And I hestitate to use the word “heal” because I don’t think you can heal from losing a baby, not from miscarriage or from stillbirth or any other go-awful way. Maybe “grieve” is a better word. Anyhow.
I often have people remark on how “strong” I am, how well I seem to be doing in spite of all the horror that has befallen us. I’m not sure I really deserve any admiration. Simply because I try very hard every day to not think about the horror that has befallen us. It’s not that I don’t know what happened or don’t accept that it happened to us. But I don’t really *think* about it.
Every now and then, the thoughts will creep in, like when I see a baby who is the age Jackson would be or I see a pregnant woman pushing a stroller or anything along those lines. The thoughts will touch along my subconsciousness before I push them away. Because I don’t want to get into that; I don’t have time, I don’t want to cry in public, I don’t want to make anyone upset… you get the idea. It does make me wonder if all this grief will be waiting for me, catch up with me one day when I least expect it, when I’m least capable with dealing with it.
In the meantime, I just shove the feelings and thoughts back. Because I’m a procrastinator at heart and I can’t bear the full weight of what I’ve lost.
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This is me. I'm a thirtysomething stay at home mom to three kids. For years I was a stay at home mom to one kid and trying very hard to have more. It took a LONG time (ie: 6 1/2 years), but finally Liam arrived and charmed us with his blue eyes and ginormous, round head. Then we got a shock: I was pregnant again and this time it was a GIRL. Our hearts and home are full at last and now that we're done having babies, we get to relax (snort) and watch them grow (not too fast now, you hear?). Thanks for coming by, feel free to dip into my archives, read my About and History pages (just don't do Jackson's Story without tissues!) and make yourself at home.
