. I always viewed that as a benefit; a reason that maybe I was good for this field. But maybe it’s not a bad thing if it hurts to hear that a baby died or was abused or faced neglect. Those things are sad. It’s human to be sad. So I’m focusing on how those emotions can improve my therapy, even when I feel it in my gut to hear. I’ve been focusing a lot of how grief is a normal process that the body goes through and needs. It’s important it allow myself to process. These past couple weeks, I’ve felt the need to find distractions because the grief was so overwhelming. But really it meant that if I could just find a way to not think about my loss for two seconds, I had to find that space because my entire existence was filled with my loss. I was facing it at every turn. In every moment. I face children and families daily at work. But the world is filled with families, so the reminders are everywhere. My house is even full of reminders of what I no longer have. I have been working so hard at working with my grief and even that is overwhelming.
But today it does feel more manageable. I saw a counselor. She was validating. The part that stood out the most was that the word “bereavement” literally means “to be torn apart.” That describes exactly what I feel. She gave me a book, which I highly recommend, called Healing Your Grieving Heart After Miscarriage: 100 Practical Ideas for Parents and Families. With the help of that book, and because I’m not already crying everyday, I have been leaning into times everyday for intentional grief. I think about my child in some way. I practice saying his name more. I have actually already done some of the ideas listed before starting the book, but I look into other ways to help my grief (internal) move to mourning (external). I realize I’ve been mourning a lot. I guess that’s good, or at least necessary.
Today that grieving process looking like getting the pictures from our family photo shoot. It was at the photography session about six weeks ago that I told my siblings that I was pregnant. I was so excited for that opportunity. As soon as I found out I was pregnant, I knew that this was the way I wanted to tell them. The photographer (toward the end of the session) said, “Everyone say, ‘Natalie’s pregnant!’” It took a minute for everyone to understand it wasn’t a joke. It was such an exciting moment. Then Bryan got the onesie was had gotten – Baby Heinz May 2018 – out of the car to take pictures with. We also have an excited picture with the whole family around the onesie. These pictures are special, but they hurt. I will always be able to treasure them, but it’s really painful. Bryan and I looked through them together. “Back when we were happy. It’s such a distant memory.” I wish that wasn’t so true.
This week has been full of pregnancy announcements. At this point, those aren’t even bittersweet; it’s just difficult. My reactions have been different to each of the three I’ve come across this week on Facebook based on proximity. It makes it no less of a struggle. One announcement was announcing the sex as a boy. I’m not close to these people, but every boy announcement hurts a little more. I wanted my son. Maybe the most difficult feeling is how to continue my friendships in the same way when those are extremely painful.
I’ve been trying to figure out what it means to keep up my normal job in the same way. I’ve been so worried – at work and at home – that people won’t treat me the same. I want them to be just as honest, just as forthcoming, just as intentional. I know I hold high my expectations of myself, and I don’t want the image of where people do expect me to be to slip. I don’t want to feel fragile. I don’t want people to not tell me things because they are afraid how I will take it.
As my husband so longingly told me, “You are fragile.” So while I still want things to be like they were before, I’m learning to walk in the space of both truths.