Every day is a grief day.
Sometimes you're in the middle of something important and a tiny voice in the back of your head tells you that you need to pee. You're busy though, maybe you're even in the middle of an important conversation and it would be inappropriate to just excuse yourself mid sentence. So, you tell the little voice, "I hear you, but you have to wait." And you hold it.
But you can't hold it forever. Eventually you have to go relieve yourself.
Grief is like this for me. There's a constant voice in my heart, "She should be here." And I tell myself, hold it in, don't cry here. You're grocery shopping, what will people think? If someone asks you if you're okay, it'll make everything worse. You're not okay, you'll never be okay, there is no "okay" when you lose a child.
Push it down. Push it down.
Not here! Not now! I'm playing with my other babies, and they won't understand. It'll make them sad too if they know I'm crying about their baby sister.
Push it down. Push it down.
Stop it! Hold it together! It's just a commercial for diapers! You have to find a way to get through!!
Push it down....
And then it happens. You put if off for so long, and now you can't hold it anymore. Only, instead of just a few tears sliding silently down your cheek, an entire ocean tries to escape from your eyes. Instead of your legs feeling a little unsteady, you fall to your knees under the crushing weight. Instead of one small memory in your mind, every memory, the painful and the wonderful ones collide in front of you. And you're helpless. You're drowning. You have to let it finish.
The thing is, even after you have this massive break down, and you will need a day or two to recover from it, it's never over. It just restarts. "Not right now..."
There's no end to grief. Some moments are gentle, and some rage.
As time passes, you learn to sense the breakdown is near, but even 17 months later, I can be caught by surprise.
I try to remind myself that it's okay. That if I lose it for a moment, it doesn't mean I'm failing at something, or that I'm not strong. I try to remind myself that it's okay if I'm not strong.
Everything I thought I knew has changed. Everything that used to have a clear meaning, now seems forever altered.
You use facts to ground yourself. The sun rises. The grass is green. Some of those still ring true. So many things seem different now though.
"How many children do you have?" Is a loaded question.
"You're doing so well, you're so strong..." Sound false in your ears. You're drowning, but you thank them, because you know they're doing the best they can to console you. They can't know, and you don't want anyone to ever know this pain.
"I don't know how you do it." Neither do I. I wake up, I'm alive and she's not, I breathe, my heart continues to beat.
I miss her. With every iota of my being... I miss her. I don't feel whole.
These are the things I know for certain.
Every day is a grief day.
Every. Single. Day.
