First, thanks to Nicole, Aurelia and Vixanne who commented on my last post. I appreciate your support and the thoughtfulness of the comments so much. I found myself thinking quite a bit today about Vixanne's question of why I lurk around on infertility/loss blogs and boards. I don't do much on the boards anymore--I broke my addiction to SHARE a few months ago--but I still can't help but search out and read people's personal stories of their journeys through loss.
Like Vixanne said, it is like picking at scab, and at first I couldn't come up with a good reason why I do it. As I thought about it though, I remembered the words my therapist has uttered so many times--"it's coming up for a reason; to be transformed." I think because I haven't been able to come to terms with the anger, because I haven't been able to transform it into anything positive, it needs to keep coming up, and I facilitate that by seeking out things that will do it for me. The problem is that I don't yet have the tools to transform it. That's what I hope I will gain from therapy and from my own internal reflection.
Vixanne commented that "I can't really imagine that it happened to me." I really have been feeling this way a lot lately. I look at Hope's photo on the bookcase and her little urn and it seems so surreal, so unreal. My life has changed in so many ways since that day in 2003. In the course of two years, I went from infertile to pregnant to grieving to infertile to pregnant to mother of a living child. I met Tingle and we walked together through some of the worst of our grief. I watched LilCherie's son grow into a little boy and stood by as she lost her dear grandma. I got close to divorcing my husband and am working on rebuilding our relationship. All of those events were (are) impacted in one way or another by my experience of having and losing Hope, a lot of them in positive ways--but it remains stunning that it was me who laid there in the hospital that day losing my child. Sometimes I feel like I am fighting against the part of me that tries to protect my psyche from damage, the part that wants to bury the trauma and not let me access it anymore. I need to be able to access it, not only because it's my daughter and I have a duty to her--not to dwell in a mire of pain, but to remember--but also because there are riches there that are mine if I am courageous enough to keep going back to get them.
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6 comments:
I think your therapist is right. It keeps coming up because you are trying to get through it the only way you know how. We can't run from our fears, because they are faster than we can ever be. All we can do is turn around, face it, and introduce ourselves. We're all here for you while you continue to grieve and deal with it all. OK?
You are welcome, Depressionista, and yes, it takes time to deal with the anger and the sadness, because it changes us permanently, like every life experience.
I've found that, it is always with me, but maybe not quite as fresh as it once was, a different pain, not better, but not quite as awful as it once was.
Like Nicole said, we'll be here.
When you wrote the first entry on your anger, I really was not sure of how I wanted to comment. And I am still really not sure to be quite honest. I have been really impressed with all of the work you have done regarding this issue and continue to do. Anger is stage in the process. And you are getting that anger out by sharing that with others who have been in the same place and know that pain. You are doing great...
I never thought how angry you are,Sometimes I can notice it thru actions sometimes thru words. I take it in and know that right now it is part of you. I don't see it as a seperate part of you but as a healing part. You have crossed amazing mountains. Thru all the grief you D, will be O.K. You are a great Mom, A good wife and a loving friend. And I read everything you write even though I don't blog it. love pioneer girl
I love the idea of emotions coming up for a reason - to be transformed. Keep working, you are getting the tools, I can see that already, and I'm really proud of you.
I often feel the same way, almost like my experience of losing my son was something I watched happen, like an out-of-body experience. I've replayed that video in my mind so many times, that I think sometimes I become detached from the actual experience of it, just like it's a movie.
There are days when I can't believe it happened to me, but more often there are days when I can't remember a time I wasn't living with this loss.
It makes me feel. really. old.
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