I wonder...

Sometimes I wonder if I can say everything I think and feel out loud? Can I write it down for you to read? What will you make out of it?

Obviously, most people who read my blog understand it based on their life experiences (and Thank You so much for being brave enough to read it).

Hopefully, most people's experiences are very different from mine and their children are alive and well. They have no clue what it's like, yet, they assume things about it. That's just the way life is.

Therefore, I know most interpret my words differently, assigning meaning that is not what I give it. That's fair.

Yet I wonder, can I say that I'm having a horrible day, but it's actually ok as I'm facing my grief head on instead of hiding from it? And can the meaning of my words be understood the way I intend it to and not warped in the decoding process? I don't know the answer, but please keep it in mind...


So there goes:

I'm having a terrible horrible day. I feel like I've been asking for help left, right, and centre, and I'm getting shoved out of the way. I'm so tired of being bereaved, I'm so done with this "new" life. Yet, there is nothing I can do about it and it will never change, so I just sip my wine and eat my friggin' chocolate cake, pardon my language. And I'm ok. I'm awakened. And in a sick sense of the way, I'm grateful.


Still, don't worry, I'll be fine. Just a little wrincled and tired, but fine.

Feeling Robbed

I came across a beautiful video of a family going through loss, so raw and so honest.

The second clip shows the mother crying in her hospital bed, the sounds she made are so similar to mine. The deep cry, the animal howl. I hear it so often when I cry. Hearing another mother's pain validated my own grief and made me feel not alone.

The video also made me feel robbed. They got to take their daughter's body home for one night: they actually got to carry her out of the hospital and take her home. Why couldn't I?

Why could I not take my dead baby home for a few hours? Why could I not take her to the funeral home myself? It's not like I could harm her. It's not like they were trying to save her. It's not like there was someone at the morgue who needed her more than I did.

She is my daughter, yet I was not allowed to spend what little time I had with her. That I will never forget, nor will I ever forgive.


http://aso.gov.au/titles/documentaries/losing-layla