Up until a week and a half ago, I have been grieving with hope in my heart.
With the PPT diagnosis, there was a sudden disappearance of that hope.
I knew as soon as I was able to think straight, that I wanted and needed a babe to actively mother - I don't know how long it took to realise after saying our finial goodbyes to Elizabeth, but I can't think of a time when there wasn't a glimmer of hope for another child.
Grieving with hope, there was always a knowing that I would someday be a mother in the not too distance future, always a ray of light in the deepest depths of this black hole I'd been abandoned in, always something to grasp on to in those times of such self-destructive desperation and pain. That little ray of light acted as a nightlight to me, as safety blanket of sorts and a calming voice to placate the what-ifs and that took the vagueness out of my dreams and gave them quality, colour and sound. The hope also gave me some sort of distraction from the grief, it mostly gave me something to work towards, a goal to achieve and yes, I felt a purpose again.
Grief was bearable with hope, gave me want to look after myself properly, made me take a vested interest in living again, made me want to see the brightness of a future again. It got me out of bed in the morning and made me strive toward something with a passion - to be an active mother.
But grief without that hope? That is something that I have been struggling with since being told to 'hold off from trying for now' - see there wasn't even a timeline to 'hold off' on! How am I supposed to get to grips with that? Something so intangible.
It has been a hard to get that into my head, that I have to strive to move forward with all hopes put on hold - but I think I'm getting there. I am seeing this as my time to get back to the basics again; get me healthy, fit and well and just let me grieve my beautiful daughter the way that comes naturally. There are no hard and fast rules to follow, there is no ultimate timeline to keep to - this is me feeling and grieving; there is no right or wrong. And I'm okay...
This would be so tough, Tess. I never had to endure this. I always had that glimmer there thanks to doctors always giving us the green light, then we were so, so lucky to have got pregnant again so quickly. I never stop counting my blessings, as grieving without hope would have been brutal. As if it isn't already brutal enough as it is.
ReplyDeleteLove to you.
xo
I marked a page in my Good Grief Club book Tess's page. It mirrored so well a lot of the things that you have written about in the last couple of days and also talks about rainbows. I admire you for taking the high road and accepting what is your current reality. Stay strong momma. There is still hope it's just not as you expected it.
ReplyDeleteI have no choice Missy, I really don't. Its taken this long to know what I was feeling; so very unsettled and almost back at the beginning again...
ReplyDeleteYour comment along with Sally's made me cry - I do not feel in the slightest bit strong, this is me grappling to keep my head above the surface. For me, there is no other way to see it; my hair would not last much longer if it were not for that realisation.
I will get my hands on the Good Grief Club thank you Missy, just hearing about others who have walked this path is quite validating, if not comforting in an odd BLM way.
Thank you for your comments Sally and Missy
Thinking of you, love to you both
Tess, again, thank you - I need to read this today.
ReplyDeleteSending you so much love, so much.