Grief and I, we do not get along. He is an unwelcome visitor who barges into my happiest of moments, and poops on my party. I'm over him, and am considering hiring a body guard to punch him in the face the next time he comes near me.
Everyone knows the expected stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining (where I spend most of my time), depression, and acceptance. I consider myself to be somewhat of a genius when it comes to self-awareness and introspective analysis. So it's annoyingly accurate to say that this unrelenting beast has effectively debunked everything I thought I knew about myself.
One of the craziest things about it to me, is that everyone who experiences grief, no matter how very different their circumstances, will swim through the same stages and emotions. Though each stage might vary in the degree of intensity for each person, the stages are, alas, the same.
For me, grief feels like an unmerry-go-round, and I can't seem to stop the ride.
Before I met Grief, my merry-go-round looked a little like this:
Happiness...trial...strength...perseverance...happiness. Done and done. I was a strong girl who overcame whatever obstacles stood in my path with grace, spirit, fortitude, and a smile.
My life now looks a little like this: Normalcy...anger...sadness...guilt...normalcy...anger...sadness...guilt...normalcy...anger... I think the movie Groundhogs Day would be a great analogy for my grief process, but I never watched the movie all the way through because the never-ending repetitive cycle stressed me out too badly to see it through to the end. I have always loved irony. That's ironic.
Also throw in the occasional shame that comes with people potentially realizing that I'm not as strong as I once was, and feelings of inadequacy at dealing with life. I now feel like a bumbling moron who stumbles through each day thinking, "Will this be a normal day, or a sad day, or a guilt-ridden day???" Most days, I'm at least a little pissed that I don't know which kind of day it will be. I'm a wee bit of a control freak, so this lack of control over my emotional state does not work for me.
Let it be said that I experience MANY moments of happiness during the course of each day, due to my loving husband, best baby ever, and fantastic network of loving family and friends. I am very aware of the many blessings that adorn my life!
But most days I still feel guilty. I feel guilty that I'm even still working through the grief process. I think I should be over it by now. I feel guilty that I'm struggling even though I only suffered one mid-term miscarriage, versus girls who suffer multiple miscarriages, who carry to term but deliver babies who don't survive, or who lose live babies/children. I feel guilty that I am jealous of those girls who got to give birth to and hold their babies, no matter the circumstances that ensued. I feel guilty that I can't seem to get it together and be normal. I feel guilty because I'm pretty certain I killed my baby, whether through too much negative energy and worry, or not taking good enough care of my body. (And this last statement, I recognize, is completely irrational. I have Grief to thank for that newfound personality trait.)
Some days I feel like I am absolutely losing my mind. I think by now my hormones have surely regulated themselves, so any feelings of insanity must just be a visit from Grief. He is a rude visitor, who shows up unannounced and stays just long enough to throw off my plans for the day, but not long enough to allow us to settle our differences.
I'm suffering the most lately with seeing pregnant girls who look to be as pregnant as I should be now, or those who are at the same point in their pregnancy as I was when I miscarried. I'm feeling hopeful that once the delivery date passes, I will feel some closure and readiness to move on. I do not hold tightly to this hope.
I miss my baby, and I rub my belly sometimes (especially when I cry), wishing that s/he was still in there. I regret wholeheartedly not asking for the testing that would have revealed the gender of my angel baby, and I battle daily with reliving the moment when I turned it down. I would very much like to be able to call my baby by name, but am unable to assign a name to a baby who does not have a boy or girl 'face'. I also wish we would have done the testing so that I might have some peace of mind about the irrational statement above. Even if it had identified that I was at fault, at least I'd know.
Again, I don't intend to forever dwell in this place, but I share my words in hopes that someone else who struggles might feel support from me. This space in the universe that I consume after having lost a baby is a very lonely space, and one that I think isn't easy for everyone to understand, even those who've suffered a similar loss. Some are able to just move on, and I'm envious of those who are. For those who aren't, I hope my words will serve as an offering of love and support.
I never used to be a regretful, pessimistic, cynical person. But then I met Grief. I've been trying to break up with him, because I don't like who I am with him, but it seems he's not so easy to shake.
Happy me is still in there, and I'm making every effort to share her with the world every day, but this is my struggle. Good grief!
