It took me awhile to make another post because I was afraid of what people would say. I have heard a lot of positive comments about my first entry, and I was worried that the next one would not be as powerful. But I don’t care. I am not writing this for other people. This is for me. And if you want to follow along or if this helps you in some way – great. This is still my story, and this is still my journey. This is what it looks like to keep moving forward…
10/26/17
I went back to work on Wednesday. I thought I was ready. I will never be ready. Previously, work was a helpful distraction – a bit of normalcy where I could feel like I knew what I was doing. Work on Wednesday was not that. It was putting up a front, wearing the mask. It felt like pretending. It felt like forgetting. It felt like moving on without my baby, and I did not want to do that. I took it slow. I rearranged my schedule so that it was not overwhelming. It did not help.
I got home and cried. It feels like it will never get easier. Bryan sat with me. It was helpful, but I still felt alone.
“Let me know how I can help.”
A lot of friends and family have offered me that. I don’t know how you can help. So even with all those offers, I still feel alone. It is such an isolating experience. I keep reliving lying there on the operating table – knowing that this is the end, and never wanting it to be the end. I remember how alone I felt to be lying on that table. I remember waking up alone and in pain. I cannot stop thinking about it.
I am apart of a lot of online communities. One person there was able to help put into words this “alone” feeling. She described it as being alone without the baby. I had not been able to think about it in that way before. I was the only person who was carrying this child. I had someone with me all the time for the first time in my life. Now I am alone. It is a terrible feeling.
But I also feel a weird peace that it’s over. It is such a confusing place to be in. The feeling is fleeting. I just keep crying.
So I reach out. I text people. I can’t bear to call them most of the time because I know I will cry the whole time. Sometimes I want to stop crying. Other times it feels like there is no other way.
I tried to go to work this morning. I felt terrible. I canceled a few things and stayed in bed. I finally got up but had a lot more pain than the previous day. My emotions were all over the place. I tried to remember that the hormones weren’t helping right now.
I finally was able to get up and ready enough to make it to my first appointment. Before I got there I had already decided that I would cancel another appointment and go home before coming back later to make it to the last one. When I got home, I tried to focus on how I was doing. I couldn’t help but to start crying before I even got home. After a little bit of time at home, I knew that I was in no place to be seeing another client. I was not able to meet with this client last week, and the client has been struggling. I felt so guilty. I knew I could not see him, but I could not bring myself to cancel the session. It is a good thing I have the support of such amazing people that work with me. My supervisor canceled the appointment for me, and I decided to take off tomorrow as well.
“This is a time in your life where it is okay to be selfish.”
I was trying to remember that. I am trying to remember that. I had already emailed someone to let them know I would not make it to my leadership class that day. That was hard. I told her in the email that I was trying to remember that knowing when to take time for yourself and putting in place appropriate boundaries and limits is the strength of a leader. I still believe that, but it’s still hard. I live with the daily burden of having to carry the weight of the world – of having to do it all – be it all – be the best. Even so, I am aware of the burden I carry, and I do everything I can to put up boundaries. I maintain a work and home life balance. I don’t let myself get burnt out because I love my job, and I won’t take that risk.
But how can I carry that burden like this? How do I keep going when I feel so empty? What does it mean to continue living without my baby?
I know that it is normal to be in this place. But this place is miserable, and I don’t want to be here.
There are few things I find comfort in right now. Sometimes these things are not comforting. Sometimes I cannot bear to read through them. Sometimes they give me just enough peace to keep going. I’ll share some of what has been helpful later. Right now I am working on getting through this moment when it feels like the pain will never end.
10/29/17
Everything still feels overwhelming. It is hard to know where to go from here. I cry a lot still. Even when I think I am okay. It just keeps hitting me like a wall.
Again and again and again.
Today I cleaned out our spare room. When we got back from our appointment when we first found out that we had lost the baby, there were reminders of our baby everywhere. I gathered up the onesie that we had gotten, the pregnancy journal I now had, and the pregnancy pillow I had to help me sleep, and I put everything in the spare room and shut the door. There was also a bouncer in there for my nephew. As the time went on, I added extra things we had in there that were painful to look at including the sonogram we had. I knew that I wanted to make a shadow box with everything, but right now that felt too overwhelming. So today I put everything in the closet and cleaned the room so I could open the door for the first time in three weeks. I think it felt good to have it clean and open, but it is a little painful too. That room was going to be the nursery. Now I look at it knowing that it will stay just the spare room and that hurts.
The day that we found out that the baby was already gone, a good friend told me, “I am sorry for all the people that will tell you that you are strong.” It took about a week before I really knew what she meant. I have been told many times lately that I am strong, an inspiration, and brave. I have been told how proud people are of me. I don’t feel strong. This is survival. I don’t want to be an inspiration. I just need to get through this moment. This is not a place of hope. This is not a place of good. This is a moment in time that requires me to keep moving forward. I can’t move on; I don’t want to get over it; but I do have to move forward. I have to keep going because there is no other way. I can’t go back. I will always carry this with me. I won’t look the same, and that is hard too. But I will keep moving forward.
I have thought a lot lately about the song Bryan and I danced to at our wedding. “Our song.” It is called “Your Guardian Angel” by Red Jumpsuit Apparatus. Listening to the song in the past couples years has made me realize how young we were when we first got together ten years ago. It has such a teenage angst to it. Even so, it has a lot of different meanings for me now.
The song does not have anything to do with babies, but that has been the lens I have been seeing it through lately. It starts with, “When I see your smile tears run down my face.” I can’t help but start to cry from the beginning for my baby’s smile that I never even got to see.
“I will never let you fall
I’ll stand up with you forever
I’ll be there for you through it all
Even if saving you sends me to heaven”
The chorus hits me hard in a place of guilt that I could not be the one that could save my child. I know that none of this was my fault, but the feelings are there anyway. “Seasons are changing and waves are crashing and stars are falling all for us.” This part really speaks to where we are at right now. I have thought a lot lately about how the seasons change. They change even when you are not ready for them to change. Life keeps moving. And sometimes the seasons changing means everything dying. Those seasons are always hard. But the seasons continue to change. And at some point, life grows again. Even if it looks differently when it grows back. I am trying to remember that in whatever way that means for our family.
The song also takes on a different unintended meaning as well – that maybe now we have our own guardian angel watching out for us. I don’t always know exactly how I feel about it, but I do like the image that our baby is an angel in Heaven being cared for by God. “To think…the first thing you saw when you opened your tiny little eyes was the face of Jesus.” It is a nice image to hold onto. I never thought the song would take on so many different meanings through our life. Today I am not sure that the song gives me good memories in the way that it did when I held Bryan dancing at our wedding.
But I am definitely glad that I have him. He has been an amazing support. He has been my rock. He has been hurting too. But I am glad he has been there. Always.