I always thought I would have my first baby by the time I was 28.
I was married at 24. I spent the new few years going to school, working and travelling with Matthew. We loved our time together before we had our girls, we were young, naive and innocent. We genuinely enjoy being together so we savored these years hoping that one day we would look back at them fondly as we added to our family. I found out I was pregnant with Ava on Matthew’s 27th birthday (we are the same age) and Ava came into the world 10 days before my 28th birthday. It was all to plan. Except I did not get to bring her home, I was a Mama with no baby. And my world crashed down.
Going through grief there are as many emotions as ways to miss your child. I rarely feel angry about our loss, somehow it is not in my makeup. I am not an angry person. I have a hard time understanding angry people so imagine my surprise when after I came home from our BLM weekend in Chicago way deep down enraged. Blindingly angry. Grumpy and inconsolably angry.
And I have stayed angry.
Really damned angry each and every day since.
Why, on earth, would I feel so angry after such a cathartic and beautiful weekend? Why would being in a place of tremendous healing and friendship make me just so damned mad? Well it took me until yesterday to figure it out. I was angry for each of the Mama’s there, including myself. That we belonged to this asinine club. That we have to meet. That there are so many babies not in the room with us. That the only reason we know each other and can love on our babies together is because of our loss. Heinous. I was mad for each and every single one of us there. Looking at the photos of our babies lost, realizing each of your hearts fell the same agony I do. I was furious! How can this be! I found myself wanting to stamp my feet like a child and scream “this is not fair! Bring them back!” I want to close my eyes and scream until I wake up and realize this entire mess is just a bad dream and Brooke has Eliza, Laura has Jack, Brandy has Andrew, Caroline has Cale, Molly has Hayes, Keleen has Addison… (Shall I do the entire list? You get my point.)
There are times when I feel imprisoned by the loss of Ava. I feel as if I am serving the longest sentence possible. A life sentence. Or as I think of it, 28 years to life. I must spend from my 28th year to however long I live without my daughter and that is the greatest punishment I can ever fathom. There will be no parole for me, no chance at reconciliation. I cannot just go and bang on her door and say please come back. I cannot fix this. No matter what I do, how hard I beg, I cannot bring her back. I am a prisoner of loss and that angers me.
Yesterday after being mad for far too long I got in touch with my counsellor to get this monkey off my back. I was able to finally set the anger aside and breathe a little easier. I do not think I will ever “accept” her loss or the fact I have to live my life without her. I do not know how to live my life without her. I am still figuring it all out. I am so glad I have the company of the BLM community to help me in doing so. Even if I have to serve this life sentence without her I can say I have wonderful company. You guys do make excellent cell mates…I love you enough to wish you weren’t here.