On April 15th, my baby's heart stopped beating.
On April 18th, I delivered her.
Those days in between are a blurr.
These days since have been terrible, lovely, heartbreaking, heartening, lonely and full.
A friend last night reminded me that what is simply is. Thinking about what should be or what I should be doing will really serve no purpose.
But I still miss her.
Omer, our community's dear friend and member, died last week. There is much rejoicing that his life was 90 years full and that his death was not dragged out for longer than a few rough months. We will miss him.
His memorial service was yesterday. Grief is selfish in its very nature and my grief is no exception. While remembering this loved man, I couldn't help but remember our wished-for child. For a second I wished that she would have lived 90 years, that she would have touched so many lives, that she would have had family and friends gather to remember her with such love. And then...She didn't live 90 years, only 7 short months in my womb, but, BUT, she was loved. She did have friends and family gather to remember her and grieve her loss. She did touch people; her loss touched people. Our grief and how we choose to bear it continues to makes its mark.
Grief is selfish, but I am not alone in my grief.
I am not alone.
We are not alone.
4 comments:
No, you're not alone....I just made it past my due date, and yes, it's hard, but you are right, we are not alone in our grief. I am overwhelmed at times how many of us there are...
Jeni I love reading your blog, especially since we are so FAR from each other now and I'm sure we'll never speak again. :) You are right though, she did touch people. I think of her every single day and I am sure I will for a long time. Songs remind me of her, babies, things. I am not even her mother. I did not even know her as you did. I miss her so much. I thought of her often at Omer's funeral last night, and at the one we just went to last week. I have no idea how you are doing it, but you are doing it well. I just want you to know that. I love you.
Hey Jeni,
Jo Ellen Weedman here.
I saw Chris at EP and was so sorry to hear about Hazel. Your writing is beautiful. I hope it helps bring you some healing and peace.
Hang in there,
Jo Ellen
You aren't alone but I know it sure feels like it.
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