This is Grief

“Grief, I’ve learned, is really just love. It’s all the love you want to give, but cannot. All that unspent love gathers up in the corners of your eyes, the lump in your throat, and in that hollow part of your chest. Grief is just love with no place to go” ~ Jamie Anderson





Grief will hit you out of nowhere and steal your breath. You can scream until your throat hurts and it's still there. The knot in your stomach, the dull ache in your heart.


It comes in anxiety and pain, but also in joy and love. We grieve because we have lost greatly. We have loved greatly. Longed greatly.


If you are experiencing this grief I hope my words will help make you feel seen. I hope you will find connection, maybe find the words to fit your pain. I hope you will also find encouragement. You are so strong and I am so inspired by you.


We lost Henry at 31 weeks. Actually, it was one day before I would have been 32 weeks along. I had a placental abruption meaning my placenta separated from my uterus. It is a “fluke thing” that happens in 1 out of 100 pregnancies (a statistic I hope will soon change).


My womb, a place that was meant to keep him safe, failed. It is SO HARD not to blame myself or my body for my son’s death.


Finding the medical reason for a loss may help some women cope. It did not help me. I had fully come to terms with the idea that we would never know the reason why we lost baby Hank.


You never really know why. You may get the diagnosis. Hear the statistics. Learn prevention methods. But no one ever learns the deeper answer. "Why my baby?" "Why us?"


If you never find a medical reason I need you to know one thing:


IT IS NOT YOUR FAULT.


If you do find a medical reason I also need you to know:


IT IS NOT YOUR FAULT.



After my doctor told us my placenta showed evidence of an abruption, I broke. All I could think about was my placenta slipping away. Ripping like velcro from a life-giving organ.


I screamed, I cursed, I threw a tennis ball across the yard in anger.


Behind the outbursts a deep sadness rumbled. It broke through in sobs whenever I let my mind wander; the shower, while driving, just after waking up.


Laying down to sleep, the thoughts and memories creep back. I think about my son slowly falling asleep. I remember trying to focus on spots in the ceiling in between sobs as I heard those six devastating words, “I’m sorry, there is no heartbeat.”


These thoughts and memories circle in my brain as I continue re-living every detail. I think my mind is constantly trying to piece together what happened as I still navigate the shock. Sometimes it feels like a broken record skipping over and over desperately attempting to get back on track.


Someday it will. So will yours. We'll get back on track while cherishing and remembering our lost loves.


I fall asleep with the T.V. on.


I try to make phone calls while driving and limit the silence.


I walk, I read, I zone out watching dumb videos on facebook.


These are temporary solutions but they are working for me right now. I am learning how to give myself grace.


Be gentile to yourself. If you are finding simple ways to cope, use them.


I talk to Henry. I hold my monogrammed jewelry and I tell him to stay. Mama needs you today. Today we are going to to the store, getting some work done, cleaning the house etc.


This grief is so painful. Sweet mama you know. We are walking around with a hole in our hearts. Living with less oxygen than we need. Taking deep gasping breaths every second our head is above water.


One in four pregnancies end in loss. Either by miscarriage, ectopic pregnancy, or still birth. One in four. That’s insane. There are so many of us loss moms out and about. Living our lives like we haven't known the deepest pain.

You are not alone.


Dear mama. You are so strong. This is grief but it is not the end. Brighter days are ahead. Laughter is ahead. Peace is ahead.


In love and empathy,


Allie

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