Grief is a Strange Thing

I have had many thoughts come to mind since I wrote last. Honestly, it has been hard to gather them enough to make a nice clean post. So, I decided to let that fly, and just write. Writing is therapeutic for me. 

This grief thing is rough.

I am noticing a pattern for me the last couple months. I will have a few "good" days in a row, or even a week. I am so grateful for these days. There was a time when I didn't think they'd ever come. During these "good" days, I am motivated to tackle projects, I have energy to play with my kids, make great dinners, and socialize. I smile a lot. I'm distracted.

Then comes the crash. I despise the crash. I have a good week or so of "sad" days. During the "sad" days, I am constantly fighting the sadness and the heartache that I feel. I struggle to keep the beautiful eternal plan of happiness in perspective (and it is OH so beautiful). On these days I have no motivation to get ready for the day, or leave the house, or socialize (definitely new for those who know me). I lose my appetite and have trouble sleeping. I cry a lot. Thankfully, I have been able to function enough during these times to take care of my family's basic needs.

The roller coaster is exhausting.

I try to be kind to myself, and recognize that this is normal. I have been given great advice from a couple friends who have dealt with losing a child, to "let yourself have sad days." It is liberating to give myself permission to just work through the emotions that I feel, rather than bottling them up.

I apologize if I've seemed aloof when you've talked to me, or when I'm in a group. My mind goes to new places these days. You haven't offended me, I still like you. :)

I'm learning about triggers. I'm learning that triggers can be totally unexpected. Dates and holidays have been unexpectedly rough. I apologize for the times I've not been able to control my emotions in front of you. I hope you know it's not you...it's me.

Thank you for being patient with me. Thank you for being gentle. Thank you for your kindness. Thank you for forgiving me. Thank you for loving me even when I'm a little crazy. I feel so lucky to have so many amazing and supportive people in my life. Thank you.

I'm realizing that I'm not just grieving the Sara I knew in my belly, or the Sara I knew in the NICU. I'm grieving the loss of 3 month old Sara, 2 yr old Sara, mother-daughter date Sara, and all of the milestones and experiences that would have been in our future together. I know we will be together again someday, and I am beyond grateful for that, but sometimes that just seems so far from now. This in-between time where I have to miss her just plain hurts. It literally makes my chest ache, and takes my breath away.

I don't mind talking about Sara, or about my grief. Thank you for asking about her, and please don't be afraid to ask me questions, or talk about things. Don't be afraid to make me cry. Sometimes I will, sometimes I won't. I'm not afraid to cry in front of you though. I'd rather talk about it, than pretend nothing happened, or that she didn't exist.

This quote has comforted me lately:

Elder Orson F. Whitney taught: “No pain that we suffer, no trial that we experience is wasted. It ministers to our education, to the development of such qualities as patience, faith, fortitude and humility. All that we suffer and all that we endure, especially when we endure it patiently, builds up our characters, purifies our hearts, expands our souls, and makes us more tender and charitable, more worthy to be called the children of God … and it is through sorrow and suffering, toil and tribulation, that we gain the education that we come here to acquire and which will make us more like our Father and Mother in heaven” (cited in Spencer W. Kimball, Faith Precedes the Miracle [1972], 98). 

I genuinely hope that I become a better person through all of this. I hope I become more like my Savior. I hope I am better able to help others who experience loss. 

I love Sara. I miss her more than words can express. I am so happy she is a part of my life, and I am happy to share her. I'm proud of her. I am her mother, and she is my daughter.