Beneath the shiny facade that is Facebook, under the happy smiles on Instagram and around the corner from the joy and hope that is Fairy Tales For Hope, lies the real story.
You cannot possibly have highs without having lows and the truth of it at the moment is, I'm in the pit. And I'm in deep.
I have no where to hide this year. The 19th is rapidly approaching and the first two years we ran away, last year I was giving birth and this year there is nothing. I'm exposed and I'm now hanging it all out there for all to see. Except really, I'm not. Because I carry on being cheerful with nearly everyone around me so they don't see the cracks in my armour. If I let it all hang out all of the time, I'd very soon have no one left by my side.
I'm miserable, I'm angry, I'm jealous, I'm bitter and I'm sad as hell and I know the way I'm behaving due to my current state of affairs isn't really fair on anyone. But I suppose I have to get through it - my way and at my own pace.
Or do I? Is four years the time where I'm supposed to put my big girl pants on and just get over it already? As it seems the world is screaming that at me, loud and clear. Time for moping and intense mourning is done. I have two living children, one of whom is having a huge milestone birthday herself this week and surely it is just time for me to cut my pathetic bullshit and move the hell on?
This can't be what someone new to grief and baby death wants to hear. As I have come so far and checked so many things off grief's list since she died that I clearly should be something the newly bereaved aspire to, but the hard truth is: this still sucks. This is still mightily hard. I'm tired. I'm worn down by the longing, the sadness. The knowledge that this never goes away. God I hate this. I hate it with the force of a thousand freight trains.
I have so much on my plate, a lot of good stuff I must add, but everything is getting to me. People who have all of their kids earth side with them. People who have a bit more spare cash lying around to take a bit of the pressure off. Basically anyone and everyone has something at the moment that is making me green. It is ugly, but it's the truth and if you think by reading this that I need help then you're probably right.
What I need is time, and for this all to be over. Again. I know the only way is up from here and I know there are sunnier days ahead but right now I need to feel what I'm feeling, warts and all.
#MicroblogMondays: Olympic hangover
6 hours ago
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Oh Sally, I'm the same. Maybe it's August but I'm feeling . . . awful. Bitter. Jealous. So not much comfort I'm afraid but I'm standing right next to you. sending love xo
ReplyDeleteAw, S. Highs, lows, emotions...all authentic. I think it would be worse, really, to deny, cover up, and refuse to acknowledge.
ReplyDeleteAnd I'll say this, as someone who just had a small glimmer of light shine in, nine years in now, that four years is still very much early days in my books. The people who tell you, outright or subtly, to put your big girl pants on and get over it, well they haven't lived it.
The jealousy and bitterness still seems to appear out of nowhere for me too, once in a while. A flicker. I'll see families at school with three kids and think, "if only...if only..."
Be kind to yourself. This is a journey. A long one. And there's no right or wrong way to grieve the loss of our children. It is what it is. ((HUGS))
Thinking of you, as always, all through this month. And Catherine too. ♥
Sally (and Catherine), No, you are not supposed to be better now. Holidays and anniversaries of our children's birth and death are ..... different. They are not like ordinary days. The emotional descent is hell.
ReplyDeleteYou are hitting the 4th anniversary. That means you have only done this 3 times before. Three is not enough to have developed dependable coping skills. In the same way you have learned how to get through the regular days, you will learn to manage the special ones. You learn little by little, by trial and error.
Pull out the skills you used and perfected when this grief first hit. Breath; take small breaks, like 15 or 30 seconds, to close your eyes, relax your body and drain the tension, have a good cry, and be gentle to yourself. Whatever gives you some small sense of peace, do it. When these days hit, it can feel like all of your effort and hard work to survive and heal have been in vain. But they haven't. You bounce back quicker then you did two or three years ago. And the time you spend lost in the abyss, while just as dark as always, is shorter.
Like J. above, it took me a decade to learn to give in to the time surrounding my daughter's death. Some years that was a month or two long descent, some years only weeks. After two decades, I'm down to 7-10 days of self indulgance ~ giving myself time and permission to grieve (and cry and be crabby!)
Sending love to you both and wishing your girls were exchanging birthday cards instead of their Mom's exchanging coping skills. Plan your days the easiest way for you, whether that means hiding out or being busy, busy, busy.
Wishing you well. May sunlight fall gently through the leaves to kiss your upturned face.
Love, Jill A.
P.S. I set up a google account so I could post. It is not an account I use, but I'll check it just in case.
Thinking of you Sal. I can't say that I truly relate to this. It is different for me... but I understand it and accept it. I wish things were so different. Thinking of you all and especially Hope. xx
ReplyDeleteSending my love. It does suck and I'm jealous of parent's with all their children in their arms as well.
ReplyDeleteI've been thinking of you while the Olympics have been on and we've been watching.
xx
Anniversaries are always hard, and I am sure, always will be. It doesn't help I am sure when the sun isn't shining (literally)either. You don't have to be grateful all the time (for your two earthside babies) because you will always miss Hope too. Always one missing.
ReplyDeleteA hard month, one to get through and grief is a process and you are still going through it. I doubt any of us will ever be fully done. Be gentle on yourself. And FWIW I agree with J - for myself coming up for 8 years, 4 years is still very early on. Hell 8 years feels like nothing sometimes.
I just want to give you a hug, and I know, soon I will xox
Sally, everything in my heart hurts for you. I want there to be something I can do to make it better for you. Rant, rave and write bitter, jealous tirades as often as you want into my inbox. I've already learned that those feelings rise like larva when too much is stirring inside you.
ReplyDeleteFour years is currently as unimaginable to me as walking on the moon. I'm in awe that you haven't ceased to exist entirely, so just by your sheer endurance you are being the perfect poster girl for the newly bereaved as far as I'm concerned. Not that it's your job.
You are in my every thought right now xoxox
I wanted to say what J. said but she said it better!
ReplyDeleteI have always believed that in the long run it's better to feel the feelings than try and bury them (or tie them up in tight pants). And besides, all these feelings - they all come out of our love, don't they? And we'll never not love them, so I can't believe there will ever be a time their birthday's, in particular, will ever be "just another day". I am fully expecting to find October pretty hard work for the rest of my life - and that's okay, not nice but I'm absolutely not going to apologise for it.
I am thinking of all of you and Hope so much at the moment.
Oh four years is not nearly long enough to wipe away a lifetime of dreams and hopes and possibilities. Not even close. I don't think you can ever get over this- I don't think we're meant to.
ReplyDeleteWe've only had the one birthday so far, with the second not far off. I have no advice on how to make this easier, I just hope that it is.
xox
Sally, I hope you don't feel that you have to be someone for the newly bereaved to aspire to. I have learned from you and found comfort in your words, and I know many other mothers have, too, but you should not be worried about modelling 'good' grief or anything else for the rest of us. Speaking for myself, one of the things that comforts me about reading the blogs of mothers who are much further out from their losses is knowing that it still hurts, that it never stops. That sounds strange, because I wish I didn't have to hurt at all, that my girl was here with me, but in the face of all the 'normal' people in my life (and on f***ing Facebook) I often feel like some sort of morbid freak because I'm still so devastated that my baby died. Reading your words, about how four years on you continue to miss that little girl and to rail against what happened to your family - that helps, because it means I'm not crazy. I'm not doing it wrong.
ReplyDeleteI'm wish Hope were here. I wish you had your three children all together for her birthday. I wish I could give you a real hug and give back to you some of what you give to so many.
I've been thinking about you constantly, Sally. I know this time of year is so hard for you, and this year there are so many mixed emotions. You don't have to behave or feel a certain way. You just have to get through, however you can.
ReplyDeleteSally, I am thinking of you & remembering your Hope and sending love. And wishing more than ever for that place where babylost parents could get together & just not worry, even for a little while, about brave faces and scaring others with our stories or about those expectations that we should be over it by now.
ReplyDeleteI'm so sorry about the pit. Something about this year (surely it's not just the Olympics) feels especially hard. I hope September is kinder, & that it's here soon.
Oh, Sal. I am under that shiny facade all the time. Sometimes, I even fool myself. But, these dates are so hard. They are so dreadful and we can't stop them from coming, and it doesn't matter what's going on (even a 1st birthday party to plan), it consumes you. Grief is UGLY, and you have faced it over and over, but it doesn't go away. It doesn't ever seem to give a break.
ReplyDeleteYou hang in there, my friend. We're here to listen.
Love to you.
Oh friend. I am sorry you're feeling so low. But no, big girls pants can wait because this is supposed to be rotten. And yes, you have lots of loveliness around you--but it's still rotten. Own the awfulness--we're listening and sending big hugs.
ReplyDeleteLots of love to you.
xo
I don't have anything as tough as you do to deal with but I still mourn the grandmother I lost 26 years ago and I still feel intensely jealous of friends who didn't have to go through 8 years and 6 miscarriages to get their babies and the friends who can go ahead and have baby number two without having to think about their age, their health, their bank balance and having to go through a frozen embryo cycle to even try. So, given that you have lost a child, I think that you are perfectly entitled to feel miserable and resentful (especially round the time of anniversaries - rough stuff) - if you need professional help, then clearly I need some too. Maybe not the rational, sensible response to your post, but, I think, the human one.
ReplyDeleteSally, you're right that I would have been horrified to read this early in my grief--to know that four years out it will hurt so much to miss her.
ReplyDeleteBut of course it hurts. My therapist always says that grief evolves and comes in waves but I never want to hear that because in the moment of grief it just IS and you forget that you felt differently before and that you'll feel differently later.
We'll always wish for them, though. That part will never change. I do hope that the hurting part gets softer for you soon, though.
Thinking of you all, and of Hope especially, and sending much love.
“(on grief) And you do come out of it, that’s true. After a year, after five. But you don’t come out of it like a train coming out of a tunnel, bursting through the downs into sunshine and that swift, rattling descent to the Channel; you come out of it as a gull comes out of an oil-slick. You are tarred and feathered for life.” ~Julian Barnes
ReplyDeleteWhat you're going through makes total sense to my aching, damaged heart. I don't hold you or anyone else who has lost a baby responsible for putting on a cheerful facade and telling me "It will get better." Because maybe it will some days, and then other times, it feels like Day 1. I know that I'm tarred and feathered for life.
I appreciate you sharing what's in your heart, for being honest about it--that is a gift. Thank you.
As far as FB goes, I really hate it but I'm trying to turn it into a different kind of experience, more of an authentic space. So far, I've gotten virtually ignored, but I keep trying anyway. An exercise in futility? And I often feel bitter, too. I think it goes with the tar and feathers.
Sending love to you and your dear Hope. xo
Yeah, friend, I hear you. There are many parents from our support group, some five or six years out, who still have these feelings. It's seems like such a common thread, part of the evolution of grief.
ReplyDeleteI'm fairly certain I'll always feel these emotions, that they will rise up in me from time to time, bouts of anger and jealousy and desperation, and I honestly can't really imagine another reality. You know? I feel like it would be strange to not feel such raw and heartbreaking emotions. My fucking daughter died. I held her. She was almost eight pounds of perfection and looked almost identical to her sister. And she will never be here.
It sure seems appropriate to have days like this.
J
We are only over a month out, and you don't scare me. Thank you for your story and to be honest, the fact that you are truthful. I don't imagine I will ever stop missing my baby girl. I hate July. I know I will always hate July. And thank you for paving the way for me to know it's okay to still fill so crappy - even if the world says I should be over it.
ReplyDeleteI am just over a month out. And you don't scare me. First off, thanks so much for sharing your story. But mostly, thanks for your honesty and for letting me know that when the world tells me to be over this, I won't be.
ReplyDeletexoxo,
J
Sorry for the double response.
ReplyDeleteSally,you are in my thoughts constantly this month. I'm not doing great, Florence's third passed last month, but it's August, and I'm still trying to adjust.
ReplyDeleteHold on tight, you can make it.
So much of what Jill says above seems right, I wish I'd read something like that a month ago.
x
Sally, even though it might not be what I want to hear, I appreciate that you're willing to be honest and share the truth of what you're going through. It helps me to give myself a break and relax some about the grief and angst I still feel. Sometimes I think the same thing - isn't it time to put on my big girl panties already?
ReplyDeleteWill be remembering your sweet girl and thinking of you as her birthday moves closer. xx
Count me in, Sally. August sucks. I've been angry, frustrated, crying, sad - just plain miserable (and miserable to be around). Standing with you and sending love and always remembering Hope.
ReplyDeleteI'll just echo what everyone else has already said. I think it's normal and healthy to grant yourself a little bit of patience and space to deal with "August" and Hope's death and Juliet's subsequent birth. I have 5 years of sucking down a giant faceful of joy/misery every August and I can tell you that it's like getting hit in the face with a baseball bat. The good, the bad, the full extent of possibility...sending strength your way, mama.
ReplyDeleteI know I don't know what the hell Im talking about. I know I'm only 5 and half months out. But I'll say this. You're amazing. In all the awful, downright shitty ways you're feeling... I don't picture myself to be any different. And like Josh said, I cant imagine any other reality. My kid died. That's a big fucking deal. It will never go away.
ReplyDeleteLove to you (and CW), for this month, and always.
I wrote a comment earlier, but it disappeared, because of user error, I'm sure. But what I wanted to say was that my God, August snuck up on me. When I first lost Lucia and came into this community, all my friends seemed to be grieving in August. First birthdays were like dominoes, falling together, one after the other. I had known you on her first birthday for almost eight months, and missed Hope then like I knew her, like you and I were old friends. I still do. I still grieve all these babies, particularly three plus years later when I can see what amazing parents you are, and I know you better even, I still grieve. August still gets caught in my chest, and seeps out my eyes. I don't have any words except the grief forces you to be honest, kicks your ass, makes you lose it in a grocer, and four years later, you know that that doesn't happen nearly as much as it once did. I just want to say that if I read this at a month out, I wouldn't be horrified, I think I would be grateful to know that at four years I wasn't like this every single day of my life. You know what I mean?
ReplyDeleteLove you. xo
Oh love. I'd second the comments above that anyone who expects you to 'just get over it' has no idea. I think you are right - that you just have to feel what you are feeling, warts and all, because if you try and squish yourself into some other shape, those feelings will just fester and come back to bite you. (Apologies for the mixed metaphor!) And yes, there are so many good things about having living children, but they co-exist with the grief rather than fix it. Sending love and thinking of you as you walk through these difficult days. xxxxxxxx
ReplyDeleteAs someone who is just under three years behind you on this wretched journey, I am actually reassured by your words. I know it sounds odd, but sometimes I question myself, tormenting myself with what others might be thinking: Do they think I'm being overly dramatic? Don't they think I should be over it already? Do they see him as a pregnancy, not a person? Not a real baby? Are they rolling their eyes behind my back whining, 'Oh God, here comes misery-guts again? am I making a mountain out of a molehill? Should I be over this by now?
ReplyDeleteIt reassures me to read that you are still in pain, because it shows me just how much our babies touched our lives. How they MATTERED. They were beautiful little people who were robbed. Their precious little lives wasted.
I can't think of anything sadder.
There's a respect and a marking of the magnitude of the loss in the lifelong grieving that I expect we will all be doing. And in some ways, I feel our babies deserve that. They didn't get much, but they get our lifelong devotion. We will always love and miss them.
Thinking of you and Hope and all of your precious family xx