{"id":2536,"date":"2009-11-25T00:00:32","date_gmt":"2009-11-25T04:00:32","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/lunardreams.net\/baby\/?p=2536"},"modified":"2009-11-25T00:00:32","modified_gmt":"2009-11-25T04:00:32","slug":"beyond-mourning","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/lunardreams.net\/baby\/?p=2536","title":{"rendered":"Beyond Mourning"},"content":{"rendered":"

There is a fabulous post on the Share blog about Grieving vs. Mourning<\/a>. I highly recommend you read it.<\/p>\n

It comes at an interesting time, seeing how I’ve spent a lot of time the last few months contemplating how okay I am. I can’t say that I am mourning anymore. Sad, yes. Missing Devin, yes. But I’m not mourning anymore. I don’t feel like walking around with what should be a black veil over my face, letting everyone know that someone in my life has died.<\/p>\n

In so many ways I feel like Devin’s life and death has been processed and accepted. I long ago stopped waking up frantic and upset, keening inside over what I should have. And it’s this weird feeling, really, to be okay with something like that.<\/p>\n

My process of mourning was so integral to where I am today, I am absolutely positive of it. Having that time off work, having that support of friends and family, being “allowed” by my social circle to grieve openly and honestly. People did not dismiss me, did not make me feel ashamed. They did not tell me I should move on sooner than I was ready. I wrote when I needed to write. I felt<\/i> every emotion so clearly, so deeply – and I let myself hold on to it as long as I needed to. I felt sad for a long, long time. I cried in the car when certain songs came on that made me think, shit, my son is dead<\/i> – even after a comfortable, productive day. I organized pictures and cataloged every piece of paper that had anything to do with Devin. I sorted through baby clothes even though the very thought of it made me weep. I bought ornaments and blankets and slept with a stuffed animal lovely, carefully held in my hands. I lived in grief. I accepted that.<\/p>\n

Now I no longer do. I accept that too.<\/p>\n

I can’t say exactly when it happened. I know it was after 6 months and before 18 months. After his first missed Christmas. Maybe his birthday was the closure for me – closure on that phase, at least. His birthday was hard, but not a punch in the gut, either. I look at the picture of me from that day and I see some light coming back into my eyes. I see the knowledge that I really would be okay.<\/p>\n

18 months came and went and I didn’t even take a picture. I didn’t think of it. I did think about Devin that day, but no more than a brief passing, a silent acknowledgment.<\/p>\n

::<\/p>\n

Last friday a customer finally asked me if I was expecting. I said yes. She then asked the expected follow-up question: “Is this your first?”
\nI faltered for a second, let a moment of silence lapse. Even though I’ve been expecting this for months, I still had no idea how best to answer. It was a female who seemed honestly eager, so I hedged a little, but sketched a very rough picture of the truth. “Not my first pregnancy, no. But it hopefully will be our first child.” (I winced inwardly as it came out – that did not sound how I intended it. First live child, I meant. First baby at home.)
\nShe looked puzzled. “Not your first pregnancy…?”
\n“We lost our first,” I explained quietly.
\n“Oh,” she said sadly. “I’m sorry. I lost my first pregnancy too.”
\nAnd then we moved into the “how exciting for this one” phase of the conversation.<\/p>\n

Quite obviously I have to refine my technique. That did not come out the way I was hoping. It felt wrong to say this child will be our first – Devin was our first, and I don’t want to downplay or ignore that. I’m pretty sure she thought I meant I miscarried my first pregnancy – maybe it makes no difference to them, but it does to me. Devin was 4lbs 10.5oz, I birthed him. I can’t not acknowledge that out loud.<\/p>\n

Afterward a coworker who overheard said to me, “You might not want to go down that road. You’ll get lots of questions.” And please realize here that she meant it might be difficult for me to explain the story ten times a day, over and over. I know what she means – and she’s not wrong, it will probably get very tiring. This is why I’ve been dreading this whole topic, this whole situation, with people who don’t know me – why I’ve been self-conscious and turning my belly away from customers until this point. Either way is going to be hard.<\/p>\n

Telling everyone that this is my first would certainly make the conversations shorter, and spare them the sputtering. But what is best for me<\/i>? Will I<\/i> be okay with a couple hundred people believing that this baby is my only one, that I am – or should be – glowing and blissfully happy and naive? Will I be able to tolerate the well-meaning advice people constantly give first-timers? I’ve thought long and hard about it. And I don’t think I will be. It’s a game of pretend that I play now and again with a cashier, or a mechanic. It’s for a few brief minutes, and it always makes me feel like I’m wearing someone else’s skin. It makes me uncomfortable. Then I picture myself wearing that facade for 8 hours a day at work. It makes me shudder a little.<\/p>\n

I am okay with who I am. My first son died; my second child is on the way. It is terribly unfortunate that my story is not entirely a happy one, that my story is in large part tragedy. But it is what it is. If someone asks, well, that’s just the truth.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

There is a fabulous post on the Share blog about Grieving vs. Mourning. I highly recommend you read it. It comes at an interesting time, seeing how I’ve spent a lot of time the last few months contemplating how okay I am. I can’t say that I am mourning anymore. Sad, yes. Missing Devin, yes. […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":71,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[252,144,69,364,95],"class_list":["post-2536","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized","tag-devin","tag-grief","tag-loss","tag-mourning","tag-work"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/lunardreams.net\/baby\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2536","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/lunardreams.net\/baby\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/lunardreams.net\/baby\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/lunardreams.net\/baby\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/71"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/lunardreams.net\/baby\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=2536"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"http:\/\/lunardreams.net\/baby\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2536\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2537,"href":"http:\/\/lunardreams.net\/baby\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2536\/revisions\/2537"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/lunardreams.net\/baby\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=2536"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/lunardreams.net\/baby\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=2536"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/lunardreams.net\/baby\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=2536"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}