Shared Pain

When we first were told that our baby no longer had a heartbeat it jolted us into a new life. A life before our baby died and then the life after. After crying for some time with my husband I asked him to start making the calls. He began dispersing the news while I lay in the hospital bed holding my belly. Our people heard our situation and our people revealed a side of themselves which I had never seen.

I have always known that we are blessed with the amazing people we surround ourselves with. I never knew how true this was until we hit this tragedy. And let me just say that people showed up!

I am aware that since we have shared our story more people are informed about our situation. This definitely makes a difference. I use social media for the good times and the bad. Many may not feel comfortable doing this and I completely understand. We all do the hard things in our own way and I am not here to tell you how to do yours. This is how I process though. This is how I do the hard things. I have been working on myself for the past few years. This has built a foundation for me to fall back on now. It was not easy and yet I knew I had to do this work. It became a sacred time that I prioritized and always left me feeling renewed. Throughout my self work I was able to understand more of who I truly am. This brought stunning people into my life and dislodged others that were not aligned. And I am forever grateful for that.

If you know me personally you know that I do not keep much in. My facial expressions say it all. I have ruined more than one surprise and I often share more than many are pleased with. But that is me and I have to admit that I love this quality about myself. I have made close friends with strangers on the spot. I have also made some annoyed right on the spot. But people are literally showing up at my doorstep with an abundance of love and I am all about it.

People come and go. Each person that has stopped by had just the right amount of distraction to keep me sane. We laugh, we cry, and I am filled in on the outside world. My husband and I sat and cried with everyone. I told him that I think this is what sitting shiva is like. I love the Jewish culture, but it also helped knowing this is part of a traditional process that is meaningful and needed.

With so many reaching out it quickly became apparent that not only had we lost our daughter, but others lost her as well. This grief is not only about us and there is something lovely about that. Clementine matters. When you are ready, try your best to let others in… especially while facing a tragedy. A shared painful experience seems to not cut away at my soul but rather make room for a new kind of love.This new love is exclusive and nothing I ever wanted to be a part of, but there is greatness here. Letting others take part in the grief disperses the weight and makes it manageable. My heart feels lighter after sitting with someone while I share the events of Clementine’s passing.

I have heard a new collective of stories now. Ones about stillborns and the death of children. It is tough to hear, but I am a part of the exclusive club. I honor those in it as well. Many of these descriptions are from older women. Previous narratives given were mainly about how people got pregnant… and not how they are how they lost their children. A new chapter has opened, one that is the tale of how grief is love. The grief of losing a child sets a different tone with each mother. Most of these versions have unfavorable ways to deal with this type of grief. Many mothers have the baby taken away immediately, with not much discussion. This breaks my heart. Women who had this experience have told me that since it was not discussed that they held onto the pain in silence. Simply speaking Clementine’s name gives me life. It fills the cracks in my heart and affirms her existence in this world. It affirms that she lived and she was my daughter. Times have changed and hospital protocols have as well. I thank those nurses every day for pushing us in the direction we had no idea we needed to go in. The nurses were such a valuable part of our experience. In shock, my husband and I both wanted to just shove all of this away. No one wants to go through this… Maybe if we concealed this and never spoke of Clementine we can go forth with our lives without any changes. But this is not true. Death changes people, whether we like it or not it needs to be addressed.

I don’t want to cover this part of my life up. When people come over I say her name. I tell them the details of how she entered this world. I tell them how beautiful she was. I tell them the specifics of her story. Clementine’s life matters and I can see it in people’s faces when I share our story. I can feel their love when they hold my hand and listen. Every time I repeat our misfortune it is somehow transformed into beauty. The agony of her short life enters peoples hearts and is molded into the peace and understanding of what her life means. This is what sharing her story does to me. Even gone, the memory of her lights a fire in everyone.

I am still slowly entering back into the world that everyone else lives in. Slowly. It has been three weeks since we lost Clememtine and it is still is raw. I have liked the steps I have taken. Before I enter a store/restaurant/spa/new doctor I practice what I will say if someone asks about my baby. The only time it has actually come up is with the new doctor as I am actively trying to take care of my liver. (I write this with a glass of wine in my hand, by the way.) But I prepare. I carry tissues now. I remember that not everyone knows and I may see that first response of grief flow across their face. I have tissues for them, too.

We all walk this earth in our own beautiful and unique ways. Clementine never was able to take a step on the ground, but she will stay in our hearts. All of our hearts.

Shared Pain

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