Wednesday, May 8, 2013

The Gift of Relief



Relief.

I felt it the minute I heard that Nora had died. Oh, but saying it out loud is scary.  It's difficult to share this, and before you judge, please, let me explain.  When I was staring at the ultrasound machine as the doctor frantically searched for her heartbeat, before he said the awful words...I knew.

I knew she was dead, but it wasn't confirmed.  In those thirty seconds of knowing a truth and not knowing, that is where terror lives.  Terror lives in the gray.  Not knowing, but having a glimmer of hope that she was alive.  That was painful.  More painful than knowing one way or the other.  Concrete answers give us guidance on how to feel in order to start whatever process needs to begin. But not knowing--no answer at all--that is true agony. So when I heard those worst three words in the world, "no heart beat," I died inside.  But I felt relief...for a moment. I was lucky enough to know...

Relief.

I feel it still when I forget, for a split second, that she's dead. When I'm immersing myself in the present moment.  Enjoying the here and now.  I smile, laugh, and feel a moment of joy in my body.  I forget.  Forget about the grief, the sorrow, the pain.  And for a split second I have a break. I have...

Relief.

And as quick as it came, like a breeze across my cheeks on a cool summer's day, it disappears.

Then it returns, when aunt flow greets me for her monthly visit.  You would think I would be sad, sunken deep into sorrow and despair.  You might be confused and ask, "Don't you want another child." and I would answer, "Well of course, yes, yes, I do."  But the fear of another pregnancy, the anxiety, the struggle, I don't want that.  And another few weeks without having to live inside that fear provides me with respite. With...

Relief.

A lie I tell myself.  Relief is a two syllable fib. For when will a grieving parent ever again know the true essence of ...   

Relief.

A gift I will never get.  I hope for...

Relief.

But who am I kidding, relief will never find me again.  At least I know this.  Strangely, that brings me some...

Relief.

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This post is my BRAVE post as part of an assignment for Liv Lane's course How To Build A Blog You Truly LoveIf you would like to read other women's BRAVE post click here.  Just a heads up, they are not all about child loss, but surprisingly and unfortunately, a few are.  But, all the post are truly courageous and written by BRAVE women.  

14 comments:

  1. Lindsey, I love your blog. This post is beautiful and true and so human and perfect. You're a poet at heart, even if you don't know it.

    Keep posting. Keep finding your way. Know that you are not alone.

    Warm hugs,
    Alice

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  2. This is incredibly raw and real and beautiful. Thank you for sharing your truth.

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  3. Unfathomably brave. I can barely go to the places in the heart you write from. Beautiful. Your writing and you. I am grateful to find you, your blog, your transparent reflections on life, loss, and love. xo, Susan

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  4. Amazingly reflective, honest, and breathtaking. I literally stopped breathing as I read this. Thank you for this...

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  5. Wow. Moving and amazing and brave. Thank you.

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  6. Brave is what you are, Lindsey. ...as well as an incredible writer.. Thank you for sharing your story. much love

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  7. I have no words. I can't describe how your story moves me. In addition to the brave baring of your soul and your heart, you have an incredible gift for putting words together in a beautifully poetic and strikingly poignant way.

    I love your blog. And i admire you.

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  8. Lindsey, I sincerely hope that some day I am able to put my heart into words as you do do eloquently on your blog. You are real in a way that so few people allow themselves to be. Hugs to you, and know that you are not alone.

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  9. You have such beautiful strength and courage to share so openly. I know without a doubt you are helping others deal with their pain of losing a child. It is comforting to know we are not alone in such a loss.

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  10. Beautiful words. Your blog is a source of comfort and light. You are helping so many by sharing your story.

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  11. This is just such a moving and honest post.

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  12. Lindsey, each time I visit your blog I am moved by your words. You are eloquent, brave, and inspiring.

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  13. I was gripped by your story and especially by your writing Lindsey. Having experienced a couple of early miscarriages and an infertility journey, I can relate a tiny bit to the feelings of loss you experienced. My heart goes out to you. Thank you for sharing.

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  14. Sometimes I read your posts and cannot respond for a few days; this post is one of them. I've been bottling up a decent sized dose of anger, fear...and hope (how does THAT fit in?) lately. I may have to revisit 'Brave' in my next post by exploring the mix. Thanks, as usual, for sharing :)

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