I think the magnitude of Kenley’s death is sometimes lost on me (and those around me e.g., close family members, and friends). I feel like I’m in denial; like I’m choosing to truly ignore what ACTUALLY happened. I think I choose to be in denial because quite honestly, when you stop and break it all down, it’s awful. It’s the worst thing that could happen to a Mother. Losing her baby is the worst possible outcome to a healthy pregnancy. Hearing those words – “there is no heartbeat” – that’s the moment you change. That’s the moment you go from the person you’ve always been, to the person you never want to be; that’s the moment your soul dies.
The sun rises and sets just like before she was even a thought in our minds. As the months tick by, and she is getting older, up in the stars and not on earth, I realize all of the things I’m missing out on. I remember watching Landon do things, and reach milestones. The first few months of his life were so much fun with all the rolling, trying new foods, the cooing, and watching him get teeth. When Kenley died, I distinctly remember feeling the heavy sadness of not being able to see her reach these special milestones. I think having experienced them already with Landon, I really knew deep down how much I was going to miss out on.
As Alden is doing more, it’s extremely bittersweet. I am so thankful that she is in my life, and that we were able to bring her home. I love her SO much, but it doesn’t change the fact that Kenley is dead. It’s weird, this whole grief thing; people really think that as time goes on, and new babies arrive that you should be “better”.
What does that word even mean in relation to grief? Nothing. It means nothing. There is no “getting better” after the loss of a child. It’s kind of a smack in the face when people think this. I will not get better – this is who I am now. Sure, maybe I can sleep without sleeping pills, but that’s because I’m caring for a newborn and I’m straight up tired. The thoughts running through my mind surrounding her death are still present, trust me. I close my eyes and I see the ultrasound machine in L&D being wheeled in when I already knew she was gone. I see them all trying so hard to find her. I hear the words over and over. I see Shane’s face staring back at mine. I hear my Mother in Law screaming on the other end of the phone. I hear myself telling my Mom over the phone that Kenley is dead. There is no “getting better”.
I’m not here because this is where I’m supposed to be. I’m not here because this is Gods plan. If you believe that, I’m seriously sorry for you. I’m so sorry that you think my child dying is part of someones “plan” for my life. I am here because of science, and because life is unfair. Because it has to be someone, unfortunately, and it was us. We are the statistic.
I read a quote the other day on someones IG. It said: “We worry, and are full of anxiety. We think the world will demand an explanation. But in fact the world as has already moved on, and has forgotten us”.
I really felt a strong connection to this quote. I am constantly wondering if I’m offending people with my sadness and grief. I worry that people will be mad if I don’t show up to functions, or get togethers. It’s like people forget that we’ve lost a child until I take a stand and decide not to go somewhere that will make me uncomfortable, or sad, then all of a sudden it’s “Oh well you should be feeling better by now!” or a variation of Why aren’t you better? Why can’t you do X, Y, or Z anymore? Why can’t you come to X, Y or Z?
Maybe because I don’t want to?
Maybe because I’m sad.
Maybe because it’s legit too fucking hard for me?
I hate the person I’ve become. Before Kenley’s death I loved being around people, now? In the after? I fight back constant tears, and am constantly looking for an escape route.
It makes me so sad to see how much of myself died along side of her.