I can think back to the days just after losing her. I
remember feeling so alone. In the midst of all the love and support, I remember
thinking to myself that they just didn’t get it. I heard it all. I think a lot
about the day after, and what I wished someone, anyone, would have said to me.
” I wish someone had been honest enough to stop saying “it’ll be okay” and
start saying “ this is going to be the worst pain you’ve ever felt in your
life, but you’re going to be strong, and overcome it, and come out better
because that’s who you are. I could have used that support. The truth is, as I
sit here today, that I am part of an elite club, the kind of club that no one
WANTS to be a part of. I didn’t WANT this. I didn’t WANT to be the mama of a
dead baby. I didn’t want to grieve. I didn’t want to fold up tiny pink dresses
and lock them away. I didn’t want to see myself like this. I didn’t want to
WANT to find ways to replace her, and know that truly, I never will. When
you’re little, you play pretend. You play house, and there’s a mommy and a
daddy, and there are babies. In those games you play when you’re younger….the
baby never dies. The baby never goes away. Why is that not something you can
even fathom as a reality until it hits you? I wish there had been something to
prepare me for the possibility that she might not be. I just wasn’t ready for
it. This week, as we near ever closer to her birthday, I find myself thinking
again of those days, and I find…whether I admit it or not, that it’s consuming
me. Does this hurt ever stop? Does it ever change? Will I eventually wake up
without the stabbing pain that comes with knowing my daughter is dead? The
truth is, I’ve been overcome with anxiety. The kind that…at times can be
debilitating. I find myself crying, in the bathroom, in the middle of the day,
for what often feels like no reason, but I know the truth. Daniel, he tries so
hard. He listens to me, he loves me, and he knows. Deep down, he knows that my
repetitive words, my constant “I’m fines” are just lies. Lies not to make him
feel better, but to make me feel better. He knows my heart, he knows my hurt.
All the lies in the world couldn’t keep him from knowing how I truly feel. It
strikes me as odd sometimes that it still hurts like this after all this time,
when it doesn’t hurt anyone else. What are these feelings I am holding on to?
What is the normal way to grieve your child? What is the correct feeling? Is it
normal that sometimes, in the middle of the night, when I just can’t sleep, I
walk quietly into the kitchen where her things are and just stare? Is it normal
that I play her songs, that I imagine what it would feel like to sing them to
her? Is it normal that I sometimes feel like I am doing a disservice to Owen by
still wanting her and needing her so much? How do you define normal in a
situation that is affected in so many aspects, in so many ways, to so many
people? What is right? It’s hard to grieve for her outwardly, it’s awkward. Few
people want to hear about your dead daughter. Few people really care. Besides
that, what can I tell you about Bells that I haven’t already said? What can I
tell you about the amazing being she was even though I didn’t even really know
her? I can tell you I love her. I can tell you that I have a lot of guilt, a
lot of anger, and a lot of unresolved feelings. I lock those feelings in a box,
and I struggle with them daily. I try to work them out, I try to make them make
sense. Underneath those feelings, is the most important one. It’s love. I’ll
never forget her. It’ll never go away. The trick will be opening up that box,
letting out my anger, my guilt, and my grief, so that all that remains
is….love.
