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So here’s the thing: I’m almost a month late writing this post. Yeah, I’ve been busy, sure, it’s hard to find time to write when you’ve got a 4-month-old at home. But the real reason I am so late is that I feel like I have nothing to say.
Nothing.
You’d think that would be a good thing. I mean after my daughter died, I remember just begging to feel ‘normal’ again. The pain was so raw, so intense, so all-consuming. Hardly a moment went by that I didn’t feel sad. That I didn’t think about her.
A picture I took of myself 4 weeks after Stevie was stillborn.
My life has been so full of joy and happiness these days. I’m just going to be honest here: I don’t think about my daughter nearly as much as I used to. I haven’t had those red, puffy eyes from the picture above in I don’t even know how long. I should be grateful, right?
Maybe, but I really just feel like crap about it. I find myself feeling so incredibly guilty for not feeling sad more often. Sometimes I even feel like I’ve abandoned my little girl by not talking about her, thinking about her, writing to her more. There are days I reread old blog posts from the early days of my grief, look through her pictures, and try to make myself feel sad. Feel something. And of course I do feel sadness, but not that kind of soul-shattering, all I want to do is curl up in a ball and cry my eyes out kind of sadness. My baby, my child is gone–how does that fact alone not bring me to my knees anymore??
I miss the sadness because it made me feel so close to my daughter. In the sadness, we were connected. I crave that connection so much but I fear I’ll never feel it again.
I fear she’s slipping away from me, all over again.
I keep trying to remind myself that one thing I’ve learned in the last two years is that grief is a rollercoaster. It has peaks and valleys; it comes in waves. I guess all I can do right now is try to enjoy this peak I’m resting on and know that one day, Stevie and I will find each other again.
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About Kristin Cook
I can relate to this article, the jolt that is felt when you realize that several moments have passed since I thinking about our angel babies. Now I wear memorial jewelry everyday that helps me feel closer to the them. I’m drawn to the cemetary as though it is an addiction, but I have taken a new job that eliminates daily visits. My heart was broken when I realized this, yet, as time has passed, it troubles me with less acuity. Today is the 6th month anniversary, and day 1 of the new job. Historically, I do nothing on the 25th of every month. But apparently there has been spiritual growth and healing beneath my own eyes. This integration, as the experts call it, is happening regardless of wanting it to or not. I’m done with resisting the inevitable. Trust that you are honoring your baby in your own special way. May you continue on your healing journey with an open heart.
I don’t know who wrote this, but it is for times like these when we find ourselves a bit adrift.
You will always grieve to some extent for your lost child. You will always remember your baby and wish beyond wishes that you could smell her smell or hold his weight in your arms. But as time goes on, this wishing will no longer deplete you of the will to live your own life. When you accept what has happened, you aren’t acknowledging that it is okay but rather, that you know you must find a way to keep growing and living-even if you don’t feel like it…Don’t let grief be your constant companion…Realize that your grief is born out of unconditional love for your child and that love will never end… Embracing life again is not a sign that you have stopped missing your baby, but an example of a love that is eternal. Wishing you gentle days xxx
Kristin, that early picture of you is so haunting/haunted. It breaks my heart…and I know that I, too, looked similar in the early weeks after losing my twins last year.
I’ve read and been told that grief sort of takes a hiatus when a new baby is born, to really resurface only when the new baby reaches and age/stage where they’re a little more self-reliant. It may all come back in time…but maybe, for right now, you’re *meant* to only feel the joy that E is bringing you daily.
Hugs, Mama…
That is exactly how I feel. Even though I know Ellie would want me to be happy again, I have a voice in my head telling me if I’m not crying over her every minute, I am dishonoring her somehow. That voice has gotten quieter in the last 2 years, but it never really goes away.
Oh my dear friend Kristin, she’s always with you. You are her mother. Overcoming your grief doesn’t change that. Don’t feel guilty, I don’t know if Stevie woud want that.
Hugs.
Love you.
My god, yes, I can relate to this! I appreciate so much that you are writing about it. We are visiting the place where we spread our Lewy’s ashes soon, and I am so anxious to be there because I feel like it will help me reconnect to the grief and to him. Having a new little one in the house is such a distraction, and while I suppose that’s a good thing, I sort of miss feeling sad. I definitely have moments when I feel like a terrible mother for not thinking more about my first boy.
I can completely relate to you on this one! I now have a 1 year old that keeps me so busy and I often feel guilty on both sides. I feel guilty for not being sad all of the time and thinking about our angel but then I also feel guilty because it is almost as I would be wishing our 1 year old away if I am sad about our loss. Don’t get me wrong, some days I think of something and I just lose it but there are times when I find myself wrapped up in something our 1 year old is doing that I go almost an entire day without thinking about our angel.
thank you for sharing your thoughts with us. A year after my baby Liam was stillborn, my Megan was born. ON his anniversary I was coming home from the hospital, too exhausted to visit his grave site. But he gave me my angel baby Megan and he wants me to take care of her and remember him through her. As I care for myself and my children I honor him. You are honoring your Stevie by sharing your thoughts with us….
Sarah
I’m so sure that you will find your little Stevie. So will each one of us, our babies. We will meet again.