Still Here

A few weeks ago, a fellow “loss mom” messaged me to check in. She noticed I hadn’t posted a blog in awhile. Yup, #truestory. And it’s not that I don’t have ideas for posts. I have a handful of half finished Google Docs that I could, well, finish and post. But for whatever reason, I haven’t. Maybe it’s because I’ve been having a crazy/busy summer with trips and house guests and work. Maybe it’s because my brain doesn’t work right anymore. Or maybe it’s just so painful. Like now I’ve gotten to this point where I feel like I’ve been able to manage my grief and if I churn up a blog post it unleashes all these emotions and I might (gasp) cry. Whereas before, I couldn’t stop crying and writing and posting now, it’s the opposite.

One year ago, I was crying multiple times a day. I was devastated and heartbroken. I truly thought I would never be happy again. I couldn’t imagine having to live the rest of my life in such sorrow, because the sorrow was so painful.  I blogged frequently. It was a way to process what happened to me–to my family, to my dreams, to my life.

These days, I still cry but not everyday. I do think about Corva daily, how could I not? I miss her terribly and imagine what our lives would be like had she survived. That in-and-of-itself is a dangerous path to venture down. It leads to what-ifs, doubts, and blame.

Several weeks ago, we took our 2nd annual family vacation to Rye, NH–gorgeous beach, lots of sun and sand. It was the second year writing Corva’s name in the sand. This year I wrote some names for some other loss moms but my internet wasn’t working and I spelled one baby’s name wrong and neglected a few others which was terrible because these women have been my tribe for the past 14 months. But then I also had Astoria tugging at me to go with her to the water and because I’m paranoid and 50% of my children are dead, I won’t let her go in the surf alone. So I vow to do better the next time I’m at the beach. Also, for writing names in the sand, it can’t be too gloppy and it can’t be too dry. Who knew?

I’m still fairly active in a handful of Facebook support groups, though I have failed to return whole-heartedly to my in-person support group (I did get together with 2 other moms in the month of May, which proved to be a difficult month–duh–to say the least). And I’ve noticed that now, 14 months out, I’m the one commenting on the posts from moms saying “it’s been x days since my baby died.” I’m the one reaching back 13 months to my own dark days, searching for what helped me the most. I remember desperately looking for a way to survive the pain–I found the Facebook groups, the blogs, the memoirs, the Still Standing articles. And it blows my mind that I wasn’t the last one whose baby died, that many more families have faced this heartbreak.

If you’re reading this and you have experienced the death of your baby, I am so sorry for your pain. There are a lot of us mamas, more than there should be. And we are here, we are still standing.

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2 thoughts on “Still Here”

  1. I noticed you liked my blog post and I’m glad it led me to yours. I’m so sorry for the death of your sweet one. It’s also been 14 months for me. I know what you mean about finding it harder to delve into the abyss of grief to do things like blog posts, because the tears and pain are waiting there. Some days it feels good to be functional again, and it can be hard to want to open up those emotions. Yet, there are still plenty of days when the tears must come, and those days almost knock me over harder now because I’m not always expecting them. Thank you for sharing your journey and honoring your baby’s precious life.

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  2. Thanks, Heidi. It is surreal sometimes to lead this life. The fact that life goes on and our babies aren’t here with us. Thanks for sharing your story of Elliot. That name was on our list of boy names, love it! 💕

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