It's not personal

We live a digital life.  It's hard to believe a month ago I actually thought people cared what I was doing at 4pm on a Wednesday or how my work day was or what I ate for dinner.

I was one of those women who posted bump pics on Instagram.  I wasn't entirely in your face about my pregnancy anywhere else, but I posted about it occasionally on facebook and twitter.  I announced it at 15 weeks and used hashtags.  I started a baby board on pinterest.  It never occured to me that pregnancy is not a promise.  I read that somewhere on the web while searching for baby loss websites.  Pregnancy is not a promise.  I had a normal, healthy pregnancy with an active baby but I went home with empty arms.

The strangest thing about coming home from the hospital after delivering your baby, but without your baby, is learning to live your life the exact same way you were living it all over again.  I had no baby.  I had a daughter, but I had no baby and now I had all the time in the world to look at facebook and pinterest and instagram.  This is what you find on facebook, pinterest, and instagram after baby loss:  pregnancy posts, complaining parents, cute baby photos, and adorable baby clothes.

It's hard not to feel assaulted, to feel hurt by all these happy people and their hopefulness and joy.  On the other hand, it's even harder to not want to punch the people who take if for granted and complain about late night feedings and tantrums.  I know better than to take any of these posts or photos personally, but grief makes that difficult.  Grief can make it impossible if it catches you on a bad day.

Trying to figure out how to navigate a digital life while experiencing intense grief involves a lot of odd effort.  I spent almost an entire year being pregnant and my internet habits reflected that.  This first month I've spent my time unfollowing all pregnant women, new mothers, baby boards, blogs, anything that triggered me.  I unsubscribed from all the stupid weekly pregnancy update emails.  I googled baby loss and found bloggers who'd gone through the same thing as me, replacing all the women who were happily home with their babies.  I read support boards, I couldn't get enough of other mother's stories.  I learned the term 'rainbow baby' and spent hours finding stories of 'take home babies' after full term losses.

I've realized that as much as I love living in a digital age, I don't want to be as wrapped up in it as before.  Every time I see someone's healthy living baby, I think about every time I posted a bump pic and wonder who I hurt with my happiness.  It's not that I don't want people to be happy, but now I question the importance and kindness of sharing these things.  It's no revelation that social media is for navel-gazing, but in the wake of our loss we've really come to appreciate living an analog life.  I don't want to share the minutiae of my life anymore and I don't want other people to feel the way I feel at this point in my life.  I would like to think that if she had come home with us, I would be focusing on our joy and not what pictures to post to facebook and instagram or status updates about how tired I am.  The sad thing is I probably wouldn't have changed much.

The sad thing is grief tends to teach us more than joy.

Our daughter taught us pure love.  Our families have been brought together to create one family and they have each been here for us every step of the way.  These are the people I want to spend my time on, not an old co-worker I haven't seen in person in three years.

We hope to give Ramona a brother or sister one day, but if and when we do he or she will be our private joy.  The people in our lives who want to share in our joy will have to do so face to face, not through a computer screen.

The Grief Shelf

This morning when K left for work I left too.  I've been trying to get out more and get used to the millions of babies that seem to be everywhere now.  I went to Target and saw a mother with an infant.  I cried and I didn't care.  I feel better letting it out than trying to go about my day like it didn't happen.  Like I shouldn't be doing the same thing, like I shouldn't be carrying my daughter in a wrap and feeding her and kissing her.  I just looked away and cried.

Afterwards I headed to Barnes and Noble.  I don't buy books anymore since I'm a librarian and have access to free books, but obviously I don't want to be at work right now.  I wandered around and looked for books about baby loss and grief and I found one shelf.  One damn shelf.  It was the bottom shelf at that.

I guess the book business doesn't want to burden shoppers with us sad bastards and our grief.

I bought one of those books.  Healing After Loss:  Daily Mediations for Working Through Grief.  I opened to today's date and found this quote by Elie Wiesel:

Whoever survives a test, whatever it may be, must tell the story. That is his duty. 

So here is my story today.  I am sad, I am angry, I want my daughter.

Ramona Alice

Our whole world has changed since I wrote that first foolish post.  Our beautiful daughter Ramona Alice was born sleeping on December 24, 2013.  It's been three weeks and we still can't believe this happened to our sweet, sweet little girl.  She was the most perfect baby girl I've ever seen.

I don't know how much I'll share here or how often, but I've been journaling again almost every day and it helps.  If writing here helps, I'll keep it up. If it doesn't, I'll drop it.

I can't believe this is our life now.