Monday, January 2, 2012

Silently Suffering

It has been kind of a sad place around my brain lately.  Sad and a little bit lonely.  See, I'm not sure that anyone is interested in listening about this any more, but I'm ready to talk about it with you, dear readers, who ever you actually are. :)

January 3rd, 2011 was Matthew's due date.  I was prepared for this time last year to be hard.  And it was, for sure, but I actually felt a little bit of relief when I wasn't constantly thinking "I'm supposed to be pregnant."  It hasn't been an easy year, watching my friends birth their healthy babies, the ones they were pregnant with while I was pregnant with Matthew, but there has also been a lot of joy with my other kids and I've had periods of deep healing.  But there have also been periods where the grief is fresh and raw and I still find myself shaking my head, wondering if this has all just been a long, terrible bad dream.  Oh, how I wish.

The pain has been really intense since about two weeks ago--when I started to realize that I could have been getting ready to celebrate "baby's first Christmas," telling him "no-no!" each time he crawled over to the tree and pulled on a strand of lights, and been finding some big box to wrap just so he could tear the paper off on Christmas morning.  My heartbreak has continued as I have thought about how I might have been planning his first birthday party, getting a little smash cake for him to mash his face in while I snapped tons of photos.

It's been especially hard because D's birthday is today...he turned 3 today, and as much as I just wanted to be present to celebrate him--he's such a great little guy--I kept having waves of sadness that it wasn't a double birthday party.  Sadness that we're not figuring out how to juggle the boys' birthdays so that they both feel special.  Unfortunately, in my brain, I'm still juggling, but it is how to hold both happy and sad in my heart at the same time.

I've been thinking a lot about how this is never going to go away.  Sure, time heals, but never completely.  I will never be the same person I was before July 30, 2010.  I will never go back to being a mom who has all her kids here.  Never.  In 29 years, on January 3rd, I will be thinking, "he could be turning 30," and mourning that he is not.

I'm not trying to be dreary.  I'm just being honest.  And it's my fear that people probably feel like "Oh, come on! I know your baby is gone, but seriously, it's time to move on!!" that keeps me quiet.  When you ask me how I'm doing, I say "good!" because I figure you don't really want to hear how much I am still struggling with this.  Maybe you don't, but the truth is, I'm still really sad.  Really, really sad.  I miss my son.

I don't really know what to do with this except to put it out there.  Sometimes the simple act of writing makes me feel better.  Sometimes hearing from some of you that you are still willing to listen makes me feel better.  Sometimes just saying all this in front of God makes me feel better.  So, thanks for being here with me.


  1. I'm still here, still listening. And although I can't claim to know what it feels like, I do know that what you feel is yours and real and honest and can't be swept away by what "should be" or by what seems like it might be easier. Sending love and light...

  2. I'm just catching up on blog reading after a long, numb hiatus that I took over Christmas and New Year's to avoid seeing everyone's "happy happy holidays."

    But I want you to know-- I still want to know when your heart is breaking. Even when mine is, too. It is a burden I will carry because I love you, and because you know exactly how to carry mine, too.


  3. Sarah, you can always talk about Matthew with me!