I’m writing this for the girl that comes after me, so that maybe she can learn from something we’ve walked through, or can identify similar behaviors in herself (whether harmful or helpful) and know that she’s not alone. Or at least know she’s not crazy!
Today is 12 weeks. Twelve weeks is the mark where most women will tell the world they’re pregnant. I’m hung up on 12 weeks, maybe also because that’s when I told myself we could officially ‘try again’. I think we were also told 12 weeks is when I could expect to be more physically normal.
My 12 weeks feels pretty unfulfilling. I’m throwing back bottles of prenatals, probiotics, and supplements to restore what was depleted, wearing clothes with elastic that stretches over my saggy-skinned muffin top, still waiting on a normal cycle, and avoiding the stretch marks out of the corner of my eye.
The first few weeks were soley devoted to “grieving”, whatever that even means. For me, it was reading everything I could get my hands on that revolved around stillbirth and talking to anyone who would listen or could offer advice. When I started back at work, life went from 0 to 180mph, even though I thought I was protecting myself from letting that happen. On this day 12 weeks after we lost Kyler’s heartbeat, I’m working fulltime at one hospital, part-time at another, trying to ramp up my woodworking side business (because it really brings me joy to create), and working to approve my 501(c)3 in honor of Kyler. And all the while, I want to spend time with the people that are important to me because I’m desperate not to feel isolated. [But I’m afraid feeling isolated is a natural byproduct of walking through a path unique to those in your closest circles].
I’m assuming because I’m doing all these things with a smile, that it’s general assumption that I (we) are ‘doing alright’. And possibly that causes many people to avoid broaching the subject in an effort not to bring us down. Or to assume that the best way to make us feel normal is to act like things are the same ol’ normal they’ve always been. Or maybe our presence is too heavy, and it’s easier to not to ask. However, while it makes sense to assume we are on the up-and-up, especially based on watching from afar, I must assure you that Kyler and this reality is still very much on the forefront of my mind. Not a single day has yet gone by where I haven’t thought of him (and all that goes with him) often. So the silence or the ‘fear of heavy things’ or whatever it is that may keep someone from acknowledging that we lost our baby is translated like this…. Silence = It Doesn't Matter Anymore. Because of silence, I have wondered if maybe I was making this whole experience too big of a deal. You will not 'remind me' that my son is gone, I'm already thinking about it.
I’ve learned that even though I’ve always claimed the tag “Introvert”, I feel the absolute best when someone literally just says, “are you doing okay?” I’m even just as happy when someone asks if it’s okay being back at work! Anything to let me know that you remember I was supposed to be on maternity leave learning to nurse my son but am instead trying to see how many balls I can keep up in the air. It can be benign, like work, or straight to the heart, like “what can I pray for?”. So, despite prayers for a soft and gracious heart, I’ve let myself get mad, because I don’t want to feel alone but I don’t want to be needy either.
To be honest, I’m flat out irritated. I’m mad that I still feel like the elephant in some rooms. I’m mad that I can go a whole day at 2 jobs and a church function and not once be asked if we’re holding it together. I’m mad that I’ve let life get so busy that I can barely get to a counseling session. I’m mad that I don’t know Kyler better than I do. I’m mad that I haven’t lost the baby weight. I’m mad that I have to console other people around me when they feel awkward. I’m mad that some people I want to reach out so badly haven’t. I’m mad that I thought I could jump over this stage of the grieving process, and it found me anyway. I’m mad that I NEED people. I’m mad that I want everyone to know and no one to know at the same time. I’m so mad that I’m mad.
This morning, in the middle of painting signs and making dessert for a get-together, Shay sent me this photo of a boy at a Braves’ game. And I lost it. On the floor, bawling-my-eyes-out lost it.
And I realized how mad I was.
So maybe the 12 week mark just serves to represent the start of “phase 2” in the grieving process. Perhaps phase 1 was denial or shock, and now we have seamlessly drifted into anger. I’ve prayed for my heart to remain soft, to see the good intentions, to have grace when others are silent. Those things are becoming more difficult to do, and I’m trying to absorb all of His grace that I can for both myself and those in my close community.
Even now, I want to apologize and caveat my way through this letter, to feel guilty because I don’t want supporting me to become anyone’s homework. But that does no good because I still feel all of the things above.
“Our culture is grief stupid,” I’ve been told. “Your age group by and large hasn’t dealt with death personally.” So instead of simmering any longer over what this 12 week mark IS and what it’s NOT, I’m acknowledging that because this is life and because we all value a real community, I’m gonna tell it like my heart has to.
For the next girl who reaches 12 weeks, know this: just like getting married won’t fix relationship issues and losing weight doesn’t equal happiness, reaching the 12-week mark won’t necessarily be when the flip gets switched and you’re grief-free, ready to jump back in. And people say that’s supposed to be okay.
And in case the girl coming after me feels anything but whole at 12 weeks, know that THROUGH ALL THE THOUGHTS THAT DON’T MAKE SENSE, the Lord gets it, the Holy Spirit can communicate it, He will STILL see us through, and the reality that we will be with Him forever is ultimately enough to sustain through anything.
