I Was Counting on Forever

Mira should have been three months old this past weekend. With three months having gone by, many people expect you to being doing well, maybe not great, but better. Unfortunately, this is far from how those grieving actually feel. So what does grieving look like 13 weeks and 2 days after saying good-bye to your child? I can’t speak for everyone, but I can talk about my experience and say that the other loss moms I talk with express similar feelings and experiences.

Baby, why'd you leave me, why'd you have to go 

I was counting on forever, now I'll never know 

I can't even breathe 

It's like I'm looking from a distance, 

Standing in the background 

Everybody's saying, [she's] not coming home now, 

This can't be happening to me 

This is just a dream 

(Carrie Underwood) 

What does grieving your daughter look like? It looks like going to Target for some water, but passing the Easter Baskets and falling apart and crying while you look through them for 20 minutes until you find the one you would have bought, if she were still here. It looks like a mother sitting in a rocking chair reading books about grief instead of nursing an infant. It looks like tossing and turning at night, never getting any real sleep.

What does grieving the loss of your child sound like? It sounds like loud, gasping crying when you are in your car and you miss her more than ever. It sounds like the quiet ‘sniffles’ that come with almost silent tears falling down your cheeks as you get ready for bed each night and remember you are another day further away from the time she was alive.

What does the most painful event of your life feel like? It feels like vast emptiness. Emptiness in your arms, emptiness inside your body where she grew, and emptiness in your soul. It feels like the sharp, stabbing sting of those people in your life who don’t ask about your baby’s life or you. It feels like the constant inexplainable anxiety that is just under the surface, no matter what you are doing. It feels like the pressure of the tears in your eyes that are always right there, ready to appear with no notice at all. It feels like unfair bitterness, that is so unlike you, filling your mind when you see mothers complain on Facebook about sleepless nights (they know so little this level of exhaustion) or children saying “mommy” many times a day (what I wouldn’t give to have heard it just once). It feels like constantly being homesick, but never able to go home to your baby girl. It feels like brokenness beyond understanding.

Say something, I'm giving up on you 

I'll be the one, if you want me to 

Anywhere, I would've followed you 

Say something, I'm giving up on you 

And I am feeling so small 

It was over my head 

I knew nothing at all 

And I will stumble and fall 

I'm still learning to love 

Just starting to crawl… 

You're the one that I love 

And I'm saying goodbye 

(A Great Big World)

So what do you do? Give up? Maybe sometimes, but only for a little bit. The you get up and keep going. You keep going to make your daughter proud. You keep going so that her life can be honored. You keep going and find ways to help others, if you can. You can’t really decide to keep going forever, its not a once and done choice. You have decide each hour, each minute, of the day. Sometimes it feels hopeless, and you crawl under the covers or lay your head down on the table and just quit. But you get back up, for her. When you meet her again, you will be able to tell her that you took the love she brought into your life and used it for good.

Mira, I keep going for you, my dear sweet girl. You changed my life in so many ways. I will keep doing my best to share the love you gave me with others.