The Impossible Days

Sometimes, I’m sorry just isn’t enough. Sometimes the tears come anyway.

The warmest hug, the sweetest embrace will do nothing to change the tide of emotions and that’s okay. 

Sometimes, there are no words. No words to accurately describe your feeling of loss.

What used to sound like melodramatic words: anguish, despair, longing; now feel futile and insignificant to describe the chasm that was created when your worst nightmares were confirmed. 

Sometimes, you feel tired. Sick of explaining your feelings to people who don’t want to or are unable to understand.

The need to be understood, cared for and to feel that you belong seem like meaningless tasks because you’ve been spinning your wheels screaming to end the idea that grief has a time frame and there is no point in talking about babies who never lived. 

Sometimes, even with support, you feel alone, tarnished and unable to even figure out yourself what it is you need to turn that corner.

The new you that was created the moment you lost, is throwing a temper tantrum like a four-year-old who was just told that dinner is on the table and no, it’s not frosting.

The new you is flailing its arms, throwing it’s head up to the heavens screaming, “Why? How did this happen? When will this ache subside?”

I fight with these feelings every Mother’s Day. I don’t quite understand why it hurts me so much to live through this day without my son.

I continuously feel as if I sound “ungrateful” for my living children who celebrate me, even when I behave like someone who is too sad to celebrate.

I hold my breath and forget to breathe whenever I sit around the brunch table awaiting to hear his name, although I know it will never be spoken.

Grieving Out Loud

I rally my gumption and smile with my usual fervor and cry all the way home.

Life isn’t the same without one of my babies. Mother’s day highlights that for me, amplifies all the bad feelings that hide in the dark crevices of my mind during the majority of the year.

These feelings creep slowly into the light, so slow you almost don’t realize they are coming until they show themselves fully and you are overwhelmed and can see only them. 

It’s my fervent belief that the only way out is through. I face these ugly, gnarled feelings head-on.

At first, I was afraid to feel so much at once but I learned that shying away from your feelings does not rid them from your presence, rather it allows those feelings to take up residence in the forefront.

They are squatters who will claim their rights to your space if you allow them to. I look at my emotions, the ones that make me feel sad, alone and tired, look them straight in the eye and allow myself to feel what they demand I feel.

Then they move on.

I see these feelings as bullies that must be confronted, not ignored. Once on the other side of Mother’s Day, I can breathe again.

And I do.

Until the next time my darkest emotions come back from where I banished them. 

Until his birthday, the day he left us. 

Until what should have been his due date.

Until Mother’s Day circles back again. 

I know I am strong. I also know that sometimes emotions can be stronger.

You may feel alone but there is no shame in sharing your deepest of darkest feelings that sometimes come out.

There is no need to shoulder tackling the worst shock waves that grief has to offer without someone to hold your hand while you defiantly refuse to give into it.

You are a mother, that love for your child is what you hold on to when you need help carrying through.

Why You Didn’t Fail As A Mother

When that isn’t enough, feel vulnerable enough to share that.

Grief isn’t pretty but life is beautiful. You can make it through anything, after all, you have already made it through losing your baby.

Never forget your strength.

Be kind to yourself momma, you can make it through the impossible days.