Tag Archives: infant loss

Last day of July

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I don’t know where I left off with the last post other than an obvious hiatus. I don’t know what I have mentioned and what I haven’t either here or on my Instagram page. July has been fucking awful. I am back to the emotional point of sobbing every single day. I keep begging and pleading with the future that the anticipation of August and Sylvia’s first birthday will be worse than the actual month and the actual event. It *has* to be. How can anything be worse than where I am at right now. I feel exhausted, emotionally and physically, and daily I think about how much easier to would be to be dead. I am not suicidal, so do not misunderstand, but if I were dead I wouldn’t feel this pain. And being dead is the only release from it. No, I am not suicidal, but I get it…I get why it can feel like the only other option. I understand why people drink, abuse medication and turn to self destructive behaviors. I get it. It would be so much easier to shut off from the world and just float, medically altered, rather than wake up and pretend that I really care all that much about anything other than putting one foot in front of the other.  Continue reading →

The Gunshot

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A month or so after Sylvia died I was told that ‘it would get worse’ by someone in the know. Carlos and I talked about that statement later, only to be baffled at how it could possibly get worse. Surely, we thought, it must at least some how get better. We have been through the worst…right? How could it continue on a downward spiral? How could anything get worse than this? But they were right. It is worse. It has gotten much worse. In two weeks it will be the week that I found out I was pregnant. Any moment past that, I was pregnant a year ago. We are entering the time of year that 365 days ago I had hope. To now be at the same time of year, except without her, without hope and still lost and confused is nearly more than I can seem to bear. The past two weeks or so have been awful. I don’t know if something triggered it or if its just time that is suddenly my enemy. Its truly physically painful. Grief seems to have a tangible manifestation that is present now in my life. Its like a new character, a side-kick. I’d even go so far as to say grief is like a new friend because of its constant presence. Its almost comforting in a way as often I feel like it brings me closer to Sylvia.   Continue reading →

Sylvia’s Plants

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I’ve been in a real low for a couple days. It happens every once in a while, where for hours and hours I can not stop crying. I wander through my house, aimlessly sobbing. I sometimes pick up pictures of Sylvia along the way, or her urn, or her teddy bears or her blanket and move them to another spot along my wander, only to later return them to their original location. I slow down to a pathetically slow pace as I pass by her room, staring inside as it remains untouched still. She has three plants in her room; one is a coffee plant, another is a tiny bird’s nest fern on a shelf and another is clippings in a hanging jar from a variegated ivy I have in the living room. All were bought and placed there with intentions of being hers. I really only go through the door and actually into her room now to water them. I have probably over 20 plants in our home, a handful of which I have had for over 10 years, but those three are most important. For some reason, keeping them alive, in my head, symbolizes some sort of hope.  Continue reading →

‘But you were so healthy…’

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When I have had conversations about Sylvia and my pregnancy to people there always is the initial sympathy and condolence responses. Tears and hugs and silence are common at this time too. Everyone has a different way of having that first conversation with me, or a way they act the first time they see me since her death. For many, I know its uncomfortable, its awkward, its sad and its something that is so intense that it is impossible to even prepare yourself or form a script for the first time you see me. I know this because while I was pregnant a friend of mines son died. The first time I saw her I panicked. Its normal. No one ‘knows what to say’. The interesting thing about peoples initial conversations with me since her death is nine times out of ten, people say, ‘But you were so healthy?…’  after the sympathy, condolences, hugs and tears. The statement is said closed like that. It is always those five words. It is always paired with a face of complete confusion. It isn’t ever a continuing statement and rarely that part of the conversation goes much further. My response is always, ‘I know’ and a nod of my head. I don’t know if the statement continued really what it would include and I don’t know if the person saying it does either honestly. Would it be, ‘But you were so healthy, healthy people’s babies don’t die.’ Would it be, ‘But you were so healthy, what went wrong?’ Would it be, ‘But you were so healthy, is there something wrong about your ability to carry babies?’  Continue reading →