1 month

Today would have been Nina-Lou's 1 month birthday.  A one month birthday isn't that big of a deal for the majority of us, but with babies, these milestones become important.  It pains me greatly to think of all the stuff she might have been doing by now.

For Turner and I, it means we've survived a month of this awful, crushing grief.  I have made some progress... I no longer cry every morning the moment I open my eyes.  I have eaten lunch with a friend without breaking down.  I have held a baby.  I have been around more than one baby at once.  I even went to the grocery store by myself yesterday.  I still cry, every single day, but it is not always with deep sobs that threaten to tear me to pieces.  I haven't put on eye makeup yet, but I have considered buying some waterproof mascara.

One of the most cruel things about going through a tragedy like this, is that the minutiae of daily life goes on.  Continuing to live while my daughter is dead is the hardest thing I have ever done, and will likely (I hope) ever do.  It takes every ounce of strength that I have, which isn't  much.  Many of my family and friends have commented on how "strong" Turner and I are being through all of this.  While I appreciate their recognition that this does indeed take a LOT of strength, I often respond by saying, "I'm not strong.  I just don't have a choice."  And I really mean that.  The amount of strength I have is irrelevant.  I HAVE to open my eyes each day and face what has happened.  I HAVE to eat food.  I HAVE to put clothes on.  Every single one of those things hurts me deeply, because they are all reminders of how empty my life feels.  I honestly feel like I have zero strength left.  I used it all up just opening  my eyes the morning after Nina-Louise was born and died.  The fact that we have made it a month without the world imploding on itself is crazy to me.  Because that's what should have happened when she died.  The world should have ceased to exist.  To live in a world in which babies die and their bereaved mothers wake up and drink coffee and answer emails and pay bills is fucked beyond belief.  Yet, there it is. The sun comes up.  The tide goes in and out.  The weather changes.  I throw my hands up at all of it, because it makes no sense.  And then I do the dishes, because they're dirty, and someone has to do them.

It is awful and amazing that women have been going through this forever, and will continue to for the foreseeable future.  I am in awe of the fact that we were ALL under the assumption that Nina-Louise was going to be born alive and into my arms.  When I went to my group prenatal care sessions, we talked about what diapers we were going to use, how long we planned to breastfeed, what sort of help we would ask for in the first weeks at home.  We NEVER discussed the fact that 1 out of 160 of us would deliver a dead baby.  1 out of 160 are fucking terrible odds.  Now that I have joined this club of bereaved mothers, I cannot believe how many of us are out there, choking back tears as we struggle to accomplish simple daily tasks.

Despite my whining, I get it.  I know that life goes on, and ultimately, I want it to.  But I constantly wrestle with the fact that I do these mundane things, when what I feel like I should be doing is running into the streets and shouting, "My fucking baby DIED!  She was beautiful, and she died, and I miss her!  You have to know that she existed, and that I should be holding her right now, and that you should be telling me how adorable she is!  I am not just some normal person, I am a mother who lost her baby!  We live in a world where that can HAPPEN, for fuck's sake!"  Then there's the other part of me, which wants more than anything to just be normal.  To not cry every single day.  To laugh with my friends without that pit in my stomach.  It is really hard to balance loving her and grieving her with healing myself and finding happiness.  I am coming to realize that I will cling to this grief forever, because it is also the love I have for Nina-Lou.  I will, for the rest of my life, miss that little girl.  I believe that I will also learn to live with the fact that she is gone, and find a way to live without her.  I'm making strides, and I'm going through the motions, but it hurts.  It always, always, always hurts.  I both despise and cling to the pain; I hate it because it has to exist at all, and I cling to it because it's all I have left of her.

Today I'm going to burn some sage in Nina-Louise's room, and whisper her name to myself, and tell that ball of energy that I think might be her how much I love and miss her, and how much I would sacrifice to have her here with me.  I am also going to make beef stock, fold laundry, clean the toilet, and join a dear friend for dinner.  Because I have to live.  I just fucking have to.