I can't believe...

A luminary for Shiloh on Oct 15th (from Sherri)

I wrote this journal entry on the Daily Strength Forum last month. I decided to post it here now because I still feel this way. Sometimes I am in awe of the human capability to survive intense trauma.

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Wow. I can't believe I've come this far. I can't believe it's been over 10 months since I lost my Shiloh. I couldn't stop crying or even really get out of bed from Oct-Dec. I was SO utterly depressed, confused, empty, hopeless. I had no sense of purpose or direction. I couldn't brush my hair, or go outside, or see people, or make small talk, or listen to music or anything. I cried, I kept to myself, I hated the world, and I wrote about it all. Sometimes I miss those days where I could let myself FEEL EVERYTHING. It's so hard nowadays to allow myself to really revisit that pain. I think about Shiloh every minute of everyday, but it's so hard to open her memory box, so hard to let myself think about that night where I found out that her heart had stopped, the afternoon when I gave birth to her, the look of despair on my husband's and my sibling's faces when I pushed her out and she didn't move or cry, the first time holding her lifeless body. I still think about these things all the time, but I removed myself from it a bit. It physically hurts to cry so much now. I guess it's just a coping mechanism, but it makes me feel so damn guilty.

I was sitting in my Hospice parent bereavement group last Thursday and there was a new couple there. I'm glad they found this support group, but I HATE when new couples join us. Nobody should have to endure the tragedy that people like us have endured. When I saw them, just the expression on their faces, it brought me back to the first time we went to this support group- exactly one week after I gave birth to Shiloh. My husband dragged me to group. I am not the kind of person that likes to talk about my emotions to strangers (face to face at least), I do not like therapy and I don't need people seeing me blustering, crying, distraught- essentially- a mess. But Andreas said that we needed this, that we don't even know what grief really is, or how to heal, that we can't be isolated, that we have to find people that know our pain. In the end, he was totally right. I certainly wouldn't be where I am today had he not dragged me to support group. He gave me yet another, much needed outlet for my anger, disbelief, bitterness, sadness, and loss. It feels so good to be with people who understand, who don't ask you what's wrong when you randomly start to cry, or turn away when you see a baby or pregnant woman. They get it. This, right now, is all I can ask for in a friend. It's sad that I can't be comforted in any other way, but I've come to accept that this is my reality, that I'm living in a shell of myself, sustained by a broken heart.