Grieving Differently
Before we were discharged from the hospital after Isabella died, we met with a bereavement doula (a category of doula I never knew existed before this). She told us that we would grieve differently. No two people mourn in the same way, even for the same loss. At the time we nodded our heads and tucked that piece of information away, along with so many other tidbits we heard but could not fully process.
We began experiencing this difference the day after the funeral. When we had pictured the days and week after she was born, a funeral never crossed our minds. As horrible as planning our daughter's funeral was, we had a list of things to do and an event to look towards. Each day leading up to the funeral had some sort of item that needed to be checked off - find a funeral home, meet with the funeral director, pick out a coffin, plan the service, decide on photos for the slideshow, review/modify the slideshow, pick up family members from the airport, etc.
Leading up to the funeral, I had a concrete event to look towards. An event no one ever wants, but I knew what was expected of me and what the general plan was from the Saturday she died until the next Saturday when she was buried. After the funeral, the future was a barren landscape that stretched before me, completely devoid of everything I expected the future to hold. The reality that our daughter was never, ever coming back to me, hit me and I had nothing to hold onto and no child in my arms.
My husband was able to rest more after the funeral and his sorrow, while still heavy, had somewhat lessened. I constantly wanted to talk about her, discuss the birth, the almost thirty hours she was alive, and what it felt like. My husband was okay listening and talking about it, but did not bring it up as frequently as I did.
Five days after Isabella's funeral, we left for a 16 night road trip. We decided to get away, process without getting sucked back into daily responsibilities, and spend time together somewhere we would not feel pressure to make decisions about the nursery and the future. The trend of grieving differently continued. Every day had difficult moments for both of us, but I felt like I was constantly missing my daughter and my husband could go for periods of time without thinking about her.
Sometime on the trip, I began to understand that since our experiences of Isabella while she was alive were vastly different, so would our grief afterwards. I've talked to other mothers and they say similar things to this - from the moment I found out I was pregnant, I was constantly aware of my baby. Even before I could feel her moving, thoughts of my baby were rarely far from my mind. While occupied with other tasks, a part of me was always aware of her. Once she started moving, I knew her rhythms, when she was awake or asleep, knew that she hated loud movies but enjoyed Motown music, I sang to her, and talked to her. My husband only knew our daughter through me. Once she was bigger he could see her moving within me, feel her kick his back at night, and could get her to move, but he never carried her within him. His life continued as before I was pregnant and he would go long periods of time without thinking about her.
In the same way I was constantly aware of our daughter while she was alive, I am constantly aware of her absence. Even when her death isn't in the forefront of my mind, part of me is always thinking about her. In the same way, my husband did not constantly think about her while she was alive, he does not constantly think about her now that she is gone.
Some days I can accept that fact that we knew her differently and grieve differently. Other days, I hate it. I miss her, I want my daughter, I want this baby, I miss Isabella.I did not know her as well as I would have had she lived and been an older child when she died, but I knew her as well as I could. Which, carrying her every moment of the day for nine months, is pretty well.
My husband mourns the loss of dreams, the lack of the future. He does not miss her in the same way because he did not know her in the same way. He wants a baby in the house. I want my baby, this baby in the house, not just a baby.
The days when we struggle in our different ways of grieving, we are learning to be open and honest, allowing the other person to talk. We pray that God would continue to draw us closer to each other and himself. We pray for understanding and peace. We both miss our daughter and mourn the future that we had pictured that died with her. Even in our pain, we can come before our sovereign Lord, confessing that it hurts and that we do not understand his ways. We know there will always be an Isabella-sized hole in both of our lives and we can lean on each other and the Lord when this hole feels like it will suck all joy forever from us. Though the grief is different, we both ache.
We began experiencing this difference the day after the funeral. When we had pictured the days and week after she was born, a funeral never crossed our minds. As horrible as planning our daughter's funeral was, we had a list of things to do and an event to look towards. Each day leading up to the funeral had some sort of item that needed to be checked off - find a funeral home, meet with the funeral director, pick out a coffin, plan the service, decide on photos for the slideshow, review/modify the slideshow, pick up family members from the airport, etc.
Leading up to the funeral, I had a concrete event to look towards. An event no one ever wants, but I knew what was expected of me and what the general plan was from the Saturday she died until the next Saturday when she was buried. After the funeral, the future was a barren landscape that stretched before me, completely devoid of everything I expected the future to hold. The reality that our daughter was never, ever coming back to me, hit me and I had nothing to hold onto and no child in my arms.
My husband was able to rest more after the funeral and his sorrow, while still heavy, had somewhat lessened. I constantly wanted to talk about her, discuss the birth, the almost thirty hours she was alive, and what it felt like. My husband was okay listening and talking about it, but did not bring it up as frequently as I did.
Five days after Isabella's funeral, we left for a 16 night road trip. We decided to get away, process without getting sucked back into daily responsibilities, and spend time together somewhere we would not feel pressure to make decisions about the nursery and the future. The trend of grieving differently continued. Every day had difficult moments for both of us, but I felt like I was constantly missing my daughter and my husband could go for periods of time without thinking about her.
Sometime on the trip, I began to understand that since our experiences of Isabella while she was alive were vastly different, so would our grief afterwards. I've talked to other mothers and they say similar things to this - from the moment I found out I was pregnant, I was constantly aware of my baby. Even before I could feel her moving, thoughts of my baby were rarely far from my mind. While occupied with other tasks, a part of me was always aware of her. Once she started moving, I knew her rhythms, when she was awake or asleep, knew that she hated loud movies but enjoyed Motown music, I sang to her, and talked to her. My husband only knew our daughter through me. Once she was bigger he could see her moving within me, feel her kick his back at night, and could get her to move, but he never carried her within him. His life continued as before I was pregnant and he would go long periods of time without thinking about her.
In the same way I was constantly aware of our daughter while she was alive, I am constantly aware of her absence. Even when her death isn't in the forefront of my mind, part of me is always thinking about her. In the same way, my husband did not constantly think about her while she was alive, he does not constantly think about her now that she is gone.
Some days I can accept that fact that we knew her differently and grieve differently. Other days, I hate it. I miss her, I want my daughter, I want this baby, I miss Isabella.I did not know her as well as I would have had she lived and been an older child when she died, but I knew her as well as I could. Which, carrying her every moment of the day for nine months, is pretty well.
My husband mourns the loss of dreams, the lack of the future. He does not miss her in the same way because he did not know her in the same way. He wants a baby in the house. I want my baby, this baby in the house, not just a baby.
The days when we struggle in our different ways of grieving, we are learning to be open and honest, allowing the other person to talk. We pray that God would continue to draw us closer to each other and himself. We pray for understanding and peace. We both miss our daughter and mourn the future that we had pictured that died with her. Even in our pain, we can come before our sovereign Lord, confessing that it hurts and that we do not understand his ways. We know there will always be an Isabella-sized hole in both of our lives and we can lean on each other and the Lord when this hole feels like it will suck all joy forever from us. Though the grief is different, we both ache.
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