What I Wish More People Understood About Me Losing My Baby
I'm
learning a lot on my journey. I thought I'd share some things that I
have learned and that I wish more people understood about losing a baby before they are full term. I know not everyone is me, but maybe this will help someone support another grieving parent on a
sacred journey they never wanted or expected to take.
Sometimes I feel guilty about my grief over the loss of my little one. I tell myself I'm not the only one to have ever gone through this. Society tells me I should not feel grief for long because this child never lived outside of my body. I know that life cannot stop because of my grief. I also know I want to be happy for others even when the sadness comes bubbling up.
The following are my thoughts and feelings with some quotes from Paula Stevens, who I felt had similar feelings about her grieving processes.
First, It has been really hard to have a group of friends who have due dates around mine. I am excited for them, but that doesn't mean it isn't hard. One thing that has meant the world is having others who are pregnant grieve with me; Women who let my tears fall and validate my grief and realize that it isn't that I am not happy for them, or that I don't understand the aches and pains that come with being pregnant, but I am sad that I am no longer in the same place they are. They were not offended when I said, "it's hard and my heart hurts".
And on that note, this is what I would love for you to know.....
Please:
1. Remember my Baby.
The loss of my pregnancy has been a heart wrenching experience and it is a degree of suffering
that is impossible to grasp without experiencing it first hand. Often,
when we know someone else is experiencing grief it becomes the elephant in the room. However, I want the world to remember my
baby, even though my baby was not carried to full term.
My sweet baby's short life of 12 1/2 weeks gestation mattered. Don't be afraid to acknowledge my little one. I am the mother of six children......................five here on earth and one beyond the veil.
2. Accept that you can't "fix" me.
The unexpected loss of my pregnancy is something that really cannot be fixed by anyone other than my Savior, and it is not done overnight! I am learning
to pick up the pieces and move forward, but my life will never be the
same.
"Every grieving parent must find a way to continue to live
with loss. We appreciate your support and
hope you can be patient with us as we find our way. Please:
don't tell us it's time to get back to life, that's it's been long
enough, or that time heals all wounds. We welcome your support and love,
and we know sometimes it is hard to watch.....Our heartache is something to observe, recognize and accept."
Please don't try to mask over my grief, or change the subject, or tell me how happy I sound. (see #4)
Please tell me how sorry you are and/or that I am in your prayers. Those are the most comforting words. Nothing else needs to be said. I know others want to see me smile or take the pain away, but most other things said may seem helpful to you, but usually end up causing more pain.
3. Understand that at first there are two days each month that are hard, as well as two to three days a year that are "an anniversary."
I still get emotional on the 25th and 2nd of each month. Those days of each month are a marker of how long it's been since the day that I found out there was no heartbeat, and the day our sweet one was actually delivered. At times this seems like a lonely journey because no one else remembers those days. Once August passes, which would have been my due date, I'm sure February 25th and March 2nd will be days that will be hard each year, and maybe August will always be a hard month. As what was to be the due date approaches, my
heart aches to celebrate what was to be our baby's arrival into this world, and I am acutely aware and sensitive of the hole in my heart and the ache in my arms.
"Then there's the anniversary of
the date our child became an angel. This is a remarkable process similar
to a parent of a newborn, first counting the days, then months, then the
one year anniversary, marking the time on the other side of that
crevasse in our lives"
4. Realize that sometimes there usually isn't a week, or sometimes a day, that doesn't go by when I don't cry.
" As bereaved parents, we are constantly balancing holding
grief in one hand and a happy life after loss in the other."
Sometimes it is just a wave that washes over me while I am doing the dishes, or when I watch the kids together and wonder what that little one would be like and how the older kids would be loving on our sweet one.
Finally,
To echo the previous sentence
5. Accept that my loss might make you uncomfortable.
The loss of my sweet baby, who I long for, love, planned and dreamed for, turned my world upside down. I try not to show my grief in front of others, but if you ever observe
it please don't minimize it, don't walk away, don't change the subject. You may not know what to say or do, you may worry about saying the wrong
thing, and you're afraid you might make me emotional. I may cry.
It may be uncomfortable but " — witness it with me and be part
of my process."
"We've learned all of this as part of what we're learning about
grief. I will never forget my baby. And in fact, my loss is
always right under the surface of other emotions, even happiness. I
would rather lose it because you spoke about my baby, than try and shield myself from the pain and live in denial.
Grief is the pendulum swing of love.
The stronger and deeper the love the more grief will be created on the
other side. Consider it a sacred opportunity to stand shoulder to
shoulder with someone who has endured one of life's heartbreaking
events."
6. Keep me in your prayers.
As much as I know, and tell myself often, that my Savior is walking this journey with me, that my Heavenly Father has a plan, and that through my Savior's atonement my heart can be mended and made whole, it still hurts, my arms still long to hold my sweet baby, and tears still fall. Pray that happiness will prevail on those hard days and that I will humbly endure this journey until "Sunday comes."
