You know what really hurts lately?
I mean, besides seeing everyone celebrate their kid’s first birthday?
The women who lose babies and make it beautiful and earthy and oh so magical.
I know everyone grieves differently, so I’m not here to judge how anyone does this process. But – in the same breath – these feelings and emotions are part of my process as well. So both are valid.
Just right now, their process really hurts me.
It’s in books, online, in pictures. These stories of, “My baby died and rainbows, sunshine, butterflies, love…” and I’m left wondering if perhaps I missed the memo that death was nice?
I feel even more betrayed when I read or see this, because it feels like I am wrong. That really, if I just searched long and hard in myself, I’d realize that seeing my sons die was right up there with attending an Andrea Bocelli concert. And it wasn’t. I can barely even think about their last moments, and the moments after, without wanting to vomit from the pain, horror, and guilt of it all.
It was horrific. Both times were absolutely the worst, most horrible moments of my life. I felt them die and watched them turn a different color, bloat up, with their little bodies limp against mine. It wasn’t beautiful or peaceful. It was excruciating.
I fully understand that my experience isn’t the same as everyone’s – but death is death. Maybe these people are spinning it to get through the pain, or they’re in shock. But right now, almost a year out, it feels crazy to read those and think, “How did you come away with these feelings?”
It hurts. This hurts so much and there are times I wish I could make it all seem ok. I’m so tired of being told how sorry everyone is, how my life is their nightmare, that they would just die if this happened to them. Try two years of that and see how much it wears you down. You’ll start to look for anything to make your life seem a little less awful to everyone.
But I can’t gloss over their deaths. Maybe as time passes I’ll see it differently. After all, it’s already not as raw with the twins as it was a year ago. I still want to scream when I see their pictures but not every night has me going to sleep with flashbacks of their little faces scrunched up, trying to cry and breathe.
I hope I don’t hurt anyone writing this, and I truly don’t have anyone specific in mind. Please know that your process is yours, but there are times when our grief hurts each other. That’s just the way this is. I may not understand yours, but that doesn’t mean it’s wrong – just different and it leaves me feeling alone with how I saw it.
I wish I could turn this whole two years into something beautiful that everyone stopped feeling sad for me about. But I can’t. It haunts me – and no amount of wishing can make it go away.