Sometimes I feel that our pain is too much for people to handle. That they'd rather I go back to who I used to be, before Evelyn died, because interacting with me isn't like it used to be. But I can't. Because I'm not like I used to be. I'm just not, and how could I be? When asked, "How are you?" I've been greeted with confusion and surprise when I answer with, "Oh, just taking life one day at a time," and then as a follow-up, I'm asked, "How long has it been?" like it makes any difference. I've been told that I should work harder to be more optimistic. Someone in the building I work at told me that I look so sad all the time and that they miss my smile. This person has children and it took everything in me not to reply, "If one of your children died, would you not be sad 3 months out? Please don't judge me." Because it takes everything in me to try and be "okay" each day. The truth is, I miss my smile too. I miss my happier, more optimistic self more than anyone. And I just want to say to them: I'm trying. Every day, I'm trying to find my way back to ME. But I'm not there yet, so please try to see me as I am and accept me for it. Please be patient and don't give up on me just yet. Because more than anything on this earth, I miss my Evelyn. I could spend every breath I take from now until my dying day trying to explain the pain that I feel, the emptiness and the sorrow, and it still wouldn't be enough. But I'm trying -- so so hard -- to repair and salvage the pieces of the person you used to know. But also know that I'm never going to be the same me I was, and honestly, I wouldn't want to be, because that person didn't know her Evie, didn't know what it felt like to love her child, and yes, she also now knows what it feels like to lose her child and it's a pain beyond misery but I would rather have to learn how to integrate those new parts of me into my life than never having felt them at all. Because I'm better for having known and loved her. And I'm tired of feeling like I should be "more this" or "less that." I am what I am. And I need to know that what I am is okay, broken heart and all.

Melissa, I'm so sorry for the loss of your baby girl - and for all you lost when you lost her.

I just want you to know I hear you. A part of me died with my baby - and that part isn't ever coming back. At almost nine months out, I'm doing pretty well (considering. and I think), but even my happiest moments are also wistful. And I'm learning to accept that the rest of my life will have a spot of sadness, overwhelming sadness.
Your post also got me thinking about Victorian mourning rituals. And while I generally hate prescribed behavior and think it's more harmful than not, I can't help but appreciate the wearing of black - as an outward symbol of, "no I'm not over it yet (or ever)," and because it sort of trained others not to expect you to be - at least not for awhile.....clothing rules as a way to get people to act right. I know others mean well, and they are uncomfortable with our sadness....it's uncomfortable. I think as a culture, we just aren't very good at letting others sit in their sadness - and it's so necessary at times to just be sad.
Rest assured, the person you are right now is beautiful and perfect, and getting up and trying every day is more than enough - there is no braver act. I leave you with the words of my late 95 year old grandmother - who experienced a stillbirth and lived a long, full, happy life after it - "the sun will shine again, honey. Not today, not tomorrow, but it will shine again." It's permission to be sad, for as long as it takes, with some optimism thrown in.
Hugs to you -

Melissa, It's almost eerie that you posted this thread today. I was feeling these same thoughts so strongly earlier today, and now I'm having them even more. I'm supposed to be working right now, but I cannot seem to focus until I post here first. YES, our pain is definitely too much for others to handle. It's too much even for me to handle, and I wish I didn't have to deal with this. Others have no idea how bad it can get. Even well-intentioned ppl, supportive friends, good listeners, etc. - unless they have been through it (and most have not), there's no way to fathom the darkness. I literally avoid places (like church) where I know I'll repeatedly be asked "How are you?!" when there's not time to get into it anyway, and there is no part of me that feels capable of lying and saying I'm doing well at all. I was told today that I need to be more positive. It was said by someone whose care for me is deep and genuine, and I am not nearly as insulted as I'd be if the comment had come from almost anybody else. However, it was yet another reminder that others don't understand and that my pain is getting tiring even to my biggest supporters. Since I don't have other ppl in my normal circles who have been through this, it was one more piece of evidence that I'm pretty much alone in this. No one gets it; no one I know can relate. When I feel ANY push from others to be happier or to be more like my old self, I just want to run away and sequester myself until I ever have something positive to say. Until then, we might as well not talk at all, b/c I cannot fake it. The last thing I want to deal with right now is to pretend like I feel something I do not. Believe me, I miss Old Me even more than they do! I don't have any optimism to share (as I said, I was told just today that I am not seeing positives like I should). I only write to let you know that I feel the same way and understand. It sucks so much. I'm sorry for all of us. xo

Mellissa

I too feel like there is no positives in the world. I try so hard to see something good. To be positive. To put on a front of I'm ok. But I'm not. I am so broken. Everything was sucked out of me the morning Audrey died. I feel hopeless.

I spend my time at work 3 months out trying to be the manager I was before. Trying to be compassionate, insude I am screaming what about me??? Why don't I count.

Sorry I'm struggling to express myself.

I just wanted you to know I hear you and that you are not alone

I get this, I feel exactly the same way. We are changed and people need to accept that. I also often think to myself when confronted with these things, "try losing one of your own kids and come back to me on that". I am sorry we are not who we used to be but on the flip side, I am proud of who I am now, I am proud of the fact that I will not deny that losing my child is hard and that she means something in my life, that her absence is felt and so significant. I am sorry for your loss.

Jo-anne,

Thank you for saying it's ok to be proud of who we are now. I hust feel ashamed. Ashamed that I didn't protect Audrey, ashamed that I cry everyday, ashamed that I have lost my compassion, my drive.
Thank you

Oh Emma, I truly feel you, I felt ashamed too for a long time, ashamed I wasn't moving on quick enough to be a better mother to my living son and a better wife to my husband. Ashamed that I felt like my world was falling apart. Until I realized that it was okay Emma, it was okay, we didn't lose a piece of clothing, we lost a baby, a part of ourselves, our future, we lost so much and we have a right to feel crap about that. I hope one day you too will come to realize though that you have nothing to be ashamed off, because how can you be ashamed of loving.