I came away from my support group last night on a high. It’s the second meeting of this particular group and I was looking forward to it. It’s a funny bond to share. There are people in the group I really like and we are slowly forging friendships. It is so comforting to talk about my baby easily- talk about the good things and the sad things. No judgment. No worries about whether mentioning her name will kill the conversation. No secret burdens to bear. I shared my excitement about some future projects I want to develop to help this new community I have found myself a part of. I drive home grinning, thinking about how one of the familiar faces at the group looked at me and said, “It’s good to see you smiling.” I usually cringe at comments that mention how good I look. I interpret them as relief that I’m better; that I’m no longer sad about my daughter. In this group of the babyloss, I know that they don’t think that. They are not over their sons and daughters and never will be, just like me. They know that I’m not better- I am just different. I drive on, thinking about how much I like these people, wondering how to incorporate them more in my life. They round it out.
And then I come home. I see on my very carefully selective social media feed the hint that someone is in labor. I am reminded once again how I have no baby. The world goes on. The newborns in my family now number two in one week. It was due to come and at least it’s over. I no longer have to wait on bated breath wondering how I will feel. I am in it. That gorgeous, freeing high I had felt just moments ago is lost. I am angry. Angry that I am alone in my sorrow. Angry that I had finally felt some sense of peace and it was ripped away from me. I am a puddle of tears heaped on the floor of my living room, the laundry needing to be folded pushed aside, the glass of wine on the coffee table forgotten. I hate this! I hate this! I scream in my head, teeth gritted as the howls come out. As I lie on my side, curled up in a ball, chest heaving, hands covering my face trying to hide the stream of tears, I think if only people could see me now. THIS is how it feels to have buried your baby three months ago. THIS is how I am.
The low continues on. Sleep can often reset my emotions- a new day, a new outlook. But as I sit at my breakfast table, looking out on my sun streaked lawn, facing a beautiful day, I find myself in tears. Angry, forceful tears over how I spend my days reading online posts about babyloss and grief. Sad, mean tears over how my bereavement group is the thing I look forward to most these days. Lonely, hot tears over how buying a bouquet of flowers for my daughter’s grave is the only way I know how to mother her. Today’s sunshine is lost on me because I am sad. So very very sad.
I miss my daughter.