layers of grief

This morning, I am sadly in thought of a friend and her daughter.........a significant loss of an eight month old baby boy (grandson of my friend-son of her daughter) due to some unexpected illness and the results of a final answer to settle their curiosity are pending.

What strikes me, anytime I hear news of such a thing is, how I can INSTANTANEOUSLY be back in my hospital gown in an E.R. on Dec. 14, 2007 having just delivered my fourth, lifeless child. Depending on the type of death that just occurred I may INSTANTANEOUSLY be in my 23 year old body, Feb. 25, 2002 wearing sneakers and a silly blue shirt with a duck's feet up in the air that reads "bottoms up" and being pulled into the Director's office at Kinder Care to be told by a complete stranger that my sister was found dead in her apartment earlier that afternoon. (all evidence pointing to suicide) Powerful-that punch in the gut we can get from our vivid, photographic memory. Those intense days that stand out from our lifeline when we realized, in that split second, NOTHING in our lives would EVER be the same again.

I always tear up, I feel my heart pound, and I can truly feel what that family is feeling in these first days. A lot of zombie like behavior, shock, your mind having to remind itself every MINUTE, that loved one is GONE. You feel as if in a dream, any second you will wake up and everything will be normal, and a lot of family is around, you are happy to see them and yet so bothered by what has brought you all together-especially since some of the family members haven't been around one another in YEARS........distance, jobs, our busy lives.

Though I never would have imagined it at the time, in those freshly painful days, I can say NOW (with one hundred percent certainty) that I am so grateful for all that I have learned FROM them. In those days I saw some of the biggest acts of compassion and human beings coming together to help, love, comfort and in totally unexpected ways. You see a side of people that you ordinarily don't.

Grief is so strange--after losing a baby girl I didn't get to know, I didn't know what to think about and how to express this deep pain. I tried writing poetry and it wasn't FLOWING.
I was sad, physically I was a mess-the body still doing what it is supposed to after delivery, I had to try and deal with milk that was meant for HER.....I'd considered pumping and GIVING it to a baby in need and it would have helped me lose weight, but couldn't bring myself to go through all that work, I was so weak and just trying to take care of the three other children-it was maddening, really. To miss someone you never HAD, to not have memories that could bring forth a real healing process and be grateful for the times you DID have-odd. Just some kicks I felt from her tiny body, a couple ultrasound photos, and happily her beautiful tiny footprints the nurses took the time to do for us. That was about it.

My support group SAVED me-no joke. A room filled with moms and a few dads that could sit there, openly share their pain, their story, all of us nodding, shedding tears, and understanding all the odd things associated with the loss of a baby. The awkwardness among co-workers when you get back to your job, the lack of compassion because well, you have three other children, it was for the best, yeah well tell that to my HEART, tell that to my BODY that wants her back IN THERE so she can finish growing!! The ANGER-the INSANE amounts of ANGER because I still looked so pregnant afterwards and people asking how it all was going, and "when is your due date again??" because so many didn't KNOW what had occurred and the trainwreck of having to give THEM the sad news. PURE TORTURE.

In my grief now, it's a different thing. I don't melt down as often. Two years out, I no longer battle hormones, I find JOY in the world, I can think of her and SMILE. I can see other babies and be SUPER happy for those parents knowing NONE of my experiences. I find that I can hug my Quinton out of nowhere because I can look at his nose and see my baby Emerie, that had exactly her big brother's nose.

I see pink roses and smile because in the one thing I COULD do for her, the memorial service, I was able to put together these beautiful baskets filled with pink roses and even found a perfect heart shaped pink, strawberry scented candle to have lit. Now, when I think of her, I will buy roses on my way home and set them in a vase, glass, whatever I have, and they create a sense of beauty in our home, and will light a candle for her.

Like today, my green candles lit, the pretty pink roses on my counter top, sadness for another family in a very painful situation, and strange joy I feel that my Emerie has a new play mate today, an eight month old baby boy I will be attending the funeral of in the morning.