I saw a quote on pinterest the other day that made me think. A grieving mother said what shocked her the most. And I started to think about what shocked me the most after coming home from the hospital. The day after Wilder was born was Easter. Yeah, a freaking holiday. We were surrounded by happy families hiding and searching for eggs, little girls in dresses, lots of laughter. I never went to the window that day. I laid in bed, shocked, crying. My husband mentioned the activities outside, but I didn't care to look. It was too much. How could a holiday come on this day? How could the world keep turning? How could anyone be happy?
Those days after such a traumatic loss are a blur of intense pain and grief. For me, the world did stop. Nothing mattered. I didn't feel hunger or thirst. I felt physical pain, but didn't care. It didn't compare to the pain in my heart.
In fact, the only reason we eventually ate, was because my aunt collected donations from extended family and had our meals delivered.
It was such a terrible, dark, and painful time. We both think of it daily, even though it has been 3 months now. The trauma and loss just doesn't stop.
I had a cousin reach out that lost a baby to SIDS. I asked her "How do I get over it?" and "How did you ever find meaning in life again?". Her reply was that over the years she learned that you don't ever "get over it". You move through the grief and learn how to cope with the grief, but it never leaves. At the time that news shook us even more, because at the worst moment of our lives, someone told us that we won't get better. It is akin to getting a fatal diagnosis. You will never recover.
Now that I am moving through the grief process a little bit, I can see what she meant. No moment is without thought of Wilder. No joy is pure, but always bittersweet. Daily we cry, have panic attacks, have to stay on top of stress coping mechanisms to stay afloat. The grief is not as smothering every second, but it is still terrible. And I have been learning to live with it. Learning to keep walking when the panic attack strikes. Learning to cry it out, because the tears are often dry from so much pain. Learning to limp through life as a changed person, a changed family.
Have I gotten over it? Hell, no. That is not possible, and I wouldn't want it to be. I love my baby and don't want to forget him or diminish what he means to me.
Have I found meaning in life again. Not really. But I have learned that the meaning behind life isn't everything. Love holds us. Love from family, from each other. Love for Wilder. And I am okay in love.
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