Emerson would have been 3 months on October 28. The day came and went. I made mention of her and thought of her. It didn't overwhelm me. It didn't eat at me. It simply...was. I briefly thought back to the day of her birth and they days that followed. I snuggled her bear to bed. I don't think I even cried that day.
The weekend before, October 22, we took Roscoe to "Boo at the Zoo". We put his dragon suit on and we walked him through the exhibits and the many, many, many....did I mention many? people. We hit the candy stations. We called it a night. There were so many little babies, specifically baby girls. Their were babies in Halloween pajamas and babies in Halloween onesies and babies in Halloween costumes. There were giant Halloween headbows. There were equally as many "ready to pop" pregnant women. I passed each one. I offered a smile. I didn't cringe. I didn't cry. I didn't try to kidnap any babies and I didn't push any pregnant women. I didn't lose it. I made a passing comment to Matt about the suckiness of not having Emerson here. We moved on.
On October 20 my sister in law gave birth to their new baby girl, Emerson's cousin. The night before her induction I was a slight mess....ecstatic for them....sad....really really really sad for me. I decided I wasn't going to wallow. I was sad for me...but this day....the day of my nieces birth....it was not about me. It was about her and her mommy and her daddy and her sister. So I didn't cry that day. I waited patiently for the announcement of her arrival. I looked at her picture. I didn't cry. When I saw the picture of all them...mommy, daddy, sister and baby....I cried. I cried for me. I cried for my family of 4 that physically is only a family of 3. I cried for the pictures I didn't get to take with Emerson and Roscoe together. I cried for the celebration of Emerson's safe arrival that we didn't have.
So that timeline there is a little backwards. That's just the way it came out. That's a little of what Halloween has brought to my plate. It's the first "major" holiday that should have been Emerson's first.
A lady at my support group tonight told me it was brave to go to "Boo at the Zoo". I don't know if it was brave or not. I just know that it was a lot of fun for Roscoe and I can't just sit at home and avoid all the babies and pregnant women just because my baby died. It's not like it's the other babies fault. It's not the fault of the other pregnant women. These people don't even know me. They don't know my story. They are completely unaware of my dead baby. So, I don't really think it was brave. It was just...right. It was the right thing to do for Roscoe. To let him still enjoy his childhood and the things we can do with him. The same thing with the mall trick or treating. I can't just avoid these public places because there might be a pregnant lady or a baby. I have to grocery shop, I have to get gas, I have to go to work, I have to run errands, I have to go to appointments....this is functional life and having a dead baby is not an "opt out" for a functioning life. What kind of childhood memories would I give to my living son if I boarded myself up in my house, laid out on the couch and wallowed in self-pity over my dead daughter? So, if I have learned anything (and oh have I learned things....) from Emerson's death, it's to appreciate Roscoe's life. To give him the best childhood I am capable of giving him. To make sure he gets to participate and enjoy the little fun things in life. Like "Boo at the Zoo" and trick or treating.
That's actually not where I was originally going with this blog. I actually intended to write about my anger stage of grief. But the more I typed, the less angry I felt. As the words formed into my head and the emotions came forth. this is what came out. I'm as surprised as anyone else by this blog. I didn't come here with anticipation of writing about appreciating Roscoe's childhood. I came here to rant and rave and vent about not having Emerson. I wanted to write about how the 2 baby announcements and the gender reveal on my news feed today pricked at my heart. And yes, I am in a bit of an angry stage. It's a hard stage...because I am not angry at God. I am not angry AT anyone. I have nowhere to direct this anger. I feel a little bit like my 2 year old right now....I just want to throw a fit but I don't really know where or who to direct that towards. I feel like the bratty kid who didn't get her way but watches as everyone around her is getting their way....but it's not actually anyone else's fault that I didn't get my way. It would be much easier if I had somewhere or someone to direct these emotions towards...to throw it at them and get it away from me. It's just another part of the grief journey that I am on and some where along the way...hopefully sooner than later...this part will pass....and then I will delve into the next part.
"Grief, when allowed to progress naturally, tends to come in waves. After the first initial shock of the loss abates, waves of sorrow begin to wash over you rather unpredictably. At first the waves are huge and close together and you are afraid that you will drown. Eventually, they get smaller and more manageable,and you grow less afraid of them, although a big one can still take you by surprise. The phrase (working through) grief means that you are able to get to the point where you can just stand there and let the waves sweep over you and not try to run or pretend you're not getting soaked. Standing there feeling the waves, you start to realize that this is as bad its going to get and you begin to understand that you are going to survive. That's when you start to pass through to the other side of mourning: accepting and making peace with your loss" -Kim Kluger- Bell from a book titled Unspeakable Losses
No comments:
Post a Comment