Monday, January 12, 2015


Yesterday, I didn't cry.  Well, not until turning off the light when Justin told me that not crying for a day doesn't mean that I don't love my daughter.  I teared up then.  But in general, yesterday I was able to stock up on cheap wine at Trader Joe's and even make a short bit of small talk with the check out girl (no, we're not having a party.  Yes, this is all for us) and go to the library to check out more books on grief for me and more books about trucks, tractors, and Elmo for Ben and sit and talk with a good friend about my daughter.  I felt lighter and more hopeful than I do many days.  Yesterday, I felt like I had a handle on my grief.

But today?  Today, I am making up for yesterday.  Today, my grief feels like too big of a burden to bear. 

I'm not sure exactly why.

Maybe because last week, my always thoughtful best friend sent a potted flower to my office. Before I left on Friday, it looked like this:  
Thank you, Kate!

And walking in today, I find this:

I'm sorry Kate!  I watered it before I left on Friday, but now that it is dead, I realize that I had put the plant above a heating vent.  My mom says maybe it will come back to life, but I don't feel very hopeful about that.

That fucking dead plant set me off.   And I haven't stopped since.

I saw that dead plant and I thought, you can't even keep a plant alive, much less your baby.  My head knows that it's not my fault that my daughter died.  But sometimes my heart still holds on to the guilt.  And sometimes my heart says mean things. 
Or maybe it's the article my sister is writing about Lydie and stillbirth for the Washington Post.  She said she wants to raise awareness about stillbirth, wants to save other babies.  Today, I don't want to save other babies.  Today, I just want to save my baby.  Today, I can't even read the draft she emailed me much less imagine it in print in national syndication.  Today, I don't want to share Lydie with the world, I want to keep her to myself.

Or maybe it's because today, if this world wasn't so fucked up, Lydie would be one month old.

Today, two coworkers stopped to talk to me and I could barely make eye contact with them.  Today, a completely well-intentioned coworker who happens to have a pregnant wife asked if I'd like to talk more, and I responded no.  I think it's the first time I have turned down the opportunity to talk about Lydie.  Today, I couldn't wait to be alone and I couldn't bear the possibility of him mentioning that pregnant wife.

Today, it's been 9 weeks and 5 days since that haunting moment of the silent Doppler.  Today, it's been 9 weeks and 4 days since I held my daughter's perfect little still body in my arms.

Today, I tried to run on the track during my lunch break but found it hard to run through the tears.

Today, I feel more alone and more isolated than I have in a long time.

Today, I want to climb into a hole and come out when the hardest part of this grief work is over.


  1. I am happy you had a "good" day and so sad it was followed by a really bad one. Sending you hugs. Love you!

  2. Plants were a HUGE grief trigger for me. Weird, right? I actually begged someone to come take them away so I didn't have to watch them die. I kept one (peace lily) and it's still alive, 4 years later. It's our "Andrew plant" and we actually kind of love it.

  3. Ugh. I am so sorry to have sent something that was meant to bring cheer, but was the trigger for a rough day. You are ever-present in my thoughts. Love you, Justin, Ben, & Lydie!

  4. Plants and flowers were hard for me. I was angry knowing they would die.

    I'm sorry it was a rough day. I'm happy you have a Trader Joe's close by


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