Lesley W. shared this with me and I love it and think it is just perfect, so I thought I’d share it with you all too.
Infant Loss
Someone Else’s Story
Sometimes I look at these things I share and I feel as if I’m reading someone else’s story. Surely this isn’t my journey. Surely that person is not me. This person doesn’t look or speak like me, because I couldn’t possibly be going through something like this. And I’m perplexed. Because how could this happen?
I read all the books, took all the vitamins, ate organic, switched my beauty products to natural or organic products. I did it all right. I followed the rules. I prayed over Brielle’s future before she was even conceived. We planned Brielle’s timing three years in advance. I played the game everyone wants me to play, so who is that person saying she is me?
I’ve waited for Brielle my whole life. My whole life I’ve waited for this time of my life. I’ve always known that my purpose and path in life was not to begin until now. And I’ve waited. I’ve endured and I’ve suffered. When things in my teenage years broke me, I pushed through and survived so that I could be a mom. When gastroparesis took away everything I had and nearly took me with it, I pushed through so that I could be a mom. I have spent my whole life fighting for the right to be Brielle’s mother, to be a mom. Every decision and step I’ve taken in my life has been for this child. Some people search their whole lives for who they are, but I always knew. I always felt as if I was in someone else’s skin, biding my time until I could be myself, until I could be free to begin.
When I read these stories, see these pictures, I wonder who that person is. I have been through enough, so who is this person saying she is me? From the outside my life may have looked happy, but for the past fifteen years I have suffered, struggled, and fought for every bit of happiness I’ve had. I have not had reprieve in so long, this was to be my reprieve. My light in all of my darkness. So who is this woman who says this is my path? This was not to be. I was going to be happy. I was going to see my beautiful little girl, this was not to be my path. I don’t need an answer to why bad things happen to good people. I already know the answer. What I want to know, is will I only know the bad? Will everything that could go wrong in a life find me?
All I want is to see my little girl grow up, I want to see her smile, and live a long, healthy, happy life. She’s not supposed to know this sadness, she deserves a life of sunshine and laughter. If I had the power, I’d move heaven and earth and give it to her. I’d be whatever I needed to be to give her a beautiful and perfect future. I’d bend the will of man to ensure her happiness, all for her smile, all I want is a lifetime with her smile. I want to see wrinkles and smile lines. And I want to hear the laughter of her children. I want to live a lifetime with that future, a future with her.
Resentment Solves Nothing
Sometimes I want to hurt God the way he hurt me. I want to punish him for taking away Brielle. How could he hurt me that way? How could he let that happen? Have I not been good enough? Is this punishment or some cruel twist of fate? I’ll get so angry and I’ll have a desire to get even with God. I want to inflict the same damage he inflicted on me.
Of course then it hits me, he already suffered the same loss I did. And so I can’t get even. His son died so that Brielle and I could be together for eternity. And then I feel bad for God. I want to console him and help him through the pain. How horrible to sacrifice your son for generations of other children. To know that not all of your children will be with you for eternity. And I ache for him. I now can understand that pain and it makes me sad.
I realize how foolish I am and also how incredibly thankful I am. Losing Brielle has made me understand God so much better. He doesn’t seem quite as out of reach. Rather like an old friend that can hold my hand and offer me a shoulder to cry on. He’s already walked this path, he knows my pain, and he didn’t want this for me. I know he didn’t want this for Brielle or I. I can’t explain a relationship with God, but there is a comfort there that passes understanding.
And when I let my anger and hurt subside I feel his comfort and I understand his pain. The pain he must feel for me, to watch me suffer. He never wanted this for us. But humanity chose and continues to choose this path. A path of anger, bitterness, and hate. We all hurt others, whether overtly or inadvertently. I can’t blame God for this.
David and I have a genetic reason for this defect. Medical professionals have chosen for decades to dispose of these babies instead of learning about them. Due to ignorance and a general dislike of anencephalic babies, there is little known about them and little can be done for them. And those are facts of life. Facts we all have to navigate around.
I don’t know why God didn’t swoop in and save the day, but there must be a pretty good reason, because I know he doesn’t want me to hurt. And so while I’m angry with the situation and I get angry with the world, I am not angry with God. Because this isn’t God’s fault. This is the burden we all carry for living in a world that is less than perfect.
Comforting Others
One of my fears or anxieties that I’ve developed since Brielle has died, is the fear and knowledge that people will assume I’ve never had children. I’m young and I’m not toting around a baby. I find myself wondering how I’ll react when someone says, “Oh you’ll understand one day when you have kids.” Or “When do you plan on having children?”
Even before Brielle, these statements always sounded incredibly condescending or prying. And now I have to navigate them with an additional layer of pain. I’m really not sure how to properly respond. And I find that when I’m not prepared I generally blurt out whatever comes to mind. For instance, my first thought is to say, “I do have a child and she’s dead.” And that really isn’t the best way to handle a situation like that.
I did do well the other day (at least I think I did) when a waitress asked how old my daughter is. She asked because I mentioned I could finally eat rarer meat. I told her, “She would have been one month.” The waitress caught what I was saying and left it at that.
I find myself wondering how to freely talk about Brielle without upsetting other people with the reality that my daughter died. How to be polite about death. This really wasn’t something I ever envisioned having to think about or prepare for. This whole situation is strange. And I still want to talk about Brielle. But I don’t want to console others either. People get so upset when they find out and I just want to tell them about Brielle, I don’t want to have to tell them it’s okay and effectively make them feel better about the situation.
I wish we weren’t so uncomfortable about death. It happens all the time. And we (myself included) go about life acting like it doesn’t happen. Or it couldn’t possibly happen to us. We get uncomfortable around people who have just experienced it, like it’s contagious. And instead of accepting it, we push it away and when it does happen we’re left wondering how to handle it. And here I am, wondering how to make others comfortable about Brielle’s death. Strange isn’t it?
My One Week Check Up
I wrote this after my one week check up: Yesterday was my one week check up. It hurt going into the office for the first time without Brielle. It felt so very wrong. And I was okay, I kept it together, until another new mother came into the empty waiting room. Out of all the chairs she sat right next to me, with her brand new baby girl, and began nursing her. I turned my back to her, held David’s hand, and started crying. Thankfully, the staff is very kind at SeeBaby and the nurse that always takes care of me quickly got me into a room.
David and I struggled to get it together while we waited for the midwife to see us. The midwife was nice, thankfully knew our Brielle had died, and was very kind to us. My incision looked “beautiful” and “perfect.” I’m healing very well and she’s very happy with my progress. I know everyone cares about that, but I don’t. I just don’t care about much anymore. I feel numb.
I needed to pick up a few things at Target, I was in a lot of pain, but I needed a few things. We passed the baby aisle and I saw Christmas bows for infants and sweet little outfits. I leaned on David and cried. I walked through Target crying. David physically held me up when the pain was too much, he held my hand when I was too numb to make a decision or move. He guided me through Target and let me have “retail therapy” as he calls it.
All I could think about as we shopped, was how Brielle should be here. She should have a crib. She should have a Christmas this year. I should have celebrated Christmas with her, why didn’t I do that? We could have done that for her 25th week. I should buy her a stocking, but it has to be perfect. Brielle should be here.
There were screaming babies everywhere, families out with their children, having lunch with their children. Kids in the toy aisle. We left the parking lot and a blonde little girl around seven skipped in the crosswalk in front of us with a big pink balloon and waved hello to us with a huge smile. I waved back and cried. Brielle would be like that little girl.
I miss her. I miss my baby. My arms are empty and my body craves a baby, it knows there is supposed to be a baby here. And she’s not here. I find myself wanting to try again soon, I need a baby. But I don’t want a baby, I want Brielle. I don’t want another little girl or little boy, I want Brielle. I want her silly personality, her strange taste in music, her pure beautiful heart. No one else is like her, and I want her. I miss her. I need her. No one else, just my beautiful Brielle.
lovingbrielle.com 