Last week was a pretty good week. I would say we functioned pretty well. Did a bunch of regular life stuff [even though now I couldn’t begin to tell you a thing we did last week]. I felt I had a better grasp on this grieving thing, and like I was able to say how much I missed my baby but that we were ok. Saturday I woke up feeling worse for the wear, Sunday was harder. This is a hard week, and over the weekend I was very frustrated.
I realized that I was so frustrated and so frustrated with myself. I thought I was getting better. I thought I was on the track to “normalcy” or just a regular life again and then this week hit and hit hard. And it left me very frustrated with everything. But today I realized that I don’t need to “get better”. I’m not sick. I lost my child. It’s not a cold to get over or an illness to recover from. My baby died, and I’m grieving. And that’s ok. And I don’t have to get better. I don’t have to recover. It’s ok for me to feel better, and I’m thankful for the days that I do and I trust that more of those days will come. But for now I’m going to try to remember to give myself grace when I take one step forward and 3 steps backwards.
In the meantime, I am thankful for friends and family who love us well. Who show up when we’re sad, who send encouraging words, who pray always for us. Last night Tommy and I went to an infant loss support group for the first time. My doctor highly recommended that we go, and I respect him and his opinions so much, so off we went. It was good. It was nice to be with people who get it. Many people are understanding, but these other people are in our very boat. Different stories, same outcome. None of us are home caring for our newborns, but rather, are sitting in a room with total strangers sharing some of our deepest thoughts and feelings.
After the group, we went by the cemetery, and as we pulled up I noticed that something was on his grave. As we walked up, I realized right away that our friends had left it. There were all kinds of little Caterpillar construction trucks and bubbles with a card for Jack and Gabriel saying they were toys for Jack to play with when he comes to visit his little brother. I was so thankful. So thankful to know that my boys, especially my boy who isn’t here anymore, are remembered. So thankful to know that his grave is being visited. So thankful for dear friends who leave precious gifts, who ask questions, who text reminders that they will never forget about our baby. Because I want badly to go forward, but I don’t ever want the remembering to lessen.