Capture Your Grief, Day 9
Who am I now? How has this experience changed me? I hesitate to even call it an experience. It was and is so much more than that. It was stillbirth. It was losing a child. It is loss. And it is grief. But nonetheless, I am different.
Transformed, however, makes it seem as though I have come to the end of this difficult road. I am ever evolving. Ever changing. In each day, each moment, in each breath...I am transforming.
I don’t really know who I am. I just know I’m not that same.
It’s so hard for me to grasp the magnitude losing my baby has had on me. I have put off this entry, because I don’t know if I can even put it into words. I don’t know if I can define “this new me.”
There are parts of me I don’t think I will ever get back. There are parts of me that will never return, and that’s not completely terrible. But I do hope to be restored. There are also parts of me that are better now, and that’s such a strange reality...gaining from losing.
Who am I now? These are just some observations. And honestly, they are completely inconsistent.
I’m not consumed by work anymore. For once in my life, my family comes first. I love my living children in a new and eye opening way. I also recognize the need to slow down. To take breaks. It is important for me to pause frequently. No longer am I able to drive and propel myself forward, convincing myself that I am invincible. I am waving my white flag. The overachiever is gone. I long to live simply.
I still want control, but I’m okay with being flexible. I can handle it when plans change and things just “don’t work out.” Tasks don’t get done. Agendas change. Things that used to be “the end of the world,” are just not a big deal anymore.
I no longer base my decisions off of what other people think. Insecurities still linger, but my people pleasing habits have mostly fallen by the wayside.
I am better able to meet others in their suffering. More compassionate. A better listener. More genuinely concerned. I care about their problems and hurt when they hurt. There’s no more room for small talk. I want real conversation.
I feel deeply and intensely. Every reaction is an emotional reaction. I feel in such a big way. I have seen the other side. I know what it means to lose. I know what life costs. I want heaven in a real and tangible way.
I feel unworthy, fragile, and broken, and I wonder what people think of me...the woman whose baby died. Do they think I am unstable? Do they not like this new me? Do they wish she would go away? Do they even want to stick around?
I am often plagued by fear It’s hard for me to trust God. I often think, Who will I lose next?
It’s hard for me to feel joy. It’s hard for me to find peace. And when I do get glimpses of joy or any emotion other than sadness, it overwhelms me. I feel guilty. I want to suppress it and run from it.
Sometimes I smile, but the sadness is always lurking beneath the surface. The smile is a front. My mind and heart are always preoccupied. Anger remains, and there’s a deep and aching longing that is never satisfied.
I await the true transformation. When death yields the resurrection and darkness moves into the light. When I am free. When I am transformed.