Held
-Natalie Grant
This is what it means to be held
How it feels, when the sacred is torn from your life
And you survive
This is what it is to be loved and to know
That the promise was that when everything fell
We'd be held
I spent the first couple weeks recovering, still feeling shock, along with the sadness. I was so thankful that I was able to have six weeks of postpartum disability to recover not just physically, but mentally. No one can describe the devastation of feeling your empty stomach, or the pain of your milk coming in without a baby to feed. I had an unreasonable urge to be pregnant again immediately. Strong feelings of anger and guilt continued to tag along with the sorrow. Anger at the mother's who are given the gift of a child and disregard it. Guilt that there has to have been something that I did wrong. Anger at the unfairness of it all. I tried not to deny any of these feelings but, I also tried not to dwell on them.
When I gathered enough courage, I started slowly looking at the images we took of our little angel. I first opened the folder and looked at the small thumbnails, next were the larger thumbnails until I was finally able too look at the full images without feeling overwhelmed. I found a new purpose in making him a baby memory book with the songs and poems that I found scrounging through the stillbirth and loss blogs and online support groups. While I was making Justin's book, I cried a lot, I was mad a lot, and I asked why a lot. I thought of what I could have possibly done in my life to deserve this. I just wanted my baby back and kept repeating
it out loud over and over.
Returning to work had its ups and downs. Thankfully, I had friends who had informed most everyone what had occurred and I rarely saw anyone outside of our close circle. I appreciated the condolences that were given. It was so odd to continue as I left off. I felt like there should be a big difference when I returned but, it was back to the daily grind that I had known the past five years. I felt like I was a different person inside doing the same old things. A few weeks later I started moving out of my little corner. There were a few people who asked how the baby was (they thought I had been on maternity leave) and their discomfort was blindingly apparent as they rushed to say sorry and change the subject. It was at this point that I would have loved to talk about our son but, there was
really no one to talk to.
Please Be Gentle
By Jill B. Englar
Please be gentle with me for I am grieving.
The sea I swim in is a lonely one
and the shore seems miles away.
Waves of despair numb my soul
as I struggle through each day.
My heart is heavy with sorrow.
I want to shout and scream
and repeatedly ask 'why?'
At times, my grief overwhelms me
and I weep bitterly,
so great is my loss.
Please don’t turn away
or tell me to move on with my life.
I must embrace my pain
before I can begin to heal.
Companion me through tears
and sit with me in loving silence.
Honor where I am in my journey,
not where you think I should be.
Listen patiently to my story,
I may need to tell it over and over again.
It’s how I begin to grasp the enormity of my loss.
Nurture me through the weeks and months ahead.
Forgive me when I seem distant and inconsolable.
A small flame still burns within my heart,
and shared memories may trigger
both laughter and tears.
I need your support and understanding.
There is no right or wrong way to grieve.
I must find my own path.Please, will you walk beside me?
This is what it means to be held
How it feels, when the sacred is torn from your life
And you survive
This is what it is to be loved and to know
That the promise was that when everything fell
We'd be held
I spent the first couple weeks recovering, still feeling shock, along with the sadness. I was so thankful that I was able to have six weeks of postpartum disability to recover not just physically, but mentally. No one can describe the devastation of feeling your empty stomach, or the pain of your milk coming in without a baby to feed. I had an unreasonable urge to be pregnant again immediately. Strong feelings of anger and guilt continued to tag along with the sorrow. Anger at the mother's who are given the gift of a child and disregard it. Guilt that there has to have been something that I did wrong. Anger at the unfairness of it all. I tried not to deny any of these feelings but, I also tried not to dwell on them.
When I gathered enough courage, I started slowly looking at the images we took of our little angel. I first opened the folder and looked at the small thumbnails, next were the larger thumbnails until I was finally able too look at the full images without feeling overwhelmed. I found a new purpose in making him a baby memory book with the songs and poems that I found scrounging through the stillbirth and loss blogs and online support groups. While I was making Justin's book, I cried a lot, I was mad a lot, and I asked why a lot. I thought of what I could have possibly done in my life to deserve this. I just wanted my baby back and kept repeating
it out loud over and over.
Returning to work had its ups and downs. Thankfully, I had friends who had informed most everyone what had occurred and I rarely saw anyone outside of our close circle. I appreciated the condolences that were given. It was so odd to continue as I left off. I felt like there should be a big difference when I returned but, it was back to the daily grind that I had known the past five years. I felt like I was a different person inside doing the same old things. A few weeks later I started moving out of my little corner. There were a few people who asked how the baby was (they thought I had been on maternity leave) and their discomfort was blindingly apparent as they rushed to say sorry and change the subject. It was at this point that I would have loved to talk about our son but, there was
really no one to talk to.
Please Be Gentle
By Jill B. Englar
Please be gentle with me for I am grieving.
The sea I swim in is a lonely one
and the shore seems miles away.
Waves of despair numb my soul
as I struggle through each day.
My heart is heavy with sorrow.
I want to shout and scream
and repeatedly ask 'why?'
At times, my grief overwhelms me
and I weep bitterly,
so great is my loss.
Please don’t turn away
or tell me to move on with my life.
I must embrace my pain
before I can begin to heal.
Companion me through tears
and sit with me in loving silence.
Honor where I am in my journey,
not where you think I should be.
Listen patiently to my story,
I may need to tell it over and over again.
It’s how I begin to grasp the enormity of my loss.
Nurture me through the weeks and months ahead.
Forgive me when I seem distant and inconsolable.
A small flame still burns within my heart,
and shared memories may trigger
both laughter and tears.
I need your support and understanding.
There is no right or wrong way to grieve.
I must find my own path.Please, will you walk beside me?
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