Sometimes I feel like life is running away without me. I can't fully describe the feeling but it's almost like my life has ground to a halt whilst the rest of the world carries on on around me. I have lost count of the number of people I know who have had babies, announced pregnancies or both, since Emilie died and whilst I'm happy for them it highlights my pain more profoundly. Because I have Sam, I spend alot of time around babies and young children that I don't know at groups and children's play centres and because I love my friends I spend time with their babies and children and enjoy doing this. It's the babies I don't know that I struggle with-the ones that I have no relationship with yet find myself staring at when I see them. I find myself desperate to tell their parents that I have 2 children. That my daughter would be their daughter's age. It's almost as if I feel the need to validate her existence - to prove that she was here.
The need to validate Emilie's existence is a very real one and is something that other people who have lost children have told me is normal and healthy. I think there is sometimes a lack of understanding, when families lose a child, that the loss isn't just of a baby or child but of everything that that child would do/achieve over the years. It's a loss of every photographic memory, every grazed knee, every school play and every birthday. We have some friends for whom this is too painful an experience and they don't know what to say/do so they have backed away from us. My understanding is this this is completely normal when someone has lost a child. People get so overwhelmed by the feelings and are so unsure how to approach the person that has suffered the loss that they find it easier to keep their distance. I can see how isolating this could make people feel - especially if they have no living children and find themselves suddenly detached from a group of friends with children. Our lives have changed completely and there are some days that the loneliness I feel from going through this isolating situation completely overwhelms me. We are very lucky though, to have other friends who have carried us through this time. They have been happy to listen to us, cry with us and reminisce with us. If our situation has upset them they haven't let on and I don't know how we would be surviving without such wonderful friends.
The sense of isolation we feel is lessened, not only by our wonderful friends but also by having Sam. He gives us a reason to get out of bed each morning and we can structure our day around him. I sometimes wonder what I would feel like if I didn't have Sam. A lady I have met since Emilie's death had suffered from infertility for 10 years. She then became pregnant with twins. She lost one twin in the second trimester and the other twin died at 36 weeks. My heart breaks for her. Sam has pulled us through this experience so much and I can't comprehend what it would feel like to not have him. I can't imagine losing your first child in this way but he is his own person-he is not Emilie and in the same way no baby we ever have will replace her. She would be 7 months old now and would have her own personality, likes, dislikes, skills and behavioural traits.
I find myself torn between wanting this roller coaster to slow down so that I can get off and reorientate myself and wanting this painful time to be over and done with as quickly as possible. I don't want to spend my time focussing on fertility treatment and grief to such an extent that I miss out on moments with Sam. Every time someone announces a pregnancy I genuinely do feel happy for them but have a silent thought of 'I hope the next person is me'. And then it's someone else's turn... I hope and pray every day that sometime soon we'll have our good news and can join in with the life that carries on around us.
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