So Here We Are

I've struggled with the decision to post a blog about what my husband Jason and I are going through or not.  I haven't been totally sure if I should be so public about our pain and what we're going through.  Recently, I've decided that I should, and I want this first post to be a little bit about why I've/we've decided it's okay:  first, when this first happened, after I could lift my head up a little bit, and I could look people in the eyes again, I craved connection.  I didn't just crave any kind of connection, I was craving connection with another mother that had buried their child.  I wanted to look into the face of another woman who had gone through this before I had, and I wanted her to tell me what to brace myself for, what to expect from every minute that ticked by without my daughter, and what it looked like to live life again...or if that was even possible. I was craving that type of connection from another mother that understood, to really and fully...see me.

I had a very very hard time seeing joy in anything right after we lost our daughter Lillian.  So, I'm posting a blog about what this has been like for us because I want to create a place where it will be easier for other mothers (and fathers) of loss to find us; because there will be some...and I want to be here to provide comfort and understanding.  I want to be able to convey to other mothers and fathers of loss that I see them.  

The other reason I've decided to post this is because I believe in my heart that healing comes from being transparent about how you're feeling, no matter how ugly or unsavory; having the courage to be open and honest about it, is part of truly healing. Publicly talking about it here is a step in that direction; it's also a way I can keep a larger collection of those we care about up-to-date about how we are doing.  

I am a mother that has buried her child.  Oh how I wish I was not part of this club.  While I do not begrudge anyone their own feelings of loss or grief, burying your child is something that is absolutely impossible to understand if you haven't done it yourself. You may have loss all over your life; maybe you've lost a parent, a best friend, a cousin, a husband or a wife, please hear me when I say...this is completely different.  Have your pain, I am sorry for your pain, this is different.  You might say to yourself after reading that "I can't even imagine"...and no, no you can't and that's completely okay.  In fact, I'm glad that you can't.  I don't want you to know the horrid pain of burying your child.

I don't say this to take away from any one else's feelings of powerlessness from losing a loved one, I don't say this to take away from any one else's feelings of losing (specifically) my daughter.  I know many people are still grieving her and will forever, (I know that better than anyone), please understand though that the grief of a mother and a father is unlike anything I can ever explain.  The closest I've come to express that (and it still is an insufficient description because this pain is something that words cannot express) is to say that I am perpetually aching and hungry for my daughter.   

Try to imagine being forced to peel off all of your skin, or to remove a vital organ, or to slice your heart in half and then being forced to dig a hole in the ground to bury it under the dirt.  Then imagine that you have to walk away leaving it there, knowing that you need it to keep on living.  A piece of your body.  Your baby.  A little you. The baby you've spent 10 months (because let's face it, it's 10 months, not 9), anticipating and growing inside of you, feeling her move and feeling her hiccup, and feeling her life.  You watch as a small version of you and your spouse is lowered into a hole in the ground.  If you're comparing what I've just attempted (badly) to describe to torture, multiply that feeling by about 1,000 and you still won't know.

The reason I'm going to tell our story is simply because this is the worst thing I or my husband has ever experienced in life; and we want to be here for other moms or dads that need to read some relatable words and if that provides some amount of comfort or connection for them, then mission accomplished.  No parent should feel they are alone in an experience like this...and so, here we are.  If you are reading this and are a parent of loss, welcome, you are in a safe place and I see you.  I am so incredibly sorry.  If you are reading this and know a parent of loss, send them my way.

I'm going to use this blog to write about what happened, I'm going to write about our pain, and our progress moving forward.  I'm sure some of this will be terribly shocking to some people, it might make you cry, it will definitely make you angry, but it might also give you hope, it might inspire you, I hope it somehow ends up comforting you...whatever it provides for you, know that it is our truth and we tell this story also for her...our gorgeous daughter Lillian Angeline.  I love saying and typing out her name, and writing about her keeps her close to me and shares her with the world.  I'm more than okay with that.

Thank you for reading.

-Leslie & Jason

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