I some how remember a pray i read online. (Let me not die while im still alive.)
I never would have understood this prayer before losing Amara.
I think when tragedy occurs, it presents a choice.
You can give into the void, the emptiness that fills your heart, your lungs, constrict your ability to even think or breathe properly . Or you can find meaning. These past 8 days i have spent most of my moments lost in that void. And I know that many future moments will be filled consumed by the vast emptiness as well.
But when I can. I want to choose life and meaning.
And this is why i am writing,
To help give back what so many of you have given me online.
While the experience of grief is profoundly personal. The bravery of those who have shared their own experiences, has helped me pull through. Some who opened their hearts were my closest friends, some were strangers who have shared wisdom and advice publicly online. My loving brother and my husbands love and comforting words doing his best to help me through putting his grief aside for me.
Now im sharing what I have learned in the hope that it helps someone else. In the hope that that there can be some meaning from this tragedy.
I have lived 9 weeks (63 days) in these past 8 days. I am now 9 weeks sadder, 9 weeks wiser.
I have gained a more profound understanding, of what it is to be a mother.
Both from the depth of my agony when my children scream and cry and my little sadie asks when her baby sister will arrive. And the connection my little brother and my husband has to my pain. My brother has tried to fill empty space in my bed while im away from my husband through these trying times. Holding me at night till i cry myself to sleep. He has fought to hold hold back on his tears, to make room for mine. I remember looking up at him seeing the pain in his eyes wanting to make it all alright for me again.
I have learned that I never really knew what to say to others in need. I think I got this all wrong before. I tried to assure people it would be ok. Thinking that hope was the most comforting thing i could offer. But remembering my cancer experience a few years back. I suddenly remembered the feeling i got back then when people would say it would be ok. Remember feeling do you realise i might die! How do you know it will be ok!? This is that same feeling only so much worse. Because this time it was never going to be ok, i will not get to see my baby grow, see my baby smile, hold her, hear her cry... The more i thought about it the the more i found myself addicted to my sadness. All i wanted to do was be alone, cry and sink in my lost. When people ask how i am? I stop myself from screaming, my baby just died! How do you think i feel?
But now when i hear my husband say the words how are you today. I realise, that he knows that the best i can do is to get through each day.
And I have learned some practical stuff that matters.
Although i know that both me and my baby could have died immediately from my tube rupturing due to the eptopic pregnancy i had. The abundance ride to my house was unbearably slow. The ride in my friends car was unbearably slow too. I kept screaming hurry up! Hearing her say im doing the best i can just did not matter to me. I wanted to get help immediately! I still hate those cars that wouldn't move to the side, every person that cared more about getting to their own destination a few minutes early rather than making way for us to pass so that we could save my baby's life. I have been noticing this alot the past few days. Let us all move and allow those move. Someone's parent, spouse or child's life might depend on it.
I have learned how ephemeral everything can feel, maybe everything is. That whatever rug you are standing on can be pulled right out from under you. Without absolutely no warning.
In the last 8 days i have heard from too many women that have lost their babies and also had multiple rugs pulled out under them. Some lack support networks and struggle alone as they face emotional distress and financial insecurity. It seems so wrong to me that we abandon these women when they are in Greater need.
I have learned to ask for help, i have learned how much help i need dealing with my loss. Until now i have been the older sister, CEO of the doer and the planner.
I did not plan this, and when it happened i was not capable of doing much of anything. Those closest to me took over. They planned, they arranged and sat down to remind me to eat. My husband misses work to stay on call with me all day until it is bed time And still doing so much to support me.
I have learned that resilience can be taught
My therapist taught me that three things are critical to resilience and that i can work on all three.
Personalization - realising it is not my fault.
Permanence - remembering that i won't feel like this forever. It will get better.
Pervasiveness - this does not have to affect every area of my life, the ability to compartmentalise is healthy.
I am truly grateful to those who have offered their sympathy.
I can't even express my gratitude to my husband, brother and best friend. Who have done so much to assure me that they will always be there. In the brutal moments when im over taken by the void. When the 9 weeks i shared with her stretch over the months and years in front of me. Only there faces pull me out of the isolation. My appreciation for them knows no bounds.
It was always only my plan A that i had. Waiting to live the life i had planned for and with my baby. I never ever gave thought to a plan B. How i would live without my baby.
now that option A has been snatched from me. I plan to kick the **** out of option B! I will get a degree in photography, doing all the things i gave up on years ago. Loving my husband and kids the best i can pleasing my loving lord who created me and knows better than i do the reasons why. I have exchanged my control in option A for faith in option B. I know im my heart the reason i lost option A is because my baby was just to good to live on this earth. She has the best home and protector in heaven with my loving father. She is home waiting on us in heavens arms.
Silently I will always morn for option A. There is no end to grief and there is no end to love.
I love you,
Amar Rose Green, in our hearts you live forever.