Well, it's another milestone. Today is Henry's three month Angelversary.
I feel like that sounds a little better than the truth. It's been three months since he left us. Yesterday was bad - twelve weeks. Tuesdays - I loathe thee.
I've noticed that on milestones, I nest. That is to say that I start cleaning. If I work, I don't have to face the truth. My baby's gone. I try to say goodnight to his pirate ship every night, but I know he's not there. It feels hollow. He's gone from this Earth and there is nothing I can connect with to 'talk' to him. I've read that that's a pretty good therapy, writing letters and talking it out. But he's not here. I wonder if he ever was.
I met a group of other mothers who have lost their children. They were nice. I'm not sure if I'm ready for that yet. I feel like my smile is still shaky, and I'm still so raw from the last year.
Thankfully, Amelia's getting over her obsession with babies. It's so hard. And it's only going to get harder. I'm going to start reflecting "at this time last year.."
In November, I'm going to remember finding out that I was pregnant.
In January, I'm going to remember the fear that one phone call instilled in me.
In February, I'm going to remember the anguish and anger accompanying the diagnosis.
In March, I'm going to remember how I didn't want to celebrate my birthday. Because it was wrong. I don't think I want to face another birthday again. It still feels wrong.
I'm going to remember every MRI and ultrasound. I'm going to remember feeling the weightless pull as he left my body. I'm going to remember his face as he passed. I'm going to remember every tear, the anguish on my husband's face, everything.
It's not that I want to forget, it's that I can't. Because it's been playing in my head for the last three months. I can't escape it, and I don't want to. These are the only memories I have of my precious boy.
And even then I feel guilty for feeling this way. Because we knew what would happen. We were trying to prepare for it. We tried. But you can't prepare for that.
I'm trying so very, very hard. I want to get a sewing machine and take my early morning crying fests into a new direction. I want to start prayer flags for Henry. I want them to wave in the wind, and carry my prayers home to him. Wherever he may be.
I want to feel this weight lift off of my shoulders. It's physically weighing me down. My back bends under the pressure of my grief. I feel diminished, alone. But I'm really trying to be present.
Sometimes I get lost. I'm afraid that this'll be one of those days. But it's okay to get lost -- it's okay to fall.
Just remember to get back up.
you make me cry everytime i read these, oh katie, i wish i could take all your grief away.
ReplyDeleteHey Katie, my heart breaks right along side with you. Tomorrow is Sophia's one-month angelversary and I now exactly what you're going through. Just remember that you never have to apologize for or scrutinize you're grief. That's what I'm learning. Grief is hard, and non-stop, and unexpected, and different for each person that experiences it. I will pray for you and will ask that God just let His presence be tangible to you. I'm here to talk with anytime--just send me a message on fb :)
ReplyDeleteKatie-
ReplyDeleteThis September will mark 5 years since I suffered a miscarriage in the last week of my first trimester. It's not the same as what you went through, by any means, but none the less, it was a loss of what I believed was my baby, and it was my very first experience with grief. For a long time I woke up each morning and started crying. I thought that it was my new reality and that I would never forget anything about it. Some days I wished I could, and other times I feared forgetting, and what that meant- as if it meant I cared less or that my baby was no longer important. I thought there would never be a day when I didn't think about him. I would think about how "this would have been his first Christmas, birthday, Easter" etc. The memorial of our loss was hard, and when my due date came and I was baby-less, I was so heartbroken. It's now been almost 5 years and it's amazing to look back on that experience, and how different things are now. there are years where some of those dates I once thought I would remember and anticipate, now pass by without me even knowing. Other years I remember and reflect, but it isn't sad anymore. On the date of my loss, I no longer think about how horrible it was and how many tears I cried. Instead, I remember how excited I was when I was going to have a baby and what a happy time in my life it was. I will never forget that it happened or how heartbroken I was for the first time in my life, but miraculously, my life went on, time passed, and somehow those anniversaries evolved into something more than just sadness.
Your story is different, Katie- everyone has a different story, but you will get there, too. It may take much longer, or take you down a different path, but you will find peace again, I promise you will. Henry has changed you and many other people. He made his mark on this planet, and that is how we all live on forever. We make our mark, and then we go. Henry did that- you did that. Henry will ALWAYS be here.
Hi Katie. You write so beautifully.
ReplyDelete"A kaleidoscope of feelings has ensnared me. Denial, anger, guilt, despair, acceptance. One does not end for another to begin, rather the emotions tumble about and crash together just beyond control, and without regard for my wounded, weeping heart.
I am waiting to become disentangled. I want to separate one color from another, so that I might see more clearly what assaults me. I want to address the fullness of my tears one feeling at a time."
I thought of you last night while I was watching Extreme Weight Loss. The gal on there lost her daughter two hours after birth. She had been searching for a way to grieve and cope. Her idea was to write a message to her angel baby and put it in a helium balloon and send it to her in heaven. Maybe you would like to try that too! You are strong, brave and beautiful Katie. :) Kelly