When I retired my blog after Gemma Hope was born I didn't want to write about my grief. I didn't want people to know that I was judging them for what they did and did not say. For what they did and did not do. I did not want people to know that when they could not see or hear me I was sobbing uncontrollably in the shower, frozen with grief. That for days my hands felt empty, empty for my baby to hold. A feeling that I could not shake.
That my heart broke when my breast filled with milk ,with no baby to feed. That I mourned when my milk went away. I wanted it, but I could not keep it. That I packed my bags two weeks before, knowing the end was near. That I drove all over town looking for preemie outfits only to leave empty handed. Because there is no store for parents in our situation. That I bought a little bunting for her online. Knowing it would be way to big.
I did not know that people would not ask me about Gemma. That they would not want to know what happened to her. That they would not tell me they miss her or that they wished she was still here or that they love her. That they would not tell me they were so sorry for what happened. It feels like unfinished business between us. Business that needs to be settle before we can move on.
I didn't know that I would want to keep the memory of her short life alive with me forever. I didn't know that as I struggle to find ways to honor her, I would worry about what people will think. Will it be awkward or uncomfortable? Are they ready to move on? Should I be too?
I didn't know that I would want to be pregnant again. That I new immediately that I still wanted to raise our child. That having Gemma then loosing her had not ruined parenthood for me. That it made it even stronger. That imagining being pregnant with Gemma's sister or brother gives me a feeling of excitement and happiness. Something delightful to look forward to. Something other than this eternal grief.
I didn't know that I would wonder how the world could go on around me. That I would not care when people wanted to talk to me about their problem. Still I struggle when people talk to me. My head in not there. I am still deep in grief and I have to force myself to engage and be present in the moment. Sometimes I really don't hear what people are saying. Then I realize they are talking to me. Can't they see. I just don't care.
I didn't know that seeing a little girl with her parents would practicably cripple me. That my chest would ache with milk. That It would feel like I was staggering away as I kept from breaking down. I didn't know that I would want to buy her things. That I have to force myself not to buy her toys and books and clothes. I didn't know that every time I would pass a baby clothes rack I would reach out and touch it. That I would want to grab and hug the cute little girl clothes.
I didn't know that coming home without Gemma felt like I forgot her somewhere. A moment of panic would hit me, then that heart wrenching sadness of realization. I think that is why they call it a loss. You feel like you lost something, and you can not find it anywhere. Gemma Hope is my favorite thing in the world. I am honored to have been given the opportunity to love her and care for her for as long as we have.
I didn't know that me and my life was not waiting for me when I came home. That on top of extreme sadness I would have to navigate a new way of being me. Would have to test the waters of this new life. Surrounded by people that only know the old me. The old me is lost too, they just can't see it. And, I, I can't hear them. I wonder when we will all mesh again.
Sometimes I feel bad for crying. Knowing that Gemma would not want that for me. I am just not ready. I cry
I didn't know that I would have to choose the type of baby loss mama I wanted to be. I would have to choose to be angry, distant, or hopeful.
I choose love. I choose to grieve out of love, not fear. I choose love.
That my heart broke when my breast filled with milk ,with no baby to feed. That I mourned when my milk went away. I wanted it, but I could not keep it. That I packed my bags two weeks before, knowing the end was near. That I drove all over town looking for preemie outfits only to leave empty handed. Because there is no store for parents in our situation. That I bought a little bunting for her online. Knowing it would be way to big.
I did not know that people would not ask me about Gemma. That they would not want to know what happened to her. That they would not tell me they miss her or that they wished she was still here or that they love her. That they would not tell me they were so sorry for what happened. It feels like unfinished business between us. Business that needs to be settle before we can move on.
I didn't know that I would want to keep the memory of her short life alive with me forever. I didn't know that as I struggle to find ways to honor her, I would worry about what people will think. Will it be awkward or uncomfortable? Are they ready to move on? Should I be too?
I didn't know that I would want to be pregnant again. That I new immediately that I still wanted to raise our child. That having Gemma then loosing her had not ruined parenthood for me. That it made it even stronger. That imagining being pregnant with Gemma's sister or brother gives me a feeling of excitement and happiness. Something delightful to look forward to. Something other than this eternal grief.
I didn't know that I would wonder how the world could go on around me. That I would not care when people wanted to talk to me about their problem. Still I struggle when people talk to me. My head in not there. I am still deep in grief and I have to force myself to engage and be present in the moment. Sometimes I really don't hear what people are saying. Then I realize they are talking to me. Can't they see. I just don't care.
I didn't know that seeing a little girl with her parents would practicably cripple me. That my chest would ache with milk. That It would feel like I was staggering away as I kept from breaking down. I didn't know that I would want to buy her things. That I have to force myself not to buy her toys and books and clothes. I didn't know that every time I would pass a baby clothes rack I would reach out and touch it. That I would want to grab and hug the cute little girl clothes.
I didn't know that coming home without Gemma felt like I forgot her somewhere. A moment of panic would hit me, then that heart wrenching sadness of realization. I think that is why they call it a loss. You feel like you lost something, and you can not find it anywhere. Gemma Hope is my favorite thing in the world. I am honored to have been given the opportunity to love her and care for her for as long as we have.
I didn't know that me and my life was not waiting for me when I came home. That on top of extreme sadness I would have to navigate a new way of being me. Would have to test the waters of this new life. Surrounded by people that only know the old me. The old me is lost too, they just can't see it. And, I, I can't hear them. I wonder when we will all mesh again.
Sometimes I feel bad for crying. Knowing that Gemma would not want that for me. I am just not ready. I cry
I didn't know that I would have to choose the type of baby loss mama I wanted to be. I would have to choose to be angry, distant, or hopeful.
I choose love. I choose to grieve out of love, not fear. I choose love.
