Lane has been home with us for three weeks now, and will go back to work on Monday. I am nervous about how we will all feel when this happens. I really thought that I would have more patience with our kids, knowing how fragile life is and how much more we appreciate and are grateful for our beautiful healthy children. But sometimes this grieving business takes so much energy that I hardly have any left. Then I feel even worse for not being as patient as I think I should be. The other night, G was being sassy, not listening to me, and just testing my patience until there was none left. I got upset with her and sent her to her room to get her jammies on for the night. A minute later I was back and she was sobbing. She looked at me and said, "Mommy, I just love you so much and you do so much nice things for me and it makes me really sad when you are mad" talk about breaking my heart. I hugged her and we cried. It was a good chance to explain that everyone is extra sensitive, I always love her, and while I need to be more patient, she needs to work on being a better listener and that will help us have better days together.
Getting back to every day life is going to be hard. For so long, we have been graced with the company of our amazing close friends, family, and midwives who are willing and comforting listeners, ask questions, and expect us to talk about Simone. It will be hard to transition from this to being around people who aren't sure what to say, so they say nothing at all, or people who don't even know that our world has been completely turned upside down.
The more I am out and about, the more I am encountering people who ask when I'm having our baby, or make comments about me being pregnant. Last time, Gabriela was with us at the nail salon and I told the woman we had already had our baby. Usually I leave it at that - they can wonder what happened, why the baby isn't with us, but Gabriela (and I'm proud of her for it), simply told the lady that our baby had died. I wish it was that easy for me to say. Of course, the woman felt terrible. Now I know it is never, ever safe to ask a stranger if they are having a baby.
Today a woman asked me how many kids I have. Now a seemingly basic, small talk question is gut wrenching. I don't know what to say. I don't want to leave out Simone. She is my baby, but telling the truth seems more like I am burdening the other person with the heavy weight that I carry, when they just are trying to chitchat.
I feel like this innocence I once had is shattered now. Every time I see pregnant women, I think how happy they must feel that they must have no idea that just because you are pregnant, just because you have a normal, easy pregnancy, doesn't mean you are bringing your baby home. I suppose I'm lucky. This lasted nearly 36 years for me. My poor Gabriela learned this hard lesson as a kindergartner. When my sister had her son three days after Simone was born, I told Gabriela her Auntie had a baby. Her immediate response, "Oh! Did her baby live?" because in our reality, they don't all live.
The other night at bedtime, Gabriela asked me what color Simone's eyes were. It crushed me that I didn't know. I peeked at her little eyes once during the short time we had her in our arms. I didn't want to try again because her skin was so fragile and delicate, I didn't want to do anything to damage it further. I wonder if, hiding in those chubby little cheeks she might have had some dimples, just like her big brother and sister. It's painfully devastating and impossible to truly understand why she is not here with us, but to think that we won't be able to watch her grow and change and even get to know her is just plain cruel. Gabriela gets it. She is upset she won't be able to watch her sister grow and that they won't ever be able to play together. She says things like Simone wasn't supposed to die. She will always be her sister, and she can't believe that it happened, but it did. Oh sweet girl, we all feel this way.
Today is a harder day. Full of other people's babies, heartfelt notes, and Simone's death certificate arrived in the mail. She doesn't even get a birth certificate, because they are certificates of live birth. How can there be a record of her death without one of her birth?
I feel like this innocence I once had is shattered now. Every time I see pregnant women, I think how happy they must feel that they must have no idea that just because you are pregnant, just because you have a normal, easy pregnancy, doesn't mean you are bringing your baby home. I suppose I'm lucky. This lasted nearly 36 years for me. My poor Gabriela learned this hard lesson as a kindergartner. When my sister had her son three days after Simone was born, I told Gabriela her Auntie had a baby. Her immediate response, "Oh! Did her baby live?" because in our reality, they don't all live.
The other night at bedtime, Gabriela asked me what color Simone's eyes were. It crushed me that I didn't know. I peeked at her little eyes once during the short time we had her in our arms. I didn't want to try again because her skin was so fragile and delicate, I didn't want to do anything to damage it further. I wonder if, hiding in those chubby little cheeks she might have had some dimples, just like her big brother and sister. It's painfully devastating and impossible to truly understand why she is not here with us, but to think that we won't be able to watch her grow and change and even get to know her is just plain cruel. Gabriela gets it. She is upset she won't be able to watch her sister grow and that they won't ever be able to play together. She says things like Simone wasn't supposed to die. She will always be her sister, and she can't believe that it happened, but it did. Oh sweet girl, we all feel this way.
Today is a harder day. Full of other people's babies, heartfelt notes, and Simone's death certificate arrived in the mail. She doesn't even get a birth certificate, because they are certificates of live birth. How can there be a record of her death without one of her birth?
I am discovering that my new normal life includes not having any idea when I will be struck by a wave of grief. There is no way to anticipate how I will feel, but everyday I cry at least a little and think how different our lives might be if our Simone had only lived.
2 comments:
I daydream about Simone all the time. We love you guys so much and will always.
I daydream about Simone all the time. We love you guys so much and will always.
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