The Ugly Side of Baby Loss

I know.  I know.  You are wondering why I would even write about the ugly side of baby loss because is there even a good side to compare it to?  My answer is yes, yes there is.  We all have seen the good side because it is the side we pay most attention to.  The hopeful prayers of a heavenly reunion one day.  The silver lining and all the goodness that comes out of people after a loss.  The beauty of cherishing life more than ever before.  The constant chatter about guardian angels and how our little ones are watching over us now.  The smiles we give when we hear our little one's name.  These moments are only a fraction of our lives as bereaved parents.  They are truth but also used as a way to soften the harshness of our reality.  In a way, they are survival mechanisms.   Without hope, we would be consumed by fear.  Without dreams, our nightmare would become too real. 

I see the faces of some people when I talk about my grief. I see their eyes glaze over as they begin to fidget from the discomfort of the subject.  We live in a world where tragedy has a shelf life and we are expected to 'move on'.  It is society's survival mode as we don't like to be reminded of our mortality, especially when a baby is involved.  The truth of our life is far too much to bear, for some.  We live others' worst fears and yet we are not allowed to be as open about it as we should.  "It makes me sad."  "I can't even think about it."  "I can't take on your pain along with mine."  I admit, before I became a "loss mom", the thought of baby loss made me run in the other direction.  I would slump away when I heard talk of loss.  It made me incredibly sad, so incredibly sad.  Now, as I sit on the other side of the fence, I see that was wrong of me.   I apologize to all the loss moms who did not have me by their side as I should have been.  I should have been there just to hold your hand, let you vent or just give you a hug when you needed it most.  I should have pushed my own fears and pain aside and realized that your pain was not so easily forgotten. Now that I wear your shoes, I know how incredibly isolating loss can be. In our society, grief and depression can be viewed as a weakness.  I am here to tell you that it is the strongest of souls who have to face tragedy.  It takes incredible strength to peel yourself out of bed everyday knowing that your life is forever changed and there is absolutely nothing you can do to bring your loved one back.  Every day, I awake hoping that my reality has changed and yet it does not.   I look upon my son's urn every morning wishing I was getting him dressed or nursing him or kissing his fat cheeks.  This is my life...a life that can feel as if the weight may crush me.  I am facing fears I never knew existed.   I am mad that I have to live this life.  I am mad that I even have to consider another pregnancy.  I was ready to be done and move on to the next chapter of my life.  I am mad that my dreams were ripped from my heart, my womb, my arms.  I am mad that my thoughts are consumed by my loss.  I am mad that I have to force my smiles now when they came so easily before.  This is my ugly side.  Love it or hate it, this is me now.  I try to hide it as if it were a secret but I feel it take on a life of its own every time I subdue it.  There is no one telling me to stay quiet, I do that on my own.  I ask myself why...is it because I cannot handle the truth?  Am I afraid of letting others see me at my weakest since they all think I am so strong?  Thing is, I don't want to see them slump away or fidget or stare at me blankly waiting for me to be done.  I know it sounds harsh.  I know I may offend some but this is the truth, the ugly truth.  It is a truth you will never see until you are in my shoes or the shoes of anyone else who has lost their dreams.  I know I am blessed to have such amazing support but it is always said that support wears out over time.  Life moves on even when your heart does not.  My heart is still stuck at 7 months ago.  My heart remembers every day.  My memories are more and more vivid and more painful.  I cannot 'move on' completely.   Part of me will always be stuck in the past because a little part of me died with my boys. 

I am not looking for sympathy, I am looking for awareness.  Awareness that there are so many who carry their pain silently.  They float through life without ever showing their truth.  They hurt, they pine, they cry, they wonder, they ask 'why me?'

This Valentines Day will be 3 years since we learned that Ricky's heart stopped beating.  The 22nd will mark 3 years from when he left his earthly home and joined the angels.  His short life on earth began my journey as a bereaved mother and he opened my eyes to a life that is feared by many.  This month,  I ask you to do one thing.  If you know someone who has experienced any type of loss, reach out to them.  Send them a card, call them, hug them, tell them 'I am here for you'.  Remind each other that we are not alone in this world, our loved ones are still thought of, us survivors are still thought of.  We need to take care of each other, be reminded of the beauty of the human soul in a world that can seem so ugly at times.  Your pain is my pain.  When you are weak, I will give you strength.   I am here for you...