I am becoming almost accustomed to grief now, and if anything that is more terrifying than when it was all consuming. How can something like this become my everyday?
How this is the reality we face is beyond my comprehension. If someone told me I would have two miscarriages, start university, and move house in under a year I would not have believed it.
Tonight I caved in and looked up what would have been Réaltas due date. I had so far resisted, but knowing it would have been around this month or next month the idea of not knowing suddenly became too much. I needed to know because I could not let the date pass me by without knowing. I feel a bit lost now. I didn’t gain or achieve anything by knowing.
Grief is strange like that. It gives you this insane drive and then when you reach that point there is just nothing left.
As Réaltas loss was so much earlier, and because it put me into a state of denial and disassociative behaviour, I will admit that in terms of acknowledging that loss, and being able to process it has been intensely difficult. Although I am beyond grateful that physically it was easier on my body. My first miscarriage was the most painful experience of my life. Emotionally I am still in the fall out, where with Emmet, at this stage, I felt better able to comprehend the enormity of the whole thing.
Her due date would have been the 22nd March 2018, calculated by date of conception rather than the first day of my last period because weirdly enough I actually know when because it was the 1 day I was home between family holidays in that cycle… All I can say is I guess we made the most of it.
The blasted 22nd has cropped up again. Why is it always the 22nd? I bloody hate that day of the month times 3 now. We lost Emmet 22.10.16,he was due 22.06.17, and Réalta would be due 22.03.18…
I literally thought the 22nd of each month could not become a worse day for our family but apparently I should stop tempting fate.
While I will admit I did not let myself get as attached during my even briefer second pregnancy, I suspected I was pregnant for longer, and loosing Réalta impacted me in many ways more than loosing Emmet. I feel a lot more guilty the second time around, less hopeful and generally more to the bone weary of experiencing baby loss. By the time I was emotionally able to register all we had gone through again it was like being thrown back in the deep end. I needed to re accustom myself to our reality, which isn’t something I recommend.
I now see a therapist at least once a month and I think it’s helping in terms of just being able to process emotions. I tend to suppress trauma and hope it goes away, which didn’t serve me as a kid and certainly hasn’t as an adult. Being open about it has been one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. (I know I have a blog but actually talking to a real human is bloody hard)
Realising the state of denial I experienced from June to last autumn was very scary. I had just blanked it out like it never happened until it refused to be denied any longer. I am still absolutely wracked with self doubt and disbelief over the whole thing. Two losses. Two. I felt like I bearly survived the first one.
I find myself doubting was it even real, and I have to take a little reality check because how I wish it wasn’t.
Becoming accustomed to grief, sometimes I feel like it’s just another part of life, and other times the rawness of what life is now is unacceptable, something I think I will never be accustomed too.
Except each time life has moved on, it hasn’t stopped when my heart was broken and spares me nothing as it races on and I try to piece back the fragments of what we had into a new normal.
I have come a long way, but this journey lasts a lifetime and there is still so far to go.
For everyone else out there who is also walking down this path, please know that you are not alone, your grief and disparate is valid, and your loss matters.
Love and support always,