Comfort

A few weeks before our wedding, I was in a car accident where I was not at fault: another driver ran a stop sign and hit my car on the driver’s side.  Just over a year later, the same thing happened again – a driver ran a stop sign and slammed into my car.  After two accidents where other drivers were not following the rules of the road, it took a long, long time for me to drive with any degree of comfort or trust in the other people on the road.  I would have irrational fears as Ger drove and give random cries of “Look out!” Continue reading

Therapy

Wednesday, September 16, 2015
Journal Entry:
It has been 12 days and 19 minutes since I gave birth to Nelle.  She was born at 6:22 p.m. on September 4th and she had already left this world.

I started seeing a therapist the week immediately following.  The first session, Ger and I went together.  Today, she wanted to see me alone.  She gave me a small journal and told me to write down three things I am grateful for each day.  The journal’s pages were too small.  This one is bigger wand was in the box of mementos from the hospital in honor of my baby girl, so it is significant.  Here goes…

1. I am grateful for the small ring I ordered.  It has a heart stamped on one side and NELLE stamped on the inside.
2. I am grateful for my boss at work.  She has been incredibly supportive.
3. I am grateful for the people who continue to reach out to me.  I get a message or something almost every day and they are comforting.  Today, it was a private Facebook message and a card in the mail.  Continue reading

Moving

“The pain, or the memory of pain, that here was literally sucked away by something nameless until only a void was left. The knowledge that this question was possible: pain that turns finally into emptiness. The knowledge that the same equation applied to everything, more or less.”
― Roberto Bolaño, 2666 

From the beginning, I had enough self-awareness that I knew I wanted to be mentally healthy.

I went to my first therapy session six days after learning that Nelle was gone.  It was at the suggestion of a friend.  She said “This is a lot to deal with.  Get yourself into therapy.” I have always tried to take care of myself, so the decision was a relatively easy one.  Knowing also that we wanted to attempt pregnancy again right away, I wanted to be in the best possible place.  I was unprepared for how encompassing the grief was, among so many other truths about profound grief, but I was determined to “work through it.”

If losing Nelle brought me to my knees, losing Iris flattened me.  Any shred of control that I thought I had, or any strides that I had made in coping were flung out the window.  That same friend visited me in the hospital as I suffered through labor for the second time in five months and she said “Get yourself some anti-depressants.  This is going to be too much.”  Again, wanting to take care of myself, I talked to my doctor and left the hospital with a prescription.

Wanting to take care of myself is one thing.  Having the energy and stamina to do so is another.  While I did pay close attention to my mental health, knowing that I have a family and work that depend on me, there are other aspects that I have admittedly let crumble.  I have not been eating well.  Consciously or unconsciously, I am not nourishing my body the way that I should.  I have no reason to now.  Upon losing Nelle, I was preparing my body for pregnancy again, eating balanced meals, drinking lots of water.  While pregnant, I take exquisite care of myself.  Now I just don’t care.  For the first two weeks after losing Iris, eating made me physically nauseous, so intense was my grief.  The two subsequent weeks, I am simply disinterested in food.

There are still days when I cannot face the world. Sadness and anxiety overtake me and I crawl into bed and pull a blanket over my head.  Those days have become fewer so I allow myself that space when I need it.  Yesterday was one of those days.  It may have been the intense morning yoga class that did me in.  It may have been because it was my younger son’s birthday and I was surrounded by memories in the form of baby photos.  I had a similar experience back in September when my older son had his birthday just a few weeks after losing Nelle.  Being upset by baby photos of my own children was unsettling.  To calm myself yesterday, I took an Epsom salt bath.  Then I took another bath in the afternoon.  Then I took a shower in the evening.  Hopeful that maybe somehow the water would energize me and wash away my feelings of heaviness.

From the beginning, I have struggled with the words “moving on.”

I was starting to crawl out of my grief a few months after losing Nelle.  Between being pregnant again and therapy, I could see beyond the days of unending sadness.  “Moving on” did not sit well with me, because “moving on” seemed to imply “forgetting.”  I could never forget, and I would never be the same.  We use the words “moving on” to describe leaving a job, or ending a relationship, or abandoning an argument.  I searched for another descriptor.  With all of the words that rattle around in my head all the time, I could not come up with anything that felt exactly right.  The best I could settle on was “moving forward.”  In “moving forward,” I am bringing grief with me.  When I move forward, I will have learned how to carry the additional weight of grief.

From the beginning, I have known that I would need to move forward, eventually.  It is incremental.  It is accepting that steps forward may also include falling down.  But I care enough for myself to grit my teeth and figure out how to get there, with grief as my companion.