I've been thinking quite a bit lately about how it feels to have the words "my baby is dead" come out of my mouth. I mean, who ever thinks about how to say that?
How on earth can I put into words how it feels when your child, your baby, someone you've spent months loving, growing, caring about, suddenly dies inside your body? And then comes out of your body silently? How can I describe feeling like running into highway traffic would certainly be less painful and less traumatic than waking up every day without your baby? That banging your head against the wall, repeatedly and forcefully, is the only way to silence the roar?
Dramatic. That, up there, is dramatic. But not overly so, as describing the pain, anxiety, trauma, sadness and grief cannot be overstated. Words alone, though, don't do the pain justice. For someone who's--luckily--never experienced such pain can't possibly understand fully (again, luckily) just by reading these words.
So do I say it matter-of-factly? Simply, "My baby is dead. She died inside me, and then she was born." That's a freezing bucket of water in your face, yes? But it still doesn't convey, precisely, how awful and empty it feels.
Or do I stay silent? Let the bags under my eyes, the gray in my hair, the not-quite-a-smile tell the story for me? Ach. I have no idea.
It doesn't get better. At least, almost a year out, it isn't better. It is, however, different. It is just as horrible, lonely, shocking, and sad as it was on that day. It is not all-consuming. I think that's the only difference right now. It's not immediate. But it's still there, just as fierce when it comes to the surface.
There are so many babies missing. No, not missing. Missing implies there's hope they might be found. They're missed, certainly. But they're not coming back. So many families without their babies. This time of year is especially difficult--so many anniversaries, birthdays, holidays within the next few months.
But then again that's not the entire story, because all year long there's the same days. On and on and on.
None of this is easy, or simple. No matter how you say it.
I miss my daughter. That's it, plain and simple.