Wednesday, April 11, 2012

Is the first year after loss really the worst?

I tend to think so. But what do I know, sixteen months out?

In the first few months after my loss, people would sometimes say, “The first year is the absolute worst.” This would come primarily from those who have suffered baby loss, so I trusted their opinions. However, in the back of my mind, I was always thinking, “I’m not so sure.” Everybody grieves differently. Our minds, our hearts, our bodies, everything “recovers” in different ways and paces. I place that word in quotes, recognizing that grief is a lifelong process, and from what I know there is never complete recovery from the loss of a child. But there has to be some degree of healing for any of us to continue living. Not merely surviving, but truly living, which is what I’m starting to finally do. Back to the questions at hand: So how could anyone know that my first year of grief would be the worst?

I’ll tell you. I’m sixteen months out. So maybe I don’t know a whole hell of a lot. But so far, it does seem that the first year IS the absolute worst. I know I will have days where the grief knocks the wind out of me probably for the rest of my life if not at least for many years. I know I’ll be in a retirement home talking about my precious son. I hope to be. He deserves that. However, the pain, the pain lessens. It has to. And while I hope that I will always honor and acknowledge my son as part of our family, I also hope that the pain continues to lessen. I don’t feel I need to hold onto the pain to hold on to him. I know that his legacy is about so much more than that.

My epiphany about the first year being the worst came to me at the most unforeseen time. A visit to the dentist. For some reason, the dentist always brings flashbacks. I always think about the last time I was at the dentist and how I was feeling. This dental visit was going really well. I got a clean bill of dental health, and everything was perfect. I flashed back to before my loss when TTC. I kept asking if this or that was okay during pregnancy (just in case I was pregnant), and the woman kept reassuring me. Then, she told me about a woman who had a stillbirth that was attributed to gingivitis. I thought that was just absolutely horrific and thought I would never forgive myself if something like that happened to me. (And of course, I did NOT lose Elias to gingivitis. But oh my, if hearing that story was not incentive to keep my teeth clean, I don’t know what would have been!)

Flash forward to my next appointment. This was only a few months out from my loss, maybe four or five. I just wanted to get in, get out, go home, and crawl under a blanket. You know, typical day. So I go in, and to my surprise, the hygienist says she’s sorry for my loss. I had no idea how she even knew. But I didn’t want to talk about it at all, and I felt so exposed and panicky and self-conscious and just OMG get me out of here! So they proceed to do the cleaning and had plenty to say. In nice tones, of course, but still. Teeth not in great shape (thanks, grief). Hadn’t been flossing enough (thanks, depression). Enamel worn away (thanks, months and months of barfing due to multiple gestation). I felt like sitting up in the middle of that dental visit and screaming, “My son died! I’m sorry I didn’t brush my teeth twice a day and always remember to floss! I was kind of busy trying to not off myself or end up in the freaking loony bin! Can you cut me some slack here?!?!?!”

I’m sure I had a visit in between that one and this one, but I was likely in my numb phase of grief (rather than the anger phase), so that visit doesn’t quite stand out so much in my mind.

But this one? It went so freaking well that the lady didn’t even give me the special “sensitive” toothpaste. She sprayed cold-ass water during those rinses, and it didn’t bother my teeth one bit. We talked about a bachelorette party I’m going out of town for and what salon treatments I might get beforehand (it’s at a water park). She told me all about her experience getting waxed for the first time (I know, right?!) and a little about her family back in Romania. We made jokes and talked about the weather, all that NORMAL stuff, and I walked out of there feeling like a million bucks. And almost like a normal person myself. I felt so awesome, I walked next door to FroYo and treated myself to some delicious calorie-laden teeth damaging frozen yogurt (I’d never been there before. Let me say that it is fan.tas.tic).

Driving home, scarfing my ice cream (unsafe, I know), I realized something that should have been so painfully obvious all along. I guess I’d just never really thought about it. But here it is. The first year after your loss, amidst the raw grief and anger and all that, there’s always that nagging agonizing feeling of, “This time last year I was __________”. Whether happily TTC, happily pregnant (or, admittedly at times miserably pregnant). “If only I knew then what I know now!” And that feeling where you trick yourself into thinking you could have changed the outcome now that you know what you know, which makes you feel panicky and guilty and so.freaking.upset.

After the first year, you start saying, “This time last year I was __________”. Suicidal? Hating everybody? Not sure my broken heart would continue to function? Not sure I would ever care to brush my teeth or shower on a regular basis?

And you kind of stop wanting to go back. You start being okay right where you are now. And you realize that a year from now, you’ll look back without panic attacks, and just think, “This time last year I had FroYo for the first time, and it was fan.freaking.tastic.”

14 comments:

  1. wow, thanks. I needed this. I am still looking back at last year and remembering that this time last year we had a living daughter.

    ReplyDelete
  2. I agree - excellent post. You do stop with the "this time last year" thoughts as the year(s) creep painfully by

    The dentist is a tough one for me too oddly enough.

    ReplyDelete
  3. I honestly feel like the first year was hands down the worst year, but I think that's bc I'm so preoccupied with this new pregnancy... Last year I had nothing to focus on, nothing to look forward to, and a whole lot to reminisce about painfully.

    ReplyDelete
  4. Well that was funny and insightful and a great post! I am 9 months from my loss and it still fucking sucks and the one year mark is looming ahead but... I know I'm better that I was even 5 months ago. I miss Camille the same but I function better. I've compartmentalized better. I communicate better. These are all positive progress in my opinion. They don't change my love or longing but it's nice not to be filled EVERY day with the gut wrenching, sobbing, can't breathe existence that is constant when my daughter first died. Ithanks for this post. I felt similar at my check up. "sorry I didn't brush my teeth, I was busy trying to get out of bed etc."

    ReplyDelete
  5. I have been doing that exact thing, this time last year I was VERY pregnant and hopeful, etc. It is the hardest thing now knowing that I wouldn't have both boys with me! Thank you for opening your heart up to us!

    ReplyDelete
  6. I'm so glad you shared this! I think people must think I'm 8 months out, so I'm doing better. But right now, I'm heading into the time I had with her. I'm coming up on the time I found out I was pregnant, and then everything that comes after that. People don't realize how you have to relive it all (I think you just gave me a new blogpost!).

    ReplyDelete
  7. I love this. And I agree. The first year was. so. hard. It has to get easier. I can remember in the early days reading posts from bereaved parents who were sad to see the calendar year change, to leave the year of their baby and move forward, to have to say "Two years ago" instead of "Last year." But me? I felt a little bit of relief. Like you said, I want my baby's legacy not to be the pain of loss, but the love that continues.

    And, yes, I think that a life of love does include good dental appointments and fro-yo.

    ReplyDelete
  8. I have been mulling over this post since I read it a couple of days ago and must say, what a great epiphany you had! I def think the first year is the worst for many reasons but had not considered that another reason is bc we are reflecting on the prior year. So true! And insightful! I also feel like the pressure leading up to the anniversary makes it awful. Glad we are past year one of that kind of hell!

    ReplyDelete
  9. Brilliant post. The only thing I found harder about the following years was that less people remember. You are more on your own. But I guess the strength you build in that first year, whether you think you are doing it or not, helps you deal with that. I'm coming up four years now, and I know less and less people will contact us on her birthday this year. I have to somehow be ok with that. xo

    ReplyDelete
  10. The 1st yr for me was def the hardest. I'm glad that each year has gotten easier of course we all know we don't stop loving or missing with less intensity

    ReplyDelete
  11. Thanks for this! It will be 9 months since my son died, and I've finally accepted that if I get dressed, I've had a successful day. I've brushed at least once a day every day, save one day, for these nine months. I've always been a diligent brusher/flosser, but after Nathaniel I stopped caring so much. Funny how we can mark grief with hygiene habits. I'm so glad to hear this report from where you are!

    ReplyDelete
  12. I loved this post. It's true. I always think of the analogy that my grief counselor shared - when your baby dies, it's as if someone hands you a heavy, black ball. You can't put it down, you have to carry it - you will always have to carry it. And it's ugly and you have no stamina for it and you hate it and it hurts to carry it. But gradually you build up your arm muscles so you can carry it for longer without it hurting, you learn to look around the ball and see a little way ahead, you even find things to cover the ball to make it a little less ugly. The ball never shrinks, never leaves your arms but you get stronger and more adept at carrying it. That's what I think changes as you leave the first year behind.

    ReplyDelete