May the road rise up to meet you. May the wind always be at your back.
May the sun shine warm upon your face, and rains fall soft upon your fields.
And until we meet again, May God hold you in the palm of His hand.
-Irish Blessing

Wednesday, May 11, 2011

I've Seemed to Hit "That Point"

The one that attaches itself to your future the very minute that your child dies. The one when people expect you to be you again. When it is no longer acceptable for you to want to stay home in your own cocoon of solitude which is away from pregnant women, babies, infants and young children (boys in my case). The point where your smiles can no longer be pasted on and your laughs can no longer be forced. The point when you are supposed to apply your mascara in the morning and have lush black lashes all day long. It is when you are supposed to emerge from your chrysalis of comfort re-energized, reinvigorated and ready to not only face life but to live life fully once again with your head held high, smile in place, heels on.

Except I am not there yet. Not even close to be honest. No one asks if I need help any longer, if I need a break, if there's anything they can do. My last and most true supporter has now also abandoned me, perhaps fed up with my grief or maybe with what my grief has done to me. This point probably sucks worse than the immediate aftermath of my child's death. Then I felt protected and surrounded by love. Now I feel alone in the desert, thirsty but too tired to even search for water anymore, desperate for an oasis to find me.

I want, no I need, for it to be okay to not want to be in public because I still dread seeing pregnant women and hearing babies cry, for it to be okay to avoid scheduling play dates for my daughter with her friend's mother because that woman has had five healthy children in eight years (two boys and three girls), for me to take my children to the park less because it is a magnet for pregnant women and young children who are all so much happier than I am, and for me to cry for my sons and sometimes for myself. I am trying to emerge but it's so hard and so much harder when all I feel is the weight of others' expectations.

6 comments:

  1. I believe that it IS okay for you to not want to do all of those things. Although, there will come a time when you run out of toilet paper and have to run to the store (if you can't get someone else to do it for you). But, until you're ready, I don't think you should HAVE to go somewhere you don't want to. It's a process. Everyone grieves differently. Who's to say that it's your time to come out of grieving?

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  2. Mandy,

    If anyone said anything less then this is normal and okay for you to not be ready then I just might want to punch them from my computer screen.

    You have had a long and tough road. You mourn two babies that you barely met. You have the right to grieve and be hugged still. Don't apologize for something natural...expected from a women that has lost so much.

    My heart goes out to you. I am always here. Email me any time, stop by the blog and leave a comment telling me you need someone...hugs
    ~Felicia

    (pinkpokadotz90@yahoo.com) (tanaleedavis.blogspot.com)

    ReplyDelete
  3. I wish I could give you a hug. I too hate this feeling. No one should be able to tell us when we are "better." No one should judge a grieving mother. I am sorry you are being pressured to resume normal life so soon- as if there is such a things as a normal life after you lose a child- or two. You are frequently in my thoughts and prayers.

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  4. I still hate doing those things and its been 8 months. No one should expect you to be over the loss of Eli, or Wyatt, for that matter. No one should ever judge you and, if they do, they don't deserve to know you. What you do in your life should be on your terms and no one else. I agree with Tiffany...life as we know it will never be "normal" again. Hugs.

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  5. Be gentle with your self. It has been almost 8 months since my son died and I still get a twist in my gut seeing pregnant women. I still tear up when I hear the cry of a baby. There is no magic time frame. Sending you hugs and prayers

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  6. I agree with the above comment - I hate others expectations that I should be better by a certain point in time. Those are the days I seek special comfort in the BLM world of blogs and emails, and babyloss books so I know I'm normal - and it's everyone else that is a bit crazy with their unrealistic expectations. I've found the "best" I can do is to take care of myself and set my own boundaries when I have the strength to do so.

    Love to you!

    ReplyDelete

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