Grief is Personal
Photo by Alina Chupakhina on Unsplash
Photo by Markus Spiske on Unsplash
Photo by Natalya Zaritskaya on Unsplash
Grief is a personal experience. Just like love, creativity, pain, and birth. This is mine.
I just heard someone say, “Any way that you deal with grief is the right way.”
This is extremely comforting to me. To never have been in this space and apparently I am doing this right. Losing a child is not the order of the world. Children are supposed to bury their elderly parents. Life was not supposed go like this. But here we are, doing hard things.
There is so much of this I haven’t been ready for. I remember the night before I went into the hospital and crying to my mother that I was not ready for this baby. I yearn for that feeling now. I was so scared but at least my girl was alive then. That fear was so real and powerful and looking back it looks so innocent. I had no idea what was ahead of me. I guess we never really do.
Everyone tells me how brave I am . That I am strong and amazing. I do not want these titles. I want to be a normal new mother. I want to be tired and struggling because the baby is keeping us up. I have been told being a new mom is hard, but right now it sounds like the easier option. Hearing my baby cry for me, watching her grow, simply spending time with her all sound like better options. I feel like bringing my daughter home alive would have been better than in a box.
My body does not seem to be aware that Clementine is not here because two days after I got home from the hospital my milk came in. This was a new level of humiliation. I was hoping I could simply bypass this part as it is quite the heavy reminder of what I just went through. My breasts became large and inflamed. I knew that I was not supposed express any milk but once red hot patches arrived I knew I had to do something.
The physical part was supposed to over. I had been in labor for 24 hours, gave birth and do not have my baby… now was supposed to be the emotional work. And yet there I was in the shower, in the dark hours of the morning crying as my husband tried to help. I broke down in tears as I saw the heartbroken look on his face as he massaged my breasts and nothing came out. This was too much.
“There is supposed to be a baby!” I yelled as he looked at me. I cried for some time after this. I cried when I stopped the water as nothing was working. I cried when I crawled back into bed and just wanted to hold my daughter. I cried because my body was doing it’s job, but for no one.
This was a new level of defeat.
Nights are the hardest. Everyone is asleep and I feel very alone. It is like the world turns off but I can’t seem to. I thought of taking some sleeping aids but then I also didn’t want to skip this pain. This sounds crazy but it was making me feel alive. I might be incapable of loving myself during these moments but I am capable of feeling this pain. It sounds awful even writing this, but it makes my experience real. It makes it matter. I remember getting the IV worked on after the birth and the needle pain felt needed. I have felt so numb that it reminded me that I still have life in me. This aching in the darkness does that for me as well.
One sleepless night I woke up crying and just wanted to shave my head. It seemed like the only logical step to take. This would take away my femininity just as losing my child had done. I felt like an inadequate woman. In fact, I have felt with this emotion since we started trying five years ago. I wanted to finally feel free from this. I wanted to strip something away from me that was still under my control. My husband talked me through it and I was able to go back to sleep. But that’s where I was… completely understanding 2007 Britney Spears.
This is the hardest thing I have ever been through but I know… in my bones… that greatness is coming. It has to be. Something else besides my agony will make this experience matter. I will get up each day and strive for the bit of joy I get when I first open my eyes. I will keep opening the door of her room to think of Clementine’s importance... and hope for what may come.