i am still thinking about the dead baby mom.
i am thinking about being in the hospital, feeling so much like the only thing i was was mother of a dead baby. i think i thought that everyone who came in my room thought mainly about my dead baby, too. vulnerability is so scary.
i am thinking about the fact that when i tell people i had a dead baby last year, they are still just waiting to ask or tell me some other dumb-ass thing. i tell them about my dead baby so that they can know it happens to real flesh-and-blood faces. maybe they will remember when they hear about the next dead baby; maybe they will think about the fact that they heard that before and maybe it's not so rare after all.
we are all our own universes. sometimes it's hard to think about that. it's especially hard to think about it in relation to a dead baby. i think it's the feeling that she really, truly, only matters to ME. she was only alive to ME. she never lived and she's not counted.
i feel ridiculous to think it, because i know the answer, but are we really that alone?
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2 comments:
I know it's not uncommon to feel this way, but for the first month or so I felt completely and utterly isolated. Like there was no one on earth who knew them, who could relate too such a loss.
Among my greatest heartache is the idea that no one knew my sons but me and my husband. That they will only be invoked when this happens to someone else ("I have a friend who...")
Keep telling your story.
You know, I think there are more of us out there than we realize. I got a whiff of that last week, personally.
But I think you hit the grief right -- what's so hard about this is that only we know our children, only we can properly mourn them; if others chose to mourn, they mourn for us. Big difference. One wanes long before the other in my view.
Are you still thinking of doing OB/RN stuff? You sound like you'd be one helluva compassionate person to encounter.
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