A little understanding

In the days and weeks after Vivienne’s death, we got a lot of offers for “anything you need.” At the time, I couldn’t articulate what I needed. Now, with tomorrow being 5 months since she died, I think I’m finally figuring it out. What I need is understanding.

It’s a tough one to deliver on, because I know that people who have not walked this path cannot truly understand what it’s like. They can’t understand what it feels like to have all of your hopes and dreams crushed in a matter of hours. What it’s like to go through every part of giving birth knowing you won’t have a baby to take home when it’s done. What it’s like to wonder if there will ever be a time when you feel normal again. What it’s like to spend time with your daughter by sitting with her ashes and looking at the only pictures you will ever have. It’s hard to ask for people to understand what losing a child is like, and I don’t expect that kind of understanding.

The understanding that I need is to recognize that my daughter is real and that she matters. That just because I didn’t carry her full term, and she lived no longer than 8 minutes that she’s somehow less of a person. She cannot be replaced, in my heart or with another child.

The understanding that I need is that my grief is powerful, and that grieving is something that I need to do. I know that grief and sadness are uncomfortable for a lot of people. It’s something we’re supposed to help people out of, not sit with them while they’re in it. When someone is sad, it’s our job to cheer them up and let them know that everything will be OK. But here, that’s just not the case.

The understanding that I need is that I will grieve, in one way or another, for the rest of my life.  This doesn’t mean that I won’t laugh, have good times, or enjoy life. But, there will always be something missing from my life because my daughter isn’t here with me. I know that with time, the grief will change. It won’t always be the sharp and constant pain that I’ve felt these last few months. But it will always be with me because she is a part of me.

The understanding that I need most of all is to know that what I’m feeling is OK. It’s not a process with clear and consistent instructions for how to get through, and it’s not a linear path. Some days, I’ll move forward, some I’ll move backward, and some days, I may not move at all. There will be a day where I feel I’ve made a lot of progress in working through my grief, and the next day might feel like August 19^th all over again. There isn’t a “right way” to get through losing a child. For me, there’s only my way.

I’ve had some amazingly supportive people around me over the last 5 months. And the one consistent theme about their support is that it’s just support, not judgment and not attempts to fix things. No words of “it’s time to move on” or “you need to focus on something else” or “everything will be OK.” Just words of “I’m sorry” or “I’m here for you” and even “this sucks.” And I want to say thank you to those people. Thank you for taking this journey with me and supporting me through it. I know it isn’t easy, but I also know that I can’t do it alone.