Thursday, June 16, 2011

Right Where I Am: 7 weeks, 6 days

Over the past few weeks, I have found many resources and blogs that have helped me more than I can say (or write).   Yesterday, I found one that had an assignment and I knew right away that I wanted to participate.  Still Life With Circles is run by a woman named Angie and she set out to do the following:  "...You talk about right where you are in your grief and what it is like now, so new people can get an idea of the experience of grief further down the road, and so people further down the road can reflect on how far they have come in their grief."

It seems most of the women are further along in the grief process than I am, but I still wanted to write. 

7 weeks, 6 days ago, I felt less fetal movement than usual.  By the time I realized that, my precious daughter was probably already gone.

In the beginning, I said each day was better than the last.  I quickly learned that was a lie.  There are good days and there are bad days and there is no way to tell which will be which. Some days I think, “I got this!” and others I want to crawl into a corner and cry till my eyes burn and the pain subsides.

I want to be getting better.  I want to be on the road to recovery.   Everyone around me seems to be healing and I feel like I am stuck.  There are glimpses of hope like on days like Monday when we learned that we could try again.  I was almost happy then.   But then there are days like today. Today, I am agitated and distracted and angry and I have a headache and I just want the pain to stop.  I want to be home with our little Allie, walking her in the stroller, maybe having a play date with one of her cousins.  I want to read to her and sing to her and hold her in my arms and just look at her.  I did not want to be sitting in a cubicle and thinking about what could have been.  

My husband says, “Don’t borrow trouble” when I start to get upset or worked up.  I think about the plans we had and I crumble.  He wants to think about the new plans we will have and I get that, but often it hurts too damn much.  I miss what I did not even have.  All the weeks and months of planning and dreaming and then nothing.  It hurts to dream of a family that we so desperately want but may never have.  It hurts to think of our baby not being here with us.  I am angry and sad and broken and mad.

“Will I lose my dignity, will someone care?  Will I wake tomorrow from this nightmare?”  Music has always played a big part in my life and for the past week or so, this lyric from RENT has been playing over and over in my head.  I keep waking up and the nightmare continues.  

I hate my body.  It’s lumpy and dumpy and it failed me.  And it failed our baby.  Can I trust it to be a good home to another baby?  Can my heart handle it?  Is my heart strong enough?
Father’s Day is this weekend and I want to do something special for my husband.  He needs to be celebrated and I fear that I will let him down as I just do not know what to do.  
I do not think my misery is cause for alarm…yet.  It ebbs and flows and it just so happens that this is where I am at this moment when I am writing.  

I wake up each day and I go to work and I make plans and I try to think about the future. A future where I am exhausted from midnight feedings and my house is a mess because my baby needs me and I have not had time to clean. Not because I am depressed and do not want to clean.

So this is where I am – almost 8 weeks after our world came crashing down.  In some ways, I am very proud of myself.  And in some ways I am just so very sad.


  1. I still have days where I think "I got this" it almost seems like I am "healed" and then I get smacked in the face with what we call a "sad day" and sometimes it lasts a day sometimes a few. Now I can usually feel them coming and try to prepare myself for's a rollercoaster for sure! PS I love Rent :)Isn't it funny how songs you have heard a million times just take on a completely different meaning, I find myself listening much harder to the words now.

  2. Sam, thankfully I never had a stillborn so I really don't know your pain. But, I have lost very dear people to me and found that during the grieving process, the pain gets a whole lot worse before it gets better. Give yourself some time and credit. Look what you have been through. You need time to heal. You will make it!

  3. excellent post, I have been thinking about participating in this too, today was 6 weeks for me. It was actually a good day, but yesterday was one of the worst, I hate not being able to predict how I'll feel. I think it's ok to feel proud--I definitely do...look at what we are dealing with and yet we are still being halfway normal people. I'm so glad I found your blog.

  4. Wow, still so early for you. I'm so very sorry. You are incredible to be blogging already and gathering your thoughts so coherently. I don't think you sound stuck at all, you should be proud of how well you're doing. At six weeks, I didn't actually want to feel better. I had a fear that getting better meant forgetting her. I guess I now know that is not the case, but at almost three years, I have the benefit of hindsight. And as another commenter said, it does seem to get a whole lot worse before it gets better, so there may be some very rough days ahead. You have a lot of support here in this community though.
    Love to you.

  5. Samantha, I'm so sorry for the passing of your precious Allie. My heart goes out to you. I can relate to your feelings of all the hope and dreams you had for your little one vanishing in an instant. Even after 3 years I still wonder what could have been. Be gentle with yourself and remember you and your husband will grieve differently and at different times. If possible try to take a walk or get some fresh air when you feel frustrated. Keep blogging it will also help to release tension. Sending hugs your way.

  6. Thinking of you with love - through good days and bad...

  7. Sorry for the weird name - my blogger account was messed up! It's should read Jeff!

  8. I am so sorry your little Allie died - it's a grief and a pain like no other. Like Sally, I am amazed at your ability to write so coherently when your grief is so new and so raw. I know that 8 weeks marked a point where the numb film of denial wore off and a whole lot of largely unpleasant emotions crowded in and I learned - as you say - that it's not linear. Good days are followed by bad are followed by awful are followed by peaceful and so on. I also understand not wanting to make plans because plans have already failed once and I SO get your feelings about your body. I'm still working on feeling okay about my body failing so spectacularly (despite being 2+ years out with a rainbow son).

    I wish you gentle days ahead as you pick your way through this.

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  10. Samantha. Thank you so much for writing this. Your love for Allie is so powerful and it comes through in the heartbreaking honesty of this post. That longing you express for a time when your house is filthy because a baby needs your attention and energy, not because you're so sad... I remember.
    Love to you.


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