Good Grief

If you know me in real life, you probably know I had a miscarriage in June.  Seeing as 1 in 4 pregnancies end in miscarriage, I knew I wasn’t alone and didn’t see the need to carry my grief around like a shameful little secret. 

I’m glad I shared on Facebook because I immediately had so much support in terms of condolences and reassurances; my inbox was flooded with friends and cousins sharing their similar stories and offering encouragement that it truly does get easier with time.  I felt surrounded by love, thoughts, and prayers, and I’m grateful for everyone who took a moment to say or do something sweet and encouraging. 

At first, I couldn’t bring myself to leave the bed.  Truthfully, even rolling over to face the wall took every bit of energy I had.  I cried nonstop and didn’t see how life could ever resemble anything normal again.  This wasn’t unhealthy, but it was bereavement.  I let myself wallow because, for me, that’s part of the process. (And I still will unapologetically wallow, as necessary.) 

In the following weeks, the nurse at the obgyn office gave me her number so I could text her with any recovery questions, I had friends sending me chocolates and cookies, neighbours cooked us dinner every night, co-workers took over all my end-of-year duties and lessons so I could stay home and rest, and my husband bought me a beautiful heart-within-a-heart locket, so I’ll always have a tiny heart close to my own.  I’m lucky to have had so many supportive people in my life during my darkest days, especially when we’re so far from home.

A few weeks later, we headed home for 2 months of glorious Canadian summer.  I warned everyone that I wasn’t going to be much fun, and everyone reassured me that I could just do what I could manage, no pressure.  I spent a lot of time with my parents, sister, and aunt, just being silly.  I celebrated my six-year anniversary with my husband, went on epic waterslides with my sister, watched my son learn and grow as he adapted to Canadian life and celebrated his second birthday with family, went out for lunch and dinner a lot, went shopping, went to the casino, went camping up north, went kayaking, took an aerial arts class, sang karaoke, got a relaxing massage, made some new friends, and got to catch up with some wonderful friends, most of whom I’ve been known for 30+ years.  I’m so grateful my husband and I were able to have this time where we were able to heal, enjoy life, and have a bit of normalcy, thanks to the amazing physical and emotional support of my parents and in-laws.  It ended up being a much better summer than I’d anticipated.  Being around loved ones does wonders for the soul.

But, I was still sad and that’s really normal.  When I was in Canada, I’d see my friends, and we’d talk about stuff, as good friends do.  Almost every time, I cried, ranging from a slight welling of tears to full-on sobbing.  This is because I feel like I can openly share with my friends and I’m a sensitive person, so tears come easily.  I’ve cancelled plans a few times, and that’s okay… I’m glad I have friends who understand my need to be alone and don’t judge me.  One day, I just couldn’t face it and didn’t even want to get out of bed, so I called up one of my best friends, who also happens to do motivational speaking and is one of the most inspirational people I know, and she took me to lunch, said all the right things, and pulled me out of my funk… that was what I needed that day.  Other days, my husband will take our son to play at the park so I can be alone, with him knowing full well that as soon as they leave I’m going to put Bjork’s version of Gloomy Sunday on repeat, devour an entire box of Oreos and ugly cry all over the house… that’s what I need those days.

Since returning to Hong Kong, September has been a whirlwind.  We struggled to get our jet lagged toddler back into a normal sleep routine.  I’m back at work, teaching grade 5 and 6 this year for the first time (and I’m loving it).  I’m also back in school, getting my credentials to teach the International Baccalaureate Diploma Programme.  We’re planning a trip to Australia in December, which we’re all super excited for.  I’m busy and struggle to find time to just have a moment for myself or with my husband, keep a clean house, keep my sanity, etc…. so pretty normal stuff.  Basically, my life is continuing on exactly as it was (which sometimes doesn’t make much sense that it can do that, and that makes me feel guilty when I’m having fun).  I’m moving forward with my life, coping well, enjoying things, and, on the whole, doing alright. 

But I’m also still not okay, and it’s absolutely fine to be not okay sometimes. 
  

I live this okay and not okay life simultaneously.  They’re merging and I’m okay more often than I’m not now, so I know I’ll be alright in the end.  I’m not depressed, though I feel like I am some days, but I’m fine, clinically speaking.  There is a little shadow of sorrow lurking in the wings and I think it will always be there, in a way.  I’m very sad and I’m likely going to continue to be for some time.  I will go through the grieving process without pressuring myself about anything and I will not apologize for it.  I do not need to justify my grief to anyone and no one but me gets to decide how I mourn or how long I mourn. 

I miss my baby.  I wanted that baby so bad.  THAT one.  I love my baby.  This is a child I held in my womb for a few months, in my hands for a few moments, and will hold in my heart for all eternity.  My pain is very real and it tears me apart.  And I’m not okay, but I’m okay with that.