This is a weird post. I realize that.
The other evening I watched as Heather Spohr from The Spohr’s Are Multiplying went into have her son. If you don’t know her backstory, she had her daughter Maddie 12 weeks early several years ago, and Maddie fought through huge medical complications for 17 months before passing away.
They are an amazing family and I was so happy she brought home a healthy little son.
I’ve never read her blog through and through (I’m a terrible blog reader. Terrible.) But that night I went over and clicked on her Living With Loss tab. I can tell you right now, I read loss blogs/loss posts less than even regular blogs. It’s still hard. But hers drew me in, and I clicked through several while feeling that connection in a small way.
Then I realized how far back they went. Page after page. Post after post.
And a wave of envy washed over me. Envy for her bravery in posting for years on her daughter. Envy to keep writing in the face of people who were uncomfortable with her story. That she wrote and wrote and didn’t seem to give one thought to people who may have said, “But you have another beautiful daughter so why do you live in ‘what if’ land still?”
She didn’t let it eat her up what others thought. Yes, she had her daughter significantly longer than I did Preston and Julian. She took her home, made a life with her, had memories, fought for her health. Her memories of Maddie are far more detailed and intertwined with life than mine ever will be with the twins. Yet still, there was a longing to know how it felt to step up to the plate and simply pour your heart out year after year because you needed to still heal.
I even want to delete this post now in case someone says, “You’re jealous of her loss or…?”
It’s not that. It’s the fact that I can have a million “Thank you for sharing your story” comments and one or two “Why are you still talking about it?” ones and THOSE are the ones that just stick with me. I wish they didn’t. I would love to have a thicker skin. Somehow if someone says it to you and I read it, I can get all riled up. Someone says it to me and I instantly think, “They’re right. I should stop, slow down the pregnancy loss talk. Go back to normal. I’m being ungrateful for the life I have.”
But oh. I’m really not. I hope you all know that. I hope that light shines through here. That this isn’t a blog you read and think of each post, “Man, what a mess.” I am so blessed, so thrilled to have this little boy. It’s just – I don’t know how else to keep the short little lives alive that rocked mine for just a bit longer. To not forget myself what they were like. To remember them like I remember Bella’s years. To love them in a way I would have if they’d lived.
It’s all still so complicated to sort out, the guilt and the happiness of both their lives and this baby’s – the balance of grief and love and healing. I don’t pretend to be an expert on any of this because I feel like I’m just stumbling my way around, searching for others who reach out and say, “That’s just how I feel too. It’s ok. We’re ok.”
It’s such a mix. I didn’t ask for this you know. I never wanted it. I’m doing the best I can and the feelings of, “Is she done yet?” haunt me. There are times I want to pour my heart out and other times I wish I didn’t want to. That I could simply pretend it never happened, I am not that girl, I didn’t lose babies. Not that I didn’t have them – just.
I don’t know.
If you keep writing and talking about what happened, know I stand in amazement of you. That your words heal more than you could imagine. That you are breaking down the uncomfortable for so many people. Thank you. Even if I envy you your courage – it inspires me to get up and write again. As hard as it is to read those careless comments or hear the “Are we still going to talk about this?” in someone’s voice, your bravery helps so many of us to also step out and keep these little lives alive.
If you have a minute, this is an amazing post to read on Still Standing.