Wednesday, February 20, 2013

Thoughts, Thanks, Random Bits of Grief

So... hello.

How are you?

I am fine. okay. numb. I have no idea no idea how I am.

It's all strange.  I couldn't stop crying during our days in the hospital.  I cried a lot the weeks before that too.  I cried at work, I cried at home, I cried in bed at night.  I was terrified of how I would survive after she was gone.  I was terrified of what losing her would be like.  And now, I feel like my tears are dry.  Not that I don't still cry, because I do, but not like before.  And I don't know how to feel about that.

I read a book from hospice and it said there are three kinds of grievers, there are the ones that cry all the time, the ones that cry when they are alone, and the ones that don't cry because they keep themselves too busy.  I guess I fall into the later category.  But I keep waiting for this dam to break.  These emotions to come flooding in.  And then I worry I am doing this wrong.  Is  there a wrong way? The book says their isn't.  That it is all normal, that I will deal with my feelings in time. 

Sometimes I feel the cracks.  The tightening in my chest, the inability to catch my breath, but still I can stand there and talk about our final days, and the tears do not come.  Not really, not in full force.  Will they?  I feel oddly at peace with what has happened.  I miss her, oh god I do.  But I feel we did the best we could, she did the best she could, and now she is free, she is healed and whole, and that we will be together again someday.  I feel her with me, I feel her strength.  And I do cry for her, and honestly I cry for me.  I cry for my loss, because I am suffering, but she isn't anymore.  And there is a peace in that.

Or I am just still really numb.


We laid her ashes to rest yesterday, just our immediate family and the minister.  We surrounded her with letters, music, paintings from the babies, things that she loved.  Not that she needs those things now, but it felt right to leave them with her.  It was sad, and it was perfect.  And I cried then, because I miss her so much already.


I am overwhelmed with the love and support that has been shown to me and our entire family these last few weeks. Family and friends rallying around us. The food that has been dropped off, at Missy's house in the weeks before we were in the hospital,  at the hospital, at our homes after, and at the service on Saturday; it has been so wonderful.  The beautiful flowers, the cards, the constant flow of love, prayers, and support has been such a gift.  My inlaws have been amazing, like always, but they never fail to make me feel so lucky to be a part of their incredible family.  My work and my masters program have shown up with flowers, cards, and in person to hug me, say they love me, that they are thinking of me, that they are here. 

And then there is you, amazing Internet readers.  I have been so touched by the outpouring of love and support.  Through comments and emails, and also through flowers being delivered to my house in the days immediately following our loss:
In the mix of cards from local family and friends, I am finding ones daily from friends I have made here, through Bio Girl and the infertility community.  Friends from all over the US and the world.  Amanda and Tim sent an amazing gift, a kit for growing a red oak tree, one that has been started already in our house, and will move outside this spring.  A constant reminder of our beloved Missy. And I specifically mention the online community and their support, not because it meant more that the outpouring of love from our local family and friends, but because it meant as much.  Because you are true friends, no matter how we met our where you live. And I am so grateful to have you all as part of my life.  So thank you.


I went back to work on Monday.  It is hard there, back in the real world.  But I am doing my best to take it a day at a time.  And when a day feels like too much, I slow it down and take an hour, or even a minute at a time.  And I know my Missy is helping me to remember that. 


  1. The fact that you can write is a true blessing. Putting it all down on paper(?) is cathartic. Keep writing. Over time, it may help some. I love you my dear niece. Thinking of you and yours constantly.

  2. I've talked about your Missy often in the past few days. It feels so... unfair and raw (or something? I can't really describe it), and I haven't been able to not share her and you with my husband/mom/sister/best friend/coworker/etc. I cannot feel what you're feeling, or know what your heart looks like right now, but I do feel a tiny bit of the weight of it, just having a sister myself and imagining life without her. You are honoring her beautifully. xo

  3. There is never a wrong way to grieve. You are doing the best you can, Sarah, and that's all that you can ask for. That's all you can do.

    Sending love. xo

  4. That's all you can do is take it one day at a time. I sent you a card, but it was sent back bc I didn't have enough postage on it :( I'll resend it to you.

  5. My shift in grief came about a full year later... There's no right or wrong. It can just hit you at the weirdest times. Thinking of you.

  6. I think the fact that you are keeping yourself somewhat grounded is your "right" way to cope with it. i agree there is no right or wrong. There is the true heartbreaking pain and you do what you have to do to get through the day. Much love, Fran

  7. Cannot agree more with all the sentiments above!!

    Glad that the tree arrived safely, and it's lovely to hear what type of tree they sent (all we were told was that it would be one that would suit your climate!) I am also so glad to hear that you are all being showered with love, because that is something that we can all send and do for you at this time xx