People keep telling me not to think about it. They keep making references to “when you get better” and ask me if I’m starting to feel more like myself yet. None of those things are ever going to happen. I have a gaping hole in my being that will never ever be filled. I think that everyone will start to understand me a little better when they start to grasp that concept. I know it’s hard, but I need you to imagine – how would ever “start to feel better” if you knew that you were responsible for your child dying? My body failed my perfect little five pound, one ounce, eighteen inch long baby girl. And as much as it wasn’t my fault, I am the only one responsible.
I spent the entire evening looking at pictures of the only time I’ll ever get to hold my first born child, making a memory book instead of writing firsts in a baby book. There’s no room for better here. So please stop referencing this mythical place called better. I need to find solid ground in coping.
I bet the memory book is gonna be beautiful ❤ would like to see it sometime if you were up to posting it here, or send to me privatly 🙂
People who don’t know try to help. They try to be supportive and aware. It isn’t anyone’s fault that they can’t find the words. They want you to be better. To feel good. To not ache all the time.
What they and everyone else means is that they want you to learn to survive. They want you to reach that day where you feel like you can wake up and the pain and constant reminder will be something that doesn’t make you want to throw up or curl up in a ball and cry. At least not as much. No one expects you to just get better. This is a wound that won’t heal. The hole will always be there. Some of it will sort of scab over. It will get a little bit easier. The hole will be a feeling you learn to live with.
Smiles will happen again. You will laugh. You will feel good. It will all come in time. There isn’t a limit or timer or cutoff and it feel like it will never happen but it will if you let it.
People love you. They care. They hurt. Not like you. But they do. As sisters and husbands and grandparents and friends who all had a piece of them ripped away when she died. Healing takes time. Even to just end up broken a little bit less.
Your sentiment was beautiful, once again Rob. I too hope that someday my children will feel “Better”. I believe this is only a word to try and understand to get to a stage. that we are all trying to get to. I find this post strange in a certain way. On my first time away with my friend Pauline on our day trip, the term “better” kept coming up. We had such a good time, but Everlee, Darcy and Rhonda, were never far out of the conversation. At one point, I felt and probably did say, I am sorry to keep going over this. Pauline has been so patient and such a good friend. We have analysed ever little detail, of Everlee’s passing. She has listened when I thought I would go out of my mind. There have been comments said to me, that are supposed to help, but I get so angry when I play them back in my mind. I did say to Pauline, “Do you see any signs of Rhonda and Darcy getting a little better”, I said, Did you think we would still feel such pain, after 3 months. I knew that I would not “get over” this early. I have lost special people in my life before, but losing Everlee is so different. It is my children, that I grieve for. I grieve that they have to live through, and try to go with their life. But they have no other choice, than to get “better”. Rhonda, I believe that you did the very best you could to give Everlee a warm and cosy home for nearly nine months. In no way does anyone blame you, all we want is to see a little glimpse of the girl, we once knew. I know it is not your responsibility to make us all happy or feel “Better”, we just all want you and Darcy to have a little bit of peace.
Going to garage sales along our route, I saw so many things, that Everlee would have loved. I torture myself, with the “what ifs”. Yesterday, alone in the garden, as I was weeding away, Everlee was on my mind, would she have liked to have garden with me, what kind of flowers, will I buy this year, to honour her. All pink of course. I have to go get a rose bush, to put beside her Great Grandma Rosa’s, rose bush. As I went into the garage I saw the stroller, that I picked up to take her on walks, I saw a stone in my garden, the same shape as her footprint, I cried to myself, as I looked at the stone. The teardrops that feel on the sidewalk, looked like bubbles, and once again, I thought of the special solution to make bubbles with her. Then I come in and see the picture of you and Darcy and the slide in October and Dad saying, I guess that is the only time, Everlee will go down a slide. Yesterday was not a “better” day.
Am I any better? Yes, I am better. I don’t cry every day. I try and try, but not far at the back on my mind is these thoughts. Do I remember hearing Everlee’s Daddy phone us with the news that Everlee had passed away. No. Do I remember flying to Newfoundland, No. Do I remember seeing Ita and Ray, your Mom and Dad, waiting for us at the airport, with tears running down their face, Yes, Do I remember seeing my darling son, walk to tell us that Everlee was here, and did we want to hold her, Yes. I will never forgot our little darling, Everlee. And I hope someday, I will be “Better” too.
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