It’s been two months since I held my daughter in my arms. It’s been two months since the doctor said he’s sorry—that they’ve done everything they could do. It’s been two months since my daughter was born and then died. Two months can feel like a lifetime, and just yesterday at the same time.
Lucille came into our lives like a freight train of hope and absolute despair. I keep moving forward, trying my hardest to never look back. I keep going, because there’s no other choice. Work, bills and commitments continue to approach without ceasing. I cannot afford to stop.
Grief is complicated. I have learned that there are so many parents out there that grieve for a child that never had the chance at life. This type of loss and pain is held deep inside each individual. I can guarantee you someone you personally know has experienced a loss.
Neonatal loss and miscarriages are topics we all tend to avoid. It’s become taboo, yet we debate abortion rights on a daily basis. Why the stigma? Those who have not lived through the pain find it uncomfortable to even imagine. For me, it’s a nightmare that can’t be avoided.
I don’t often discuss Lucille because I am concerned about the reaction and feelings of others. I want people to know that my empty arms yearn for the warmth of my baby. My life feels incomplete without her. I want people to know that even though I seem to be doing fine, at night, my tears flow. I want everyone around me to know that I’m okay…but I’m not okay.
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