My Experience of Grief

This past Monday, September 12th, was our son Michael’s due date. For those of you who are new here, we lost him at 22 weeks on Mother’s Day. For months, I was fearing his due date. I feared what it might do to me, or how it would make me feel. I feared whether I would be okay. Would it be my grand undoing?

Lately, my emotions are like a monster lurking in the shadows. I’m terrified of them, because I have no control anymore. They’ve taken on a life of their own. As a person who isn’t outwardly emotional by nature, this is a new side to me. One minute I’ll be smiling, the next I’ll be sobbing. Sometimes I have no idea what sets me off.

After building up Michael’s due date in my head for months, I got through it better than I thought. Whenever I’d start to feel down, I’d remind myself that a due date has no real meaning. As we all know, babies are rarely born on their due dates. Ryan and I took the day off, so we kept busy all day doing things we enjoy. We went to the dog park, worked on house projects, and watched our favorite TV shows. After the day was over, I breathed a sigh of relief. I did it. I made it through. It feels wrong to say this, but I also felt a sense of closure. It felt like I was closing the chapter on my pregnancy that was cut short.

I know grief well by now. It’s my constant companion. I see how it affects my daily life. It feels like a debilitating disease, clouding my human experience. I know some aspects of grief are temporary, while others will never go away.

Today, I feel ready to talk about my grief in a way that might help someone else who’s just been through the worst day of their life.

The Physical Affects of Grief

Physically, my grief has made me tired. Tired in a way I never thought possible. I feel ten years older, and it hasn’t gotten any better. Everything wears me out. In particular, social interactions. I haven’t seen people outside my tight inner circle, because it’s hard to pretend I’m okay. I don’t know how to smile through dinner. I have to try really hard to act like my old self. Because of this, social interactions feel like work. I don’t have the attention span I used to, so it’s hard to be a good listener. I’ve had some old friends reach out after hearing about our loss. Sadly, I haven’t called anyone back yet. Mostly because I don’t know what to do or say. I’m assuming this aspect of grief will eventually fade, but it’s taking longer than I expected. I thought I’d have more energy by now.

Since losing Michael, I’m more accident prone. I catch myself zoning out a lot, bumping into furniture or dropping things. In these times, I’m not even necessarily thinking about Michael. I’m just physically and mentally tired from riding the rollercoaster of grief. I’m more forgetful too. I don’t feel sharp like my old self. I feel hazy and detached.

On the inside, I feel empty. Like I’m just going through the motions of life. On the positive side, little things don’t get to me anymore. Small setbacks in my daily life feel unimportant. I’m uninterested in a lot of the things that used to make me happy. I feel like a shell of the personal I once was. I look like me, but I feel mostly hollow on the inside. I’m slowly trying to get my zest for life back.

What’s Helped

In the beginning, I wasn’t excited about anything. The future meant nothing to me. It felt like a black hole. Despite that, I forced myself to plan things I could look forward to. When we first lost Michael, we took a trip to Hawaii for 10 days. Having that trip on the calendar gave me something to be mildly excited about. And getting out of town definitely gave me relief for a while. It was great. I should have been more excited leading up to the trip, but a small reaction was all I could muster. Small reactions are everything to me now. In those little moments, I feel connected to my old self. Every time I laugh just a little, I feel hopeful that I’m going to be okay. I’ve also started making a bucket list and setting goals again. I recently purchased the Best Year Journal, because I really need next year to be better than this year. It’s been difficult to set goals, but it’s allowed me to see light at the end of the tunnel. It’s also allowed me to feel a sense of control again.

Finding distractions has been helpful too. Anything that keeps my mind busy is like a drug - whether it be making art, posting on social media, reading, house projects, baking, or organizing. I used to constantly feel like I was wasting time. Now I cherish wasted time. Writing has been especially helpful because it’s helped me process my emotions. It’s also been a good distraction. I’ve especially enjoyed writing fiction as a means of escape.

Getting back to a routine has been instrumental in my recovery. In the beginning, I didn’t want to do anything. At some point, doing nothing all day made me more depressed, so I forced myself to get back to work. I started making art again, posting on my blog, and sending newsletters. It allowed me to feel more like myself, even if that person still feels distant. My routine makes me feel more okay than I am.

Talking about how I’m feeling with my loved ones helps too. When Ryan and I feel a wave of grief coming on, we try to talk about it, and not to let it simmer. I don’t keep anything in, because I know it’s poison. Being open does take a certain level of bravery, but after losing Michael, not much scares me anymore. I’ve also started seeing a therapist, which feels like a healthy step. All along, I’ve been worried about whether I’m handling this the right way. Talking to a professional gives me validation that I’m doing a few things right. It also highlights what I need to work on.

I try to honor how I feel every day. I recognize it can change from one day to the next. If I don’t feel like leaving the house, I cancel our plans. If I want to wear pajamas all day, I do that. As long as I don’t lay in bed all day and sulk, I give myself a free pass. I’m much easier on myself than I used to be, because I feel how broken I am. I’ve been kinder, and more understanding. I often ask myself, how would I treat a loved one who were going through this? And that’s how I try to treat myself.

Lastly, practicing gratitude has worked wonders. I constantly remind myself that I still have so much to be grateful for. I’m here, and that wasn’t a given when I was in the hospital. When my mom was pregnant with my sister, her water also broke early, but it resealed. Now, I see how lucky I am to have a healthy mom and sister. And there are a lot of other wonderful things about my life. I have a great marriage, and I get to do what I love for a living. I have two dogs that make me smile daily. Throughout all of this, I’ve realized how many people care about me.

What’s Been Tough

While I’m kind to myself most of the time, I’ve also been my toughest critic. I have waves of guilt that send me spiraling. Was there anything I could have done differently to prevent losing our son? Was it my fault? The doctors say no, but I’ll probably carry some guilt the rest of my life. I was the vessel for our child, and I let him down. When I start thinking negatively like this, I remind myself that I wouldn’t talk to a loved one this way. Even if I inadvertently did something to contribute to the loss of our son, I’m only human. I’m imperfect.

When I get really low, I obsess over whether Michael suffered leading up to the delivery and during. Every time I think about his little face, it makes me cry. We almost lost him at 8 weeks, and I wonder if that would have been easier for us and him. When I start to obsess over how he must have felt, I feel like I can’t breathe. I know this is an unhealthy thought pattern, so I’m working on it. I just try to move on to happier thoughts as quickly as possible.

Throughout this grieving process, I’ve been asking myself if distractions are healthy. Am I running away from my feelings? I’m still not sure. I’m really good at shutting down my emotions and diving into a project. So good, that it sometimes worries me that I’m not processing my feelings all the way. I see distractions for what they are - a defense mechanism. I’ve told myself that as long as I experience my grief in manageable doses, and keep talking about it, it’s okay to push away my feelings away in order to get back to a normal life. If I didn’t practice some avoidance, I wouldn’t be able to get out of bed in the morning. And that would only make me sadder.

You might think being around children would make things worse, but for me it doesn’t. It gives me hope. People assume I’ll get upset about someone else having a baby. It’s quite the opposite. I’m happy for new life in the world. I would never want someone else to experience what we’ve been through. I simply want our baby back. Someone else having a baby doesn’t affect that at all. Being around kids gives me hope too. Around younger boys, I can feel a heaviness sometimes. It’s tough not to wonder what might have been. However, kids have a way of making you smile in any situation, so that feeling goes away pretty quickly. I also feel more connected to Michael around children. I know this may not be the case for everyone though. If you have a friend going through something similar, it can be helpful to ask them how they are feeling. And if you’re going through this yourself, I’d encourage you to be honest with your loved ones about what triggers you. All emotions are valid, and they won’t know how you feel unless you tell them.

Looking Forward

I don’t know what my grief has in store for me next, but I can tell you every day gets a little easier. Minus important dates. Although I tend to build them up in my head, these dates open old wounds. I know the holidays are going to be hard. And going through all the anniversaries pertaining to Michael next year will be tough too. I suspect the important dates get easier each year though.

As far as having another child, this terrifies me and gives me hope at the same time. After almost miscarrying and then having my water break, I have a lot of trauma around carrying a child. Both of these events happened out of no where, and for no particular reason. I don’t want to be so stressed that I cause complications in future pregnancies. Right now, I don’t know how to be calm and pregnant. Hopefully, therapy helps with this. I realized after Michael that I want a child more than I ever thought possible. I was able to feel how much a mother loves, and I want to experience that again.

This is going to be my last post about Michael for a while, because sharing is beyond difficult. While I always feel better after posting, it’s not an enjoyable process. If you or anyone you know has gone through something similar, and would like to talk about it with someone who gets it, you can e-mail me any time. Just know that you aren’t alone, and that I’m right there with you, working through my grief every day.