Yesterday marked 11 months since Sacha’s death. That feels so strange and unreal to me. I don’t want it to be a year. I’m not ready for Sacha’s birthday – which should be marked by first steps, first words, first cake. As with so many times during the past year, I wish time would stand still and let me catch up.
This week I’ve primarily been feeling numb and burned-out, which has more to do with triggers and flashbacks that I’ve experienced lately than with the anniversary itself. Making matters worse, I overheard some extraordinarily insensitive comments last week about children with disabilities, from someone who should have known better. That was a knock-out punch, too painful to even process. So, I’ve just shut down a bit.
I have a lot of ideas for posts: about the damaging effects of viewing an uncomplicated birth as an “accomplishment” rather than a blessing, about the various causes of and treatments for persistent post-surgical and postpartum pain (as a lot of people have found my blog with search terms related to those issues). I’ve had many new readers go through my entire blog over the past week, which was exciting and made me want to keep writing. But I can’t muster the emotional energy to write a “good” post right now. Maybe in a few days or weeks.
When I’m feeling this way, people often recommend watching funny movies. But even comedies can leave me confused and in pain, because there is usually an aspect of family life involved that, in my mind, ends up highlighting how atypical my experience is. I relate much better to movies that involve tragedy, but those can be exhausting too.
There have been many bright spots of comfort, especially kind words and remembrances from friends.
Yesterday, a patient in clinic unexpectedly offered condolences at the end of his visit. He had Googled my name and found Sacha’s obituary. Completely unprompted, he said “I saw that your son died last year. I am so sorry. I can’t even imagine how difficult that must be to go through.” Those few, kind words were like a soothing balm.
Wrapped Up In Parentheses 
just like thoughtless comments can burn us out of the blue, kind words can hit us hard in the best kind of way too. we so need those kind words. They constantly amaze me- I am wowed that there are such thoughtful, unafraid people in this world. We need those reminders.
and good posts, bad posts. posts are posts. I often have a “good post” rolling inside my head but dont have the time or energy to write it for a while. So I write other stuff until I’m ready. THen I’m surprised that some of my “other stuff” is what people like. write when you want, what you want, how you want. I’ll still read 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks Meghan 🙂
LikeLike
As one of those people that read through your entire blog recently..I will tell you that much as I enjoy your wit and writing style, I came here majorly to confirm to myself that my experience of a dedicated and determined single-mom-to-be, which ended abruptly in the death of my baby, was not an isolated tragedy that happened to only me, in the history of existence. Because if it was, then I was doing record breaking stuff attempting to survive it, and who knows, maybe I was trying to pull off an impossible fit??! Now that I know that somewhere on this planet, at this very time, someone else is still surviving a similar experience, possibly I too will survive.
Having marked my duaghter Sinza’s first birthday 10 days ago, I will tell you that in my experience, the anticipation is worse than the day itself: the pressure to mark the day deservedly, wondering if anybody else apart from her mom will actually remember – deciding if you want to remind others of it, fear that counting the days since you last saw/held her in years rather than months will be another way of losing her and ;ead to another massive breakdown, and then discovering on the actual day that nothing really matters, apart from the pure love you feel for her!
Sorry, I am very wordy!
LikeLike