The Side Effects

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When I lost Alli, I dealt with a lot more than an emotional hole in my heart.  I never thought about how the loss of a breastfed baby would result in soreness, infection, and physical pain that constantly reminded me of my emotional pain.  I never thought about how food would taste like dirt or salt for weeks.  I never considered that the thoughtful gift of live or cut plants would just depress me because I would have to watch them die.  

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Nor did I even once imagine that my brain would become like a leaky hose.  I can turn it on at full blast, and I get very few results.  Any question that starts with, "Do you remember" will inevitably result in a blank look by me.  I can't remember what I did five minutes ago, and it's been almost nine years since I lost her.  I used to be a bit spacy.  Now, I remember very little. Apparently, for someone who has had a recent loss, these symptoms---forgetfulness, confusion, and a difficulty concentrating--are normal.  For some of us, these symptoms don't fade in a hurry.  My husband is the same.  We both tell each other things with the hope that one of us will have a synapse fire at the right time.  Occasionally, it even works.  

[Small coffin.  Huge impacts that don't quit.]

But those aren't the only symptoms one might experience with grief.  You might be numb, bitter, preoccupied with loss, and straight up depressed beyond the ability to feel joy.  Right after he lost her, my husband stared at the shower for three hours, unable to summon the energy to get in.  That was the day he decided he needed help.  Your grief might even come out in physical symptoms like gut issues, fatigue, chest pain, soreness, and headaches.  It wouldn't surprise me if my older girl's frequent complaints of a mix of the above all traced back to the loss of her baby sister.  

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Grief strikes people differently and at different times.  It's a crazy rollercoaster that doesn't quit.  It just occasionally slows down long enough for you to take your breath.  For me, the symptoms have slowed to a manageable level.  I was told by a counselor just after we lost Alli that if your crazy rollercoaster gradually moves on an upward slope, you're normal.  You're okay.  If, however, your rollercoaster is all tipped downward with no ups for your downs, it's time to call someone and get help.  Grief is just a rough journey.  No one should have to face it alone.  Just know that you're not alone.  Many of us are in the same boat, the same rollercoaster, the same insanity.  It's all normal, even when it doesn't feel like it is.  We're all in it together.  

Varieties of Grief

When most people think of grief, they think of the loss of a sibling, a parent, a child, a friend, an animal companion.  These are truly a cause for mourning, whether that person or animal has lived a full, long life or not.  Some people feel guilty missing and crying over the loss of someone whose time has come, but the loss is still real and still painful.  It can be worse still when the loss is unexpected and/or premature.  It's hard to say whether seeing an impending loss coming or a experiencing sudden loss is worse.  Either way, it hurts.  There's no real point in considering gradations of pain and whose loss is harder when it all hurts and can be life-changing and all-consuming.  There are losses people don't consider when the words "grief" and "mourning" come up.  However, I have seen people in mourning just the same.

There are human losses that don't involve death.  This is considered ambiguous grief.  I've seen people hesitate to mourn when they know they may never see their child/parent/aunt/uncle/grandpa/etc. again in this life.  There are people who can't respond when you speak to them, like those in a coma.  There are those who are no longer the person we grew to love, like an alzheimer's patient.  Their loved ones sometimes seem to feel like like they haven't earned the right to mourn.  However, I've heard experts in the field validate this kind of mourning.  You have still lost the one you love.  And it still hurts.  It's okay to grieve, however you feel you need to grieve.

There are losses of expectations and familiar places like watching future dreams figuratively go up in flames or seeing your home or work literally go up in flames.  A mother who dreamed of sending her child to college, who then finds out he has severe disabilities, or a father whose child, so full of potential, makes a mistake that costs her a future still faces pain. It's still a loss.  It can be hard, and can hurt.

This isn't to say that all these losses are somehow equal, that mourning is mourning, and it all looks the same.  If I lose my job, there's no way I will be launched into deep mourning as I would be with the loss of a parent or child.  However, that doesn't mean all of these forms of grief aren't valid.  They are, and those suffering from loss deserve respect and understanding. Nor does this mean that all people who lose a child or all people who lose a job go through all the same things or should be expected to grieve the same.  Grief is hard.  Loss is painful.  We often don't know what others are going through or how much they have lost.  For this, we'd all be happier and have a better chance at healing if we treat each other with respect and understanding, so when we have our loss and pain, others will be there for us.

Survived the Birthday

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I actually did fairly well, all things considered.  I had a few breakdowns, but not so many I couldn't handle them. 

I had a breakdown the morning before, when I was driving into town.  I heard a romance song I've always liked and that I never associated with mourning, Richard Marx's "Right Here Waiting for You."   There was a line or two that particularly referenced romance, but the rest of it spoke to my soul at the moment I was thinking of my angel's birthday the next day.  I cried the whole time it played.  Afterward, I found peace in the LDS temple to which I was heading when the song played. I hoped but didn't expect that to be the last. 

The next day, the day of her ninth birthday, I reflected on her loss and cried again.  It wasn't long, and I had my husband to hold.  It felt good. 

As we like to do, we kept ourselves busy to avoid too much self-pity and fruitless reflection on loss.  We went out of town to celebrate my other daughter's birthday as a family.  It was fun and kept our thoughts on other things.  Then, the night came, and we gave Alli her birthday party with an angel food cake and a walk down memory lane through her birthday.  We even had a friend there to show moral support.  Coming to the end of her pictures always feels like a punch to the gut.  Especially when I get to the funeral photos.  It's been a long time since I've broken down that badly.  It hurt.  It will always hurt to pass through her birthdays, at least until we can hold her again.