Our daughter died a month ago.
It doesn’t seem real. It seems like I should have something more profound to say about it.
Yesterday was the worst day I’ve had in a long time. I cried til my face hurt. My mom had to call in reinforcements (in the form of my lovely sister who showed up at my door about 5 minutes after I got off the phone sobbing with my mom). The Hubs left work early to come home and be with me and distract me from my sadness. It was rough. But I recovered with the help of my support system.
Today I feel separated from Hudson somehow… like it is easier to detach myself from the experience I’ve had. I’m more accepting: This is my life. My daughter is gone. I can’t change it. I have to move on.
Tomorrow it may be a knife in the gut, a hole in my heart, but today, it’s numb.
Don’t get me wrong. I miss Hudson like an ache in my soul. I saw a picture on Facebook today of a girl from our birthing class out on a date with her baby girl and husband, and I felt that queasy sick in my stomach. I avoided eye contact with an old acquaintance on the street because I didn’t want them to ask where the bump went. There were rough parts of the day. But it wasn’t the raw emotion I felt yesterday.
I had a Religion teacher in college who spoke about being in love. He said, “It isn’t realistic to be that over-the-moon, butterflies in your stomach in love all the time. You would be completely unproductive in life if you felt that high all the time. Your love eventually evens out a bit to a nice warm glow, so you can function in the real world.”
I think the same goes for grief. You can’t possibly live with that much emotion overwhelming your senses… you’d never get anything done, you couldn’t function in society. For this I am grateful.
So you oscillate between days that are numb, and days that are raw, and days that are okay, and days that are good. There’s no pattern, no charting of progress, but the raw days become fewer and maybe (hopefully) they don’t hurt as bad. And maybe eventually the horror of losing Hudson dulls down to a low, cool sensation… so I can function in the real world.
At one month removed from our daughter’s death, I am clinging to less-raw raw days…. with hope for a few great, happy days in the (near) future.