A TIME TO MOURN

When Barbara died, I thought it was over. I thought that I would be very sad for a while but then I eventually would rebound and be fine. I thought that I would need a few weeks to get back to "normal" and then things would be as they were pre- Barbara. Of course, I knew that I would always miss her but I thought that I wouldn't be sad for very long. I think I originally thought this because the NICU had been such hell and then it was over. She had suffered terribly and I had suffered along with her. It wasn't easy to hold her hand a few times a day while she was poked and prodded and clearly in pain. It wasn't easy sitting there watching the life slip away from her during the last few days of her life. I think that, at first, I felt relief. Relief for her and relief for my husband and myself. The first mistake I made was thinking that I could just shake off the NICU experience and move on. Th reality was that the NICU had been my life and my home for 4 weeks. This doesn't seem like very long, now- especially when I consider the fact that she has been dead for 8 months. But when the NICU is one's entire existence for 4 weeks- 24 hours a day- the four weeks may as well be an eternity. Also, my life had revolved around only Barbara during those weeks. It was all about blood tests and results, daily rounds, consultations and prayers. It was all about doing everything I could to keep my child alive and letting her know that she was loved and that I was there for her- always. She was my sun and I was her Earth. I also got into a spiritual routine; I would go to Mass everyday and say the rosary every morning with Barbara. I read Scripture to her so that- if she died- she would recognize Jesus and would have heard about Him. I know that this is silly because she would have known Him, anyhow, but I suppose it made me feel better. I rarely left the hospital. We slept there. I stayed with her until very early in the am, got a few hours or sleep and then went back to sit with her. I would sometimes take a break for coffee or (rarely) lunch and, after her condition began to improve, my husband and I would go out for dinner. When she was very ill, I barely slept. Our other kids visited us at the hospital. We tried to make it fun for them; they played on the escalator and on the play ground outside. We even had a little birthday party for our son there. The hospital had become home. So, when she died I didn't know what to do with myself. All we did the first week was sleep. We were so exhausted. Then came the funeral. The following Monday my husband had to go back to work and I was alone. I tried to manage with the kids but I couldn't keep it together. I was lost without the routine of the NICU and without my sun to revolve around. As much as I hated the NICU, I was lost without it and I was lost without her. All I did was cry- sometimes hysterically- and ask "why" over and over again. My spiritual routine fell apart as I could not get to Mass during the day anymore. I had to wait until Sunday to go and this was so difficult! I often felt very depressed because I could not get to Mass to see Jesus; He kept me going in the NICU and now I had to be apart from Him. I had a hard time saying the rosary without Barbara because it had become something I did with her. Doing it without her only made me very aware that she was gone. It was so odd being home. I had my own fridge; I could make my own coffee. I could do whatever I wanted (within reason) and yet I was so lost. This newfound freedom was too much; it was a prison. I remember when she was still alive- I was looking out of a hospital window drinking some coffee and wondering if we would still be there when there was snow on the ground. I wondered what Christmas would be like in the NICU. I wondered what Halloween would be like and I even discussed it with a nurse. I had no idea that she would die. The NICU was a long- term thing and getting out of it just wasn't a thought I had entertained. I would have stayed there for months... for years... And in an instant it was over. She was gone and my life- as it had been for four weeks and as I had planned on it being for months to come- was over. It took months to get used to not being in the NICU. It took months to get over the shock. Sometimes I still would think that I was pregnant and then I would have to remind myself that she was gone. There was baby stuff everywhere- clothes lovingly folded- a bassinet... Everything was there for her and she was dead. I bought a new day planner thinking that I would make my lists and get things done like I used to do and then I would get angry with myself when things didn't get done. I didn't feel like cooking or cleaning- all I wanted to do was die. I would get so angry with myself because I just couldn't hack it; I just couldn't go back to how things were. I felt like a failure as a mother and wife and as a person. I remember thinking that I could never be happy again; that nothing good could ever happen again. I prayed that God would spare me the pain of living! I often thought that I belonged with her; my baby. My arms were so empty and I felt so confused. My body and heart were telling me to care for a baby that was dead. This is the worst feeling I have ever had: the instinctual urge to mother an infant that could not be mothered. Then my best friend and my sister had their babies. It took months for things to get back to semi- normal. It is a slow process; so slow that sometimes it feels like I haven't gotten any better. I think it is funny that I thought it would all be over so quickly. I know, now, that it will never be over. The pain will never fully go away and I am allowing myself the right to feel it. Because even in my sorrow, Barbara is there. I know that there are other women out there who have felt like me. I wish I could hug them all and tell them that they will get through it, that they will laugh again and smile again someday. That a nice day will just be nice rather than a nice day that reminds you that you can't enjoy the day without your baby. I have been very lonely; I wish I could hug every mother who is mourning alone. I wish I could tell them that I am praying for them. It takes LOTS of time, I think, for things to get back to close to what they once were. My baby died 8 months ago and I am just now getting back into the swing of things. I now can made to- do lists without fear of disappointing myself by not getting anything done. I now cook every night and we are once again homeschooling like we once were. I am gardening (and making plans to kill the groundhog that is eating/ uprooting my peas) and going on walks. I can laugh now and joke an I can enjoy a sunny day without getting depressed. But, as you know, I still have some very, very bad days and I probably always will. I know, now, that this grief- thing is a permanent thing. I also know that I have a lot of resentful and angry feelings towards people who, I believe, have let me down and contributed to my feeling of isolation and loneliness (see the Moral Dilemma entry). I have to chuckle, now, when I think about how unrealistic I was but then again this is how people wanted me to be. People expected me to get over it... This just isn't how it works, though, and no one should have to feel like a freak who is stuck in mourning on top of everything else that a grieving parent feels. I learned early on that everyone expected me to get over it and on with my life very quickly. Within weeks people were telling me to see a therapist whenever I talked about how hard life was. I remember feeling like a terrible freak! I remember thinking that there was nothing wrong with my head and that these people were all wrong- they had no idea what it feels like to lose a child because if they did, they would not brush off my sorrow as some sort of mental defect. I felt like it was very normal to feel that bad so eventually I stopped taking about her with anyone. The only two people who never advised me to seek professional help were my priest and my best friend who knows what it feels like to lose a child (+Baby Steven+). Only time and God can heal these wounds. God and LOTS of time... Today I will pray for the lonely, grieving parents out there who are having a hard time giving themselves time to feel better.