The Thing.
So.
The thing is.
(I think this is the thing.)
In twenty days' time it will be the day on which the baby was due.
And although I knew it was coming, at the weekend, I suddenly knew it was coming.
And so I cried in the car park at Sainsbury's (for this is the time when the knowledge chose to strike. It was before we had done the shopping. In case you were wondering.)
There is something tricksy and complicated and difficult in the mourning of something that never was. The grief is attached to a loss, but the loss is attached to a what?
An imagined future?
It is the idea of the parallel life that is so very ouchy. The one in which on the 5th July (or thereabouts) I am in hospital holding a little tiny person, a bundle of life that hub and I made together. (And yes I know that in this parallel life I am also screaming and in the most pain I have ever felt, I am exhausted and covered in baby sick, I am tetchy and resentful and hub and I fight and bicker, I know that too.)
But.
And I want to mark it somehow.
But I don't know how.
Because I don't really know what I am marking.
That I would have loved the little tiny bean that I lost? That I loved it already? That it meant something?
I so badly wanted to know who it was.
So badly.
And I never will.
And the 5th July just makes me know that all the more.
Rubs in it.
Like being smacked around the face with a wet fish.
Only more ouchy.
15 comments:
Dear ♥ Miss Tickle ♥, my comment grew too long. So I've created it as a post on my blog. I hope you like it.
I found out that I was pregnant the same day as my mother-in-law's next-door neighbour. We were due on the same day (my actual birthday day). I miscarried, she didn't and her baby girl was born 3 days after my birthday.
I have 3 children, but every time I see that little girl I ache. The ache is less than it was when she was born and on her first birthday, but it's still there.
Why am I telling you this?
Because it does get slightly easier, over time, but that these markings of key dates are part of the grief, the grieving. You have to go through this and you have to let your mind/body find a level ground.
It aches, it hurts beyond words and no one can say the ‘right’ thing to you. People often expect you to be ‘over it’ by now, to be looking forward and to forget. But you’re not ready to let go of that tiny part of you, that baby that you lost.
So, find a way to continue to continue to grieve. Please.
It will get easier -I really really promise that it will.
xxx
{{{bobo}}} x
Caroline, loveliest Caroline, I can't tell you how much what you have said means. You made my heart swell. xxx
Thinking of you Miss T.
A supermarket carpark is a particularly special place to be struck by this kind of thing. Maybe it's all that normalness? There have been times in my life when Big Things have happened and I have wondered how everybody can be just carrying on and buying yoghurt when Big Things can happen ... just like that.
It is not the same at all, but one of my friends and colleagues died suddenly of a heart attack a few years ago. He was only 30. He was on his delayed honeymoon, a few months after he married his wife, who is now his widow.
They would definitely have had a family, and although there was never a little bean or even a bundle of cells, she sometimes cries when she sees children ... I suspect this is sometimes in supermarket carparks.
She talks about that bit of grieving you are putting your finger on ... or would be, if it wasn't a hole. She can grieve for him and that is tangible (and terrible) but the grieving for the future they will never get to have is a weird achey thing that seems to be impossible to squeeze tight enough ...
I still suspect that weird cat has a great deal to say on the matter x
Oh {{Miss Tickle}}, how painful for you and your partner, how difficult as you say to mourn such a loss.
I miscarried my first baby. I couldn't be around baby clothes or babies, felt stunned, shocked and numb.
I feel for you sweetheart, both of you. Take it easy on yourselves these next few weeks.
H
xxxxxxx
*hug*
Lovely Miss Tickle,
I have 3 of these little anniversaries. Even though I only have the one boy, I still sometimes talk about 'before I had children'....because I have 3 of these little anniversaries.
Big hugs to you. And to Mr Tickle.
It isn't until you post about these things that you find out how many others have also been through it.
I have three lovely children now but in truth I have four.
Please grieve properly. A little life has been lost. your precious litle bean has gone. You are entitled to grieve, you need to grieve. No matter what anyone says as some unknowing souls might.
Could you plant something?
Miss Mmmmm, Caroline and Liz, so sorry to hear you have been through this too. xx
Miss Tickle, just wanted to say I am still thinking of you and sending you hugs today, and your lovely husband.
xxxxxx
Ms M, Hullaballoo and Liz, sharing your feelings and your own experience with me has touched me very deeply, and given me strength and comfort. Thank you.
I think we would like to plant something. I'll be mulling it over in the next two weeks.
Stray, what you said makes complete sense, grieving for the future that will never be. Thank you for sharing this with me too (and the weird cat is being pretty blooming ace about the whole thing to be honest.)
It is hard, and that ache won't ever go away. I think we just want to find a way of honouring that.
I really am so touched by all your kindness and warmth. xxx
Speaking nearly twenty years out from my last due-date, I can tell you that it does get better. I didn't pay attention to exactly when that happened, but it did.
I highly recommend the planting of something living.
And being really, really gentle with yourself.
My dearest Ticklish. I have nothing to share but warm feelings and lots of hope for you and the hub and the weird cat and all the wonderful things down the road. I keep erasing my sentences, because a hug from all the way over here seems such a lame offering, but it's so heartfully meant.
Our Little Miss Farty will be 25 years old soon. But Mrs F had a miscarriage the year before LMF was born. The pain lasted for a long time, but it does get better. Promise.
((Tickles))
My mum lost a not-quite-ready-to-be-born baby when I was little, and I never understood how she could feel such grief. To be honest it made me a bit angry when she would say she had had four children when there were only three of us, real and in need of love. But reading this I feel like I understand for the first time. You and your commenters are brave and lovely and I am very, very sorry you will never know your little bean x
Again i am late in posting my comment! I cannot think of anything simply 'good enough' to mark the date. but perhaps something simple is in order and the best solution??? I like the idea of planting something that sounds good, and may help hide the weeds that seem to not want to go away! you could use your garden as a mark for you grief, make it as pretty as you can and nurture it as much as you can, it might feel like a tribute of some sort... somewhere for you to put all the love you still have.
sending big hugs and many kisses your way!
Rachel xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo
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