Someone I met recently who is also going through this journey put it very eloquently when she said that this is now our story. As hard and horrible and sad as it is, and it is hard and horrible and sad, it is now part of us and always will be. "The pain never goes away," she said, "but the story gets easier to tell."
One thing that's been hard for me is the feeling that I am overburdening people by talking about what happened. For me, reliving it and talking about it is therapy, a way of processing a true tragedy. I am so grateful to have friends and family who are willing to listen as much as I need to talk. But I know it makes people uncomfortable. They smile sympathetically and nod, but I am painfully aware that most people don't know what it's like and would rather avoid it or pretend it didn't happen. But it is my story. I often am well aware of my rambling, and I can't seem to stop myself. I am enjoying this blog a lot because I can say whatever is running through my mind and you can choose to read it, or not.
The thing about a loss like this is that nobody else ever knew this baby. People think, well he was never here so how can he be missed? There's pressure to move on, maybe more for the convenience and comfort of others more than anything else. I recognize that even though I feel like my life is in shreds, that we will be okay, and that life will go on. But the thing is, I DID know him. For 19 weeks, he was a part of me. How does one just get over the loss of a child who was as alive as any of us are today, who was so wanted and already so deeply loved? And how can you hear that heartbeat, look at the pictures of him, and not believe that his life was as real and true as any child who walks through the doors of my classroom each day? I need to remember, need to honor the life of my child, my son. I don't want to move on. The pain never does go away, but the story gets easier to tell. There is truth in those words.