Weekend Blog Roundup

I think it's safe to say that there are few things as shocking as losing a child through miscarriage or infant loss. It's biologically counterproductive. It goes against everything we want to believe about nature, even though we know all about the circle of life.

When a tiny life begins it just seems only natural and right that it should grow. That it should keep growing until it has white hair, dentures and a cane.

So when something goes wrong - when the unthinkable happens and you experience this kind of tragedy - the natural human response is to try to make sense of it. To find and apply order where there doesn't seem to be any at all.

For some people, the idea that "everything happens for a reason" is enough. For others, the belief that everything is random is what they cling to for comfort.

So much of the healing journey is trying to come to terms with the fact that this horrible, horrible thing has happened. To us.

This gorgeous post by Missing One at A Mending Heart is beautiful in so many ways. She intersperses pictures of her garden with her thoughts about both what she has lost and what she has gained since her daughter Jessica died on Monther's Day.

It seems impossible to imagine that you could possibly gain anything at all from losing a child (particularly when you're in the horrible throws of those early days of unbearable grief), but through her lovely words and photos Missing One demonstrates that, inexplicably, sometimes you can.

I find it incredible that the process of grief often seems to wind it's difficult way to this kind of realization. And I'm always so thankful that it does. Nothing ever takes away the pain of loss, but finding a way to give it meaning helps make the process of accepting that it is now part of your life so much easier.

This post by BasilBean at The Littlest Bean was like drinking a big glass of ice cold water on a hot day. Somehow seeing someone reach a healing milestone that you yourself have reached validates your own journey. It makes you feel like you're doing okay. And it makes you feel so good to know that they must be too.

This is why I love the fact that bereaved parents blog. Being able to read about the different ways people face and live this kind of sorrow is absolutely invaluable, no matter where you are in your journey. There is so much to learn from people who are willing to tell their stories.

I mean, look at this:

" Life doesn't fit into neat little packages, and things don't always follow the script we think they should. I am happy and thankful for what we have and do not want to get off track by always thinking about what it seems we ought to have. I could go on, but I think that is where I will leave it for now."

But still, there are days when all the time in the world - and all the healing we've done during that time - seems to mean nothing at all, and it's hard to find meaning or purpose in our sorrow. The nagging thought that nothing makes sense creeps in and the days are long and hard. So often this happens around anniversary days. Birthdays and death days. The anniversary of the day we saw those two beautiful lines on the stick or the day we found out it was really all over.

Angel Mom is experiencing this. This past week marked the seventh anniversary of the ultrasound that delivered the agonizing news that her daughter wouldn't be coming home with them. While desperately trying to absorb this horrific news, they had to endure a joke-cracking doctor in dire need of bedside manner training (as so many are...).

She writes:

"Last night I had the strong urge to hold S in my arms again. Just one more time. Instead, I hugged a doll that I found at Target that shares her name. A poor replacement. I can't hold her. I can't even dream about her. My heart aches and there is absolutely nothing I can do about it.

It's all such hard work. Healing, living, surviving, remembering, grieving. People who don't know don't always realize exactly how hard it is. They don't realize that we have to work to makes sense of our worlds - and just how exhausting that task can be.

They don't get that, as Angel Mom demonstrates, it goes on for years.

At the request of two people (and because it happens to fit here) this is one of my own blog entries.

it's a little rant-y, but I'd just read a blog written by someone who lost twins only a few months ago. She's being told by her family that she's being selfish by not "getting on with things". She's being told how to heal by people who haven't got a clue what she's healing from.

And that made me angrier than I've been in a very long time. Partly because I worry that some of my family and friends think this of me, but mostly because I'm outraged that someone who doesn't understand would think it at all appropriate to put limits and restrictions on someone else's sorrow.

I just wanted to show that the monster of grief sometimes lies in wait, even when you think everything is just fine. Even when you've worked very hard to make sense of the world and your place in it.

I'll always try to find meaning and purpose in Thomas' life. It's what I believe I have to do to survive losing him and what I know I have to do to find happiness in this life I'm living without him. I know I'll still have agonizing days like Angel Mom's and I know I'll take refuge in reflective days like Missing One's. It's okay that this is the way it is.

It really is. No matter what anyone says.