The best thing you can do for my healing is to say Kyler's name. There is nothing tangible here on earth besides his tiny footprints and urn, only his memory to keep me comfort. I think it would be incredibly hard to never hear his name; it reminds me that he's very real, very much my son.
This woman says it much more directly, but I understand where she's coming from:
https://stillstandingmag.com/2016/09/please-dont-forget-about-my-child/
What we've been told more frequently than anything else is:
There is no right or wrong way to grieve, that grief has no timeline or finishing point, and that men and women grieve differently. Think I've heard this 1,000x.
I hate the unexpected, lack-of-control, nature of this. And I'm not comfortable with waking up and reorienting myself to our "new normal."
But darnit if I can't already see blessings through this lack of control, though. I can sometimes (hopefully soon all the time) thank God for not being able to control the timing or intensity of some feelings, as I know I need to learn to find peace with who is the One in control. I'll probably have to keep re-learning this lesson the rest of my life, but am thankful to have started learning it early.
Shay has to keep reminding me that, though any future pregnancy (and probably all life events) will become much more emotional, that depth of emotion is a positive thing. It can allow us to connect more deeply to what we experience, seek God through all of it for purpose, meaning, direction, and cultivate a deeper appreciation for the situations we find ourselves in. And if we can connect with and cultivate this, maybe eventually I will feel freer to live in the present moment and nix the anxiety of the future.
Grieving does NOT come to an end, with healing beginning directly thereafter- instead, grieving and healing coincide continuously. As grieving gradually winds down and recedes into the background, healing gradually winds up and proceeds into the foreground.
Waking up and forgetting I was ever pregnant is HARD. Waking up remembering Ky's face and never knowing his personality or quirks is HARDER. I'm having to work more intentionally at keeping my head in a good place. All in all, I do believe using the words "shock and numbness" to describe me (probably not Shay) were fair. I assume that's the body's way of protecting you until you can handle moderated amounts of grief, remembrance, mourning (thank you, God).
I've been reading one of the mainstay books on perinatal bereavement and, to be quite honest, it's been a downer. It makes me feel like I should be curled up in a ball, only leaving the bed once a day to maybe brush my teeth. It quotes bereaved parents (many with multiple late pregnancy losses-- which I want to pretend never happens) as having "traumatic losses of function."
And while it could be that in 2 weeks I WILL end up curled up in a ball in Ky's crib, I know 2 things that are missing from this psychologist's book on surviving the death of your baby: GOD. and A SPIRIT FILLED SUPPORT GROUP. Somehow you can rearrange the letters in those words and spell 'hope.' I literally don't know how you'd get through it by seeing life as a series of random chance events. Or how you could walk back into your normal activities without people next to you who aren't afraid to acknowledge what happened (or to say Kyler's name... refer to above...). So today, I'll switch to Tim Keller's book on pain and suffering for a lighter read...
