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That was three years ago. I am still on the journey of healing. I remember Kodey with happiness and yes, even laughter as I recount memories of my pregnancy. I also remember Kodey with tears, sobs, and screams. Sometimes anger festers inside of me until I let it out. Sometimes I take my anger out on my anger doll and somtimes I write in my journal. Sometimes I sit in his bedroom and scream as loud as I can. I have also found that by helping others who have expereinced loss helps give my son's short life value.
In the beginning, I was numb and lifeless. My husband held me for hours as we cried and yearned for our newborn son. I buried myself in "dead baby books." I had so many feelings yet I did not know how to express them. These books, however depressing, helped me. They gave me words to describe how I was feeling. They helped me realize that, although the months after his death were confusing and difficult, I was still normal. My memory loss, lack of motivation, and difficulty regaining my life were not signs of going insane; they were a normal part of mourning. Although, I hated experiencing the journey of grief, I could not escape it. It was my life.
When I felt the anger build up inside of me, I could not express it. I simply did not know how. Crying and screaming was my only outlet. Then I received a journal. I began writing letters to my son. I feared that I would forget all the beautiful memories that I had of his short life. Knowing that my pregnancy was all I had to honor and commemorate his life, I wrote a list of all the special memories I wanted to remember. As I had the energy, I wrote narratives of each memory. It helped me affirm my son's life later when I needed the proof that he was real. I never thought that I would doubt my son's life. Noenetheless, his absence in my life did not support the fact that he was and will always be my son. I am a mother and will always be a mother.
Guilt was also inevitable. I would lie awake night after night reliving his birth--crying out, trying to change the outcome. Everyone siad, "You know it wasn't your fault, you didn't know. You can't blame yourself." But that did not matter. Intellectually, I knew it was not my fault. That is how it felt. I knew it was important to allow myself to feel that way. I doubt the guilt of a mother ever completely goes away after the death of a child. I was supposed to be the protector after all. The feeling of guilt was joined by a feeling of helplessness. Eventually, they say, that the intensity lessens and one reashes resolution. Writing this book has helped me work toward resolution myself. However, I am not completely there yet. I still think of my son daily and wonder "what if..." Although I still cry at time, the pain is less intense.
Fighting to regain my life was and is a difficult challenge. As I re-entered my workplace, I had to accept the fact that I was being watched and stared at. People tip-toed around me and watched how I was reacting to babies. I knew they talked about me. I knew their hearts were in the right place, yet I felt like and untouchable. People were nervous to talk to me. There was that inevitable silence that lasted only seconds but felt like minutes as people grappled to find the words. I began developing an anxiety disorder. I would avoid stores and hide around the corner when I saw someone I knew. I just could not stand the awkwardness of it and the way they would look at me. I was no longer Carey. I was "the poor woman whose baby died."
In this journal, I am going to offer glimpses into my experiences with the hope that they may help validate your own or give you a perspective that helps you find words for your pain. I caution you however. You may and may not want to be part of a dialogue with me. There may be times when you want to read my words and there may be times when you hate them--wanting to rip them up. In my own personal journey, there were times when I buried myself in books about the death of babies. Other time, the last thing I wanted to do was to read about someone else's tragedy. You will know what is right for you. There is no formulaic way to endure this journey. Only you know what you need, I can only give you insights into what comforted me. I recently found a very helpful website to find books on grief that would have been helpful (www.centering.org). Hopefully you can find somthing at the site that can assist you in your journey.
Many of the statements in this book elicit some very uncomfortable feelings. Society sometimes makes us hide some of our more unpleasant thoughts. Because of this, we tend to diminish the intensity of them or hide and suppress them. At times, this journal may be too real and you may need to back off. On the other hand, you are not expected to feel everything written. Everyone does not have the same feelings or reactions to the death of his/her baby. Yet, when I read about the grieving process, there were many times that I swore that I would never feel that way--only to find weeks later that the authors were right.
There is no magical way to use this journal to help you work through this difficult time. It is meant only to help trigger your thoughts. There is no particular order you must follow. Parts of the book may not relate to your experiences. These would make suitable places to paste pictures or drawings. Just remember that there is no right or wrong way to feel. Each of us has our own way of working through this tragedy. Do what feels right for you at the time. What is right for you is likely to change day by day. Dating your entries will allow you to recognize your progress over the next year and visualize how you have worked through your grief.
There are no words that can take away the pain you feel. I wish I had those magic words to lessen its intensity. Instead, I offer you this gift, hoping you will find some comfort in it and eventually moments of peace. The upcoming months are going to be difficult. When you feel tired and exhausted from an aching heart, remember that you are not alone. I offer you my thoughts and prayers. I wish you health and healing. May peace be with you.
Carey Knifong
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