blank. 

It seems that every time I come to post something, nothing feels right. 

I just don’t know how many ways there are to say that I miss my daughter. I think I’m beginning to see that people are assuming we should “be over it”, and should be moving on. Certain people say things or imply things which make me feel so angry inside. They talk to me like I never lost Kenley; like she didn’t exist and I should be ok with other babies her age. 

Lemme just go ahead and put this out there for the record (and this will stand FOREVER): I will NEVER be ok with children her age. Not now, not when she should be 5, or 10, or 40. NEVER. I will look at these children and see my own dead child. That’s just the way it is. Not a pity party for us as a family, or me as a Mother, it’s just a fact. 

There are some people in my life who understand, but honestly I can tell their patience is wearing thin. It amazes me that people think I should be up for more. Or that I should be able to “be around babies/showers/baby things/pregnant people”. 

I know that from the outside looking in, we look “whole” again. We have our kids, and our life and each other, which I am SO grateful for every day, but ultimately, guess what? We are down one child. 

Always. 

It doesn’t matter if we have a new baby, that doesn’t take away the pain of seeing other babies. 

You know what I see when I see your baby? Me, holding my lifeless Daughter. My Husband holding her hand while the photographer takes a picture so we can remember what it looked like after we leave the Hospital and never see it again. EVER. 

Your joy is my pain. While you are watching your child meet milestone after milestone, I am starting over. I have a newborn, instead of an 18 month old. 

I just don’t think people get it. IT is a very rough thing to think about, so I like to give people the benefit of the doubt in weird situations. Maybe they don’t know how to act, or maybe they think it’s ok to tell me about their child who is Kenley’s age or whatever. But MY GOD–Have some awareness. 

Life is changing. My time is consumed by Alden, and my growing love for her fills my heart with joy. My heart is never fully happy though, and that just stings so much. I can’t be 100% again, because part of me died on December 29th with Kenley. I wouldn’t ever want to be 100% again, because that means I never had her and…just no. 

I’ve been feeling pretty angry lately. Angry in the sense of “why me”. Angry because the greatest moment of our life turned into the worst and saddest moment that we will ever live through. Angry because I’m a damn good Mother, and I deserve my baby. I don’t smoke or drink or do drugs. We can provide anything and everything a child could ever want. And yet, my perfect child dies. The universe is cruel and unfair. 

So that’s why I don’t post every day like before. Because I’m a broken record. Because every day is the same. Because I wake up every day feeling the same way, and some days are better than others, but most days I’m just sad. Most days my heart breaks for a million different reasons and I long to hold my daughter again. 

I miss everything about the before. 

I don’t know who I am anymore, and it’s heartbreaking to know that I will never figure that out again. 

Because, how do you figure out who you are when one of your children has died…?

You just don’t. 

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6 thoughts on “blank. 

  1. I so agree with this. I’ll never be ok with babies Matthew’s age. Ever. Someday I won’t be able to look at 40 year olds, probably. And people think babies in general don’t hurt me now. They do. All I can picture is how we had to hold one of ours cold, lifeless. That pain doesn’t just go away because Joel’s here. And baby showers? Yeah forget it. Thanks for this honest, accurate post.

    Liked by 2 people

  2. There are some people in my life who understand, but honestly I can tell their patience is wearing thin. It amazes me that people think I should be up for more. Or that I should be able to “be around babies/showers/baby things/pregnant people”

    Someone asked me recently, “are you happy?” The answer is obvious to you, I know. I haven’t been happy in 3 years. I miss the before. I am living a full life, yes, but I will never be 100%. Your words are so important for other loss moms and for those who are trying to understand you. But you’re also so right about one thing- their patience wears thin.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Agree. And I’ve been in my anger stage for awhile now. I also had a friend call this morning to tell me she is pregnant. I want to be happy for her but it hurts. This is the first pregnancy announcement I’ve gotten since my loss. I feel so sad when I see pregnancy and babies.

    Liked by 1 person

    • It hurts, doesn’t it. Of course you want to be happy for your friend, and you are, but that doesn’t mean you’re not still extremely sad for the child you lost and everything that died along side of them. (((Hugs))) momma. The anger is such s rough emotion to handle; it drags you down into a place that none of us ever want to be.

      Like

  4. (((HUGS))) my hardest pregnancy loss was Scarlett- second trimester. I was by myself, and in complete shock. I never took pictures. I wish every day that I had. It’s a regret I will never get through.
    In November, a young girl delivered right in front of me while complaining of abdominal pain– at 18 weeks. She was surrounded by family, and my partner (a male), looked so confused as what to do. I cut the cord, cleaned this baby girl up, and asked grandma for a blanket. Everyone kept asking me “what should we do?” I said, “take photographs. If you’d like, hold this sweet angel while I get mom cleaned up and ready to transport (at that point mom couldn’t even hold the baby–understandable). Family held, photographed and loved on this baby until we needed to leave. Driving to the hospital, I held her close. Took in her perfect features, kept her wrapped tight and spoke to her. By the time we go to the ER, mom was ready to hold her little girl. I held her hand as she cradled her in her arms, and I shared my story with her before they took her up to OB. My heart broke for her- but at the same time, my own heart healed just a bit more than I thought it could.

    It’s cliche, but sometimes I think that certain things happen to certain people because there’s a greater purpose. For me, it’s to be there for women who’s shoes I’ve walked in. To offer support that those who don’t know couldn’t provide. And you, Randi, with your openness, and honesty and such raw emotion and truth, in damned sure that you’ve changed lives of mothers walking the same journey. It never takes the pain away, it never erases the memories of the worst day of your life, it never lessens the burden. BUT- it takes special people to be brave enough to share their stories, and you’re stronger than you think or feel.

    I can relate about those who think time should have healed the irreparable wounds. For me, it’s been years since losing my children, and people don’t understand that my heart aches and arms are heavy for them daily. It’s been almost 8 months since losing my mom and that is currently the rawest wound in my heart. People expect you be magically reach a point on this journey where you’re just OK. It seems a lot like people hearing me explain thoughts/feelings/actions with “well, because I lost my mom in November” is becoming inconvenient for them to hear. Eventually people stop calling and checking in, even when they said “we’ll always be there.” It’s frustrating. When you haven’t lived it, you can’t understand it. Just like learning to live life without the children I love so much and were so wanted, I’m now learning to live without a mother who was my best friend.

    I can relate on so many levels, friend. But know that I see so much bravery, strength and courage in your words, Randi, and if you ever need an ear, you know where to find me.

    Peace, love and many hugs to you💜

    Like

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