My phone pinged the other day, the text started “Hope you are feeling so much better,” and another read, “I see you are doing great now!” It boggles my mind! Wow! What kind of appearance do people choose to see in me? It’s been five months, Shouldn’t she feel better? Which stage of grief is she in now?
I held back from writing until I found the right words to articulate my feelings. I went through a phase where my mind was foggy, and my words were jumbled. But right now, Grief and I are starting to better understand each other. And time, although is not healing it’s changing the form of grief.
Physically, my body is still going through postpartum. Let me fill you in if you don’t know what that means! Women go through postpartum after days of labor and bleeding for weeks. It’s been five months. Shouldn’t it be better? Well, My milk still leaks, I am still feeling the phantom kicks, and my hormones are still up in the air. I am still carrying the baby’s weight, together with the weight of grief.
And calendar-wise, we are entering into the days, last year the same time, when we found out we were pregnant with Elliot, the first doctor’s appointment, seeing the first flutters on screen, the disbelief, and happy tears.
Sometimes, it feels like everything happened in a dream. And other times, I am drowning, and as I try to catch my breath, I fail, I suffocate. All of Elliot’s milestones have now turned into “Would-be’s” and “Should-be’s.”
Meanwhile, I am comforting others who are grieving their secondary loss. They lost a precious friend they had in me. Because the Agnes they know once have changed after she became a mother. She is now a mother who is feathering an empty nest. With her son’s clothes and toys piled up in the basement, diapers untouched, the crib disassembled, and dust piled up on the baby stroller.
I am tired. Tired of people trying to fix me
Tired of being ignored, as my presence reminds them that babies could die.
Tired of people asking me how I am doing and not wanting to hear the real answer
Tired of telling people that I am fine to protect myself
Tried of trying not to make them feel uncomfortable
Tired of explaining why I grieve this way
Tired of grieving lost friendships and relationships
Tired of people’s shameless advice
Tired of people asking me not to worry,
To be happy, to relax, to be healthy, to believe, and to pray hard!
Tired of wrestling with God and throwing tantrums at Him.
But, Slowly, I am navigating towards the clan we found for ourselves. “Baby loss community”- That’s what we are called. We are a bunch of strangers who happen to speak the same language and have hearts with love for our children in heaven. Circumstances made us join the club that no one wanted to be part of. But I cannot ask for a better group of people. There is no pride, no ego, and no at least. We share our babies’ pictures and ideas on how to decorate our babies’ graves. And have difficult conversations while wearing hearts on our sleeves.
Grief is here to stay lifelong, and it is becoming a part of me, a part of my identity. I am starting to see better days while still missing my boy so dearly.
We are finding new ways to include and normalize Elliot in our family. His paintings are hanging on the wall, photos are being printed, his grave is visited by his 3-year-old niece and his name is written on the sand.
And the right people slowly finding their way into our new normal.
