WOW. Yes. Reading this brought me to my knees. Remembering feeling these exact words, this description is spot on. My heart feels/felt what this mother and all mothers who lose/lost a child do. I remember describing it as an invisible field around me where people literally formed a distance pathway for me to walk through alone, just far away that they never had to make eye contact. It has been 6 years and 5 months since my 7 week old baby died. People, still act different after they find out. The akward Ness fades faster, as I have become better at comforting this unexpected news to them. I also remember the relief I felt the first time I went away, to a city where no one knew me and was spoken to as the old me, the person that wasn’t the lady who’s baby died. But today, at least I am not invisible anymore. Enough time has past, the whispers and quiet shame is long gone. I still talk openly about my loss, but the select few who I bring her up to matter more to me. Whereas before, I wanted to shout from the roof, look at me. I guess that is the evolution of grief. It stays forever. But changes constantly.
I’m the lady with the dead baby.
It’s okay, I’m allowed to be so blunt because it’s my truth. I am the lady whose baby died. One day my baby was living and the next day she died. That is what happened. It doesn’t offend me if you acknowledge this.
It offends me when you don’t.
You see, I know that my baby died. I will not forget this. So, when you whisper about it like it’s a secret that feels shameful. It makes me feel like you’re embarrassed for me. I’m not embarrassed about my baby and I’m not embarrassed that she died. I’m sad that she died. It’s different.
I am allowed to be sad that my baby died. Please stop trying to cheer me up. When you respond by trying to cheer me up, it feels dismissive. Being supportive does not mean making me happy, it means…
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