Feb 2, 2014


I am buried in grief.

One moment it feels like a rock slide; throbbing, pulsing, shaking me to my core. I cover my head and hope not to get crushed.

When the dust settles and I open my eyes, the pain is so strong I can breathe it in. I pull the rocks off one at a time. Sadness. Anger. Confusion. One at a time I think, "I can handle this." Yet even as I set them aside, they stay with me, so when I can take a step forward I'm weighed down. The path is heavier now.

In other moments my grief is like the ocean - vast, and all I can see. I'm not drowning in it, but rather floating on it. Waves come and I crash with them, riding out the heartbreak, hoping the calm in between is enough before the next one arrives.

I'm not having any thoughts about hurting myself - that's the last thing on my mind. But I only do what I have to. I feed myself because I know I need it. I go to work because it's what's expected. But there's not a lot of heart in my actions. There are moments where I'm distracted - by a good book, a sweet friend, a funny show, but it doesn't last long.

Most of the time I'm simply...lost. I feel like I should be doing something, but nothing helps. I go to Target, but only walk the perimeter of the store, avoiding the maternity and baby sections as best I can. I buy things. I think about another tattoo. But none of that will give me what I want - our baby.

I would have been 13 weeks pregnant today. I should be celebrating the hurdle of the first trimester, starting to share our news with people, and buying a few board books because it's "never too early" to start reading to the baby.

Instead I'm thinking of how I'll never get to see our girl laugh at her daddy. How I'll never get to breathe in her sweet baby smell or feel nostalgia for her growing up too quickly. How our lives right now are "should haves, would haves, could haves." I should be anticipating all that's to come.

Instead I am buried in grief.


Nora said...

<3 you. That's all I can think to say. That and you know where to find me if you need anything. xoxoxox

Lisa from Lisa's Yarns said...

I echo what Nora says - I am always here to listen if you want to talk. I wish I could do something to take some of your pain away. Love you xoxo

Amber said...

You are such an amazing writer. Wow. This just rocked me to my core. Love you so much friend and here for you. XO

Stephany said...

There is nothing I can say to make this pain to go away, even though that's the only thing I want to do. I'm just completely devastated for you and Ben and this loss, and I'm here if you need anything. <3

The Many Thoughts of a Reader said...

<3 (((()))

Jennifer Lara said...

Hi Becky, I'm new to your blog and it's amazing that this is the first post I read! I, too, suffered miscarriages. One at 8 weeks and one at 13 weeks before I had my beautiful daughter two years ago. But the amazing thing is I'm mourning the loss of my baby daughter who I lost at 20 weeks due to an incompetent cervix back in October. She was just too little to survive. The weight of grief is sometimes unbearable and waxes and wanes, especially now that my due date approaches. I love your analogy of being buried in grief! I wish I had words to ease your pain but I don't. All I can say is allow yourself the tears, they will help.

Emily said...

praying for you daily, and every moment God puts you on my heart. hugs to you, dear friend.

Katelin said...

xoxo we're all here for you becky xoxo

Nilsa @ SoMi Speaks said...

The grief that follows death is so hard to navigate. There isn't an off-the-shelf cure-all. Or a recipe for a home remedy. Taking things one step at a time; one day at a time; one week at a time is really all you can do. Hang in there, friend.

Mandy said...

XO, hugs to you friend. Love you. As the others have said, there nothing to say other than we are here for you.

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