Understood?

This week has been MUCH better than last week. I've kept myself busy and tried to get back into my normal routine as much as possible. For me, it's been therapeutic, though I am sometimes afraid of appearing too normal for fear that others won't be sympathetic to me in the future when I feel mad/sad/confused again.

I have spent a lot of time contemplating my situation and others who have cause to grieve. I've realized I really didn't understand how mourning worked. Because, to be honest, I used to think when people said, "No one can understand," that really we could understand - that death was terrible and you didn't have to experience it personally to know that it was a dark, horrid abyss for those left behind.

But no one does understand except the person in the situation (and the Lord, of course). Only people whose unborn children or newborns have died can truly understand my grief, just like I can't relate to the severe pain of someone who has lost a spouse, even though I've now experienced my own loss. It's not that someone else doesn't understand that I'm hurting, it's just that they can't understand the strange myriad of emotions that one uniquely experiences in each separate situation.

For example, the two most emotional experiences I've had were somewhat unpredictable. The first came in the hospital when I got a call on my cell phone from my original OB's office reminding me that my big 20-week/ultrasound appointment was the next day. I got flustered and stuttered, "The baby died," before hanging up the phone and sobbing. I wanted so badly to go to that appointment; to be a woman with a normal pregnancy and a healthy baby. But it was too late to even dream.

The next time came when I went to pick up Baby Zee's ashes. I expected to be very emotional, but found myself very calm as I went to claim her remains. I was so touched to see they'd put them in a tiny silver urn with pink etchings. But when I got back to the car and had to find a place to put them for a moment, I got really upset. The best place to put them was in the car's cup holder and that just seemed wrong. I wanted to hold my baby, not some trinket that could fit in a compartment.

Yet, other times when I should be emotional - holding her after birth, looking at her pictures, putting away my maternity clothes, seeing other babies or pregnant women - I feel either happy or nothing at all. And I don't think someone who hasn't experienced a similar situation can totally understand my reactions. That I like to talk about it with people, but that I don't want to cry in front of them. That I want people to ask me about her and how I'm doing, but that I want the option of not answering back.

So far few people have said anything offensive, and no one has done it intentionally. My favorite thing is when someone just gives me a hug or says, "We've been thinking about you." I also like it when people offer to watch Miss Dub so I can have some alone time, or ask me a direct question about Baby Zee, like, "What did you name her?" or, "What did she look like?" instead of dancing around the topic like I had surgery for an unknown ailment.

But everyone is just trying their best, including me. And somehow we'll figure it out together. Because I really am doing better; it's just a long road that I still have to walk, and some days I just want to stand still.




* My fabulous SIL sent me a link to this LDS talk. A must read for anyone struggling with anything.