Stillbirth Grief Two Years Later

Pregnancy & Infant Loss / Tuesday, February 20th, 2018
*This post may contain affiliate links, which means I may receive a small commission, at no extra cost to you, if you make a purchase through a link!*

I don’t have anything planned for today’s blog post so bear with me while I work through my emotions.

Today, Adeline Angel is celebrating her second birthday from the heavens above and I am still earth-side constantly wondering what today would have been like had there been a different outcome.

I stood in the kitchen yesterday with a chopping knife in one hand, the water running in the sink, a pile of vegetables ready to be prepared. Nothing out of the ordinary, food prep is the way we start every week.
But this week, this week I can’t focus.
I stood in the kitchen with tears falling faster from my face than the water in the sink.

I have reached two years. This is what my grief is like after two years.

It’s still there. I still grieve. It still hurts like hell.

There are a lot more better days but the bad days are still just as raw and real as they were on day one. I don’t lose it in public as often anymore but there are still days I will lock myself in the bathroom, sit on the floor with my back against the wall and just cry for her.

Most people still don’t want to talk about her. Don’t want to say her name. Don’t really acknowledge her existence at all. Which is hard. I want to talk about her, show her pictures, tell people how loved she is. I understand grief is uncomfortable for people and that is unfortunate. This doesn’t mean I don’t love these people, it just creates an awkward air in the room.

There are people who do acknowledge her, acknowledge us as parents and reach out. For these people, I am grateful. I also love these people, and I don’t love them any more than the people that don’t know how to talk about her. But I sure hang on to these friendships.

There is still one room in our house that has practically nothing in it. It’s supposed to be hers. In the closet is her box of stuff. Propped against one of the walls are a pair of beautiful metal angel wings. I do my makeup in this room everyday and everyday I think about her while I am alone getting ready. I can’t hardly walk into that room without imagining a crib in the corner and drawers filled with adorable 2T clothes.

Not all the pain is bad. Good things have come from this pain.

Adeline made me a mother. She will always be my first born. And I would never, ever change that and I would do it all over again.

I’m getting to know the new me. I dodge small talk and crave meaningful conversations. The relationships I put forth effort for are absent of drama and overflowing with honesty and love.

I have discovered an incredible network through social media. A tribe of warrior parents who are the only people in this world that can understand what it’s like. It breaks my heart that there are so many of us, and it helps stitch my heart to have found them.

I’ve discovered my strength. I realize how cliche that sounds but it couldn’t be more true. I get up in the morning and keep going. I brave a world of people that feel the need to ask why we don’t have kids, when we want kids, or how many kids we have. I’ve realized that I’m way more capable than I have ever given myself credit for when it comes to tackling things that are hard and uncomfortable.

Nothing will ever be as uncomfortable as losing a child and because of that I quit making excuses for going after things that I want. I had so much fear of failing before. Which is still definitely there, but my fears are different and my excuses feel ridiculous.

My husband is a saint. Seriously. We grieve so differently and it’s hard to understand what the other person needs and when but he is way better at it than me. I couldn’t do any of this without this man by my side. I am so grateful for someone that still knows how to comfort me when I lash out in completely irrational ways when my grief surfaces. He always asks, “What can I do to help?” I strive to be as patient and understanding as my husband.

We both have the day off today and neither one of really know what to do. We know that if we just stay home with nothing to do, it will be hard. We know that if we busy ourselves too much, that will also be a recipe for an emotional disaster. We might take the dog to the dog park, we might pop into a tattoo shop and see about getting a remembrance tattoo drawn up, we might sit on the crouch and cry. Whatever we decide to do with the rest of our day, it will be done together with Adeline in the forefront of our minds.

Our little girl with her daddies nose and her mommies toes.

We love you sweet girl.


3 Replies to “Stillbirth Grief Two Years Later”

  1. Sweet mama… this post is so full of unfiltered emotion. My heart aches for you, your husband, and a daughter who didn’t get a chance to know parents who I imagine would have been so doting over her. I don’t know you, at all, but I hope that someday your pain feels a little less raw than it does right now. You’ll always love and crave your first born, your baby girl. You and your family are in my thoughts and prayers.

  2. Thank you for the time you took to share a part of your life with us. I can feel all the raw emotions behind your text and love to see that openness.

    It made me feel a little less alone in this situation. I lost my boy a year ago, on february 14th and can related to every point you made. I’m not talking a lot about him since people are easily uncomfortable with the subject, but would love to share his picture as I am, in a way, a proud mom.

    Anyways, thanks again. I’m really sorry for your baby girl and will be thinking of her.

    Lots of love.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *