Grief

I don’t think I knew what grief was until today. I’m not sure what changed; maybe it was reading last night about a mom who just lost her baby, maybe it’s the shock of the past few weeks wearing off, maybe it’s hormone readjustment. Whatever it was, today has been painful. Compared to what I’ve experienced in the past two months, this hurt more than anything else. I had no clue this was coming or was even possible – how could I possibly feel worse than I did when I found out my baby would die, or than when he actually did?

One thing I’ve been grateful for is that I haven’t felt much anger. I know it’s a common part of grieving but it’s been nice feeling like everything went well as it could have, I wasn’t angry at God for the way things turned out, I didn’t have many regrets. Today I woke up feeling resentful, toward almost everyone and everything.

My sister-in-law and brother-in-law sent us a package with a book on grief that I picked up tonight, after hours of crying in agony. I was relieved to read from other parents who’d lost their baby that it’s normal to feel crazy, normal to be angry, normal to feel completely bewildered about how I feel, and that things will eventually get better. Someone described it as the emotional pain coming in slivers instead of in overwhelming waves. The book also talked about allowing yourself to grieve, and while I have tried to be honest in my recent posts, I’ve definitely toned my emotions down so as to not be too depressing or hopeless or heartbreaking.

I realized that I want to talk about this, I just don’t know how. If I’m crying I want to be alone, and if I’m with people, I can talk unemotionally – there’s no overlap where I cry in front of people and actually communicate how hard of a time I’m having. Writing, though, I can handle that.

So I made this list while I cried tonight of things I don’t want to say or feel. I’d like to think that “My baby just died” gives me license to be brutally honest, but let me also point out that because I’m grieving, and going through normal postpartum emotional wackiness, my feelings are not all rational. I acknowledge that. There’s my disclaimer that you should not be offended by anything on this list. Look for a post early next week that is much less self-centered and much more grateful. Disclaimer enough?

I don’t want to say these things or feel this way:

I wish I had been the one holding Christian when he died, not my father-in-law.

I wish everyone [my parents and in-laws] did not have their cameras out at the hospital. It seems selfish of them. I got a real photographer so I could have nice pictures, not so everyone could take blurry iPhone pictures.

I wish I’d had time alone with me and Jarom and Christian before Christian died. I couldn’t talk to Christian, I never said anything to him. At all. I never kissed him and I regret it. I didn’t tell him anything.

I wish I had gotten more sleep or been able to eat. I had nothing left to give by the time Christian was born and I feel like I let him down by not being more present.

I wish other people didn’t say that this was their loss too. It’s mine. I was pregnant, I felt Christian move, had to deliver him, had to deal with the physical pain of recovery, I made almost all the arrangements.

I wish I didn’t feel so resentful.

I wish my sister-in-law had been able to come to the burial.

I wish I’d hugged Christian tightly. I was afraid of holding him close and then having to let go.

I wish I was brave enough to actually ask for help. I’m so broken, I can’t function, but I have it in my head that everyone else has gone back to normal life and I don’t want to remind them that my baby died. I’m realizing I need to talk but I don’t want to make other people sad. When I cry I am screaming inside, I can’t do this – I need help – I need help – help help help please. But how can anyone help?

I wish I didn’t know so many people who are expecting healthy babies.

I feel guilty for something wishing I’d never decided to have a third baby. Then I wouldn’t have had to bury a son.

I don’t want to die, I just want to have Christian. I don’t want to die because it means leaving Jarom and Evan and June. But then I’d be with Christian.

I wish I’d made sure the photographer got a picture of just me holding Christian. I wish I’d had her take one from my perspective looking down at him in my arms. I’m afraid I’ll only remember that day from someone else’s point of view.

I wish Evan and June understood that I can’t handle them right now. I wish I could handle them. I feel inferior for not being able to keep up.

I wish I’d brought flowers to the burial.

I wish I were still pregnant and trying to talk Jarom into whatever boy’s name I liked at the moment. I wish I were designing birth announcements and debating whether or not to get an epidural and complaining about swollen calves and wondering why on earth I ever wanted to be pregnant.

I wish I knew how to say all this out loud.

I wish Christian hadn’t died.

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5 Comments on “Grief”

  1. Camile says:

    Oh, Mika! I am so sorry! I struggle to know how to let you know I’m here to listen or tend or clean or or or… I just also want to give you the space you need. I’m also afraid I’ll say something stupid. I don’t know how to be the friend you need right now, but I hope you know I have good intentions.

  2. Jim says:

    No offense. Only sorrow that you have to go through such pain, and I can’t fix it, or make it better.

  3. Alie Jones says:

    All of these are totally normal. I’ve felt many of them and I think it’s so important to express them, so props to you, girl.

    It’s so hard. Right now is so so hard. You wish that your sleepless nights were from caring for a baby, but instead they’re from crying. You have this physical desire to cradle your baby in your arms, but instead feel empty and alone. It’s not fair that he didn’t even get a chance to experience this life in its entirety. It’s just not fair and there’s so much you wish you could change.

    Wishing I could give you the biggest, warmest hug right now.

  4. Megan says:

    Mika, I wish there was something I could do for you. I’m so sorry you’re feeling all this, but I don’t think any of it is inappropriate. I think it’s your loss and whatever you feel about it is just how you feel. No right or wrong. And in case I haven’t said it explicitly, I am so sorry you lost Christian. I still think and pray for you guys a lot and can’t imagine your grief.

  5. Holly says:

    I can’t remember if I told you or not, but I was going to a counselor at LDS Family Services. Obviously for different reasons, but it was SO helpful to talk to someone and much easier to talk to a counselor than a friend/neighbor/family member. For me at least. I just talked to my bishop and he set it up for me. It’s located by Wasatch Elementary/Kiwanis Park kiddie corner of the creamery. If you decide to go I’d be happy to watch Evan and June for you since it’s by our house. It was incredibly helpful for me. I’d recommend going in the afternoon because usually afterwards I was so emotionally drained that all I could do was sleep. Or sit and cry some more. My heart aches for you.


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