Someone Came Before You

It has been over a month and a half since I have last written a blog post. Not because I haven't wanted to, or because I didn't have the time, or because I haven't needed to use writing as a way to cope. Mostly because I often feel like I should be at a different stage in this grieving process. I feel embarrassed sometimes that I still have days where I miss my baby so much that my body physically aches. On November 5th, Brooklyn would have been 19 months old. Enough time has passed, that I feel like there's an expectation from others that I should be "better" by now. That thinking about Brooklyn, or talking about her somehow means I am dwelling on the past and not "moving on". I feel awkward bringing her up in conversation, or talking about my labour and delivery story - as if my story of her birth is any less valid or important than any one else's.

Right after we lost her, we met with the social worker at the hospital who told us this would happen. Time would move on, so would other people, slowly they would stop acknowledging her existence, and we would be left feeling like we are scrambling to hold onto any pieces of her memory we have left. This is how I've felt lately. I know it's not an intentional thing or something that is done to hurt us, it's just what happens when time moves on and our baby doesn't move with it. It's not even that I want to talk about her all the time, I just long to hear anyone say they miss her too.

Missing her definitely comes in waves. Actually no - missing her is constant, the intensity of this feeling varies. August, September, and the beginning of October were really hard months for me. I missed her like crazy and I felt like I was struggling to be a good mama to Aubrey because of it. I can't pin point the exact time the intensity lessened or why, but the feeling is easier these days. I know that the overwhelming longing will return again, and that I will be a little bit stronger each time it does.

I still keep Brooklyn's blanket on our bedside table. The only time I move it is to pick it up and smell it. Sometimes I feel weird for doing that, but when the memories we have of her are so few, I'll take what I can get. I know one day I will move it, maybe even tuck it away in her little memory box, but I don't like to think about that yet. Aubrey's things are scattered around our house, it helps me to know that Brooklyn has something lying around too.

Lately I have been trying to do more things for me. Since we got pregnant with Brooklyn in July of 2013, my body has either been used to grow or nurse a baby. My pregnancies were both physically draining, and my pregnancy with Aubrey was very stressful. I feel blessed that I am able to do these things, but it got to a point where I was exhausted and feeling like I was giving so much of myself away and not taking any time to refuel my batteries. I've slowly started doing things for myself again, and it has made a difference in both my mood and my perspective. I've also started letting go of things quicker, and being more intentional about how I spend my time. Life's too short - I don't want to look back and regret wasting so much time doing things that don't actually matter.

Tonight before bedtime, I was reading the book called "Someone Came Before You" to Aubrey. It talks about a Mommy and Daddy who had a baby who died, and how that baby stretched their hearts big enough to let in more love again. During one part, I was choking back the tears. Aubrey snuggled in close to me like she sometimes does, as if she knew that was exactly what I needed. Tears started streaming down my face, and I held her tight and told her I love her so very much. That sweet girl has softened my heart in a way I didn't think was possible again. She has taught me it's okay to laugh so hard I cry, and that it's okay to hope for better days. She truly is our rainbow after a storm.