One Breath at a time – kamloops photographer jo leflufy

There have been moments, in the last 12 weeks since Cora was fleetingly here and then gone far too soon, that I have found myself believing that I can’t possibly carry on. This is not to say that I’m thinking of doing myself in, but rather that I am so utterly emotionally and physically spent, that I temporarily have nothing left in me for anything. These moments, invariably, come immediately after I’ve sat down and cried every piece of my heart out once again and that usually happens when I get news about friends or family members being pregnant or delivering healthy, beautiful, thriving babies.

The rub about losing a baby is that it is not difficult, but darn near impossible, to be truly happy for anyone I know who is going to have or has had a baby recently. I try to find happiness for them – I truly do – but as hard as I try, all that I can muster up is a feeling of being repeatedly kicked in the guts over and over. It is a physical reaction, making me light-headed and turning my bowels to liquid. And then the tears come, followed by the body-wracking sobs, and I’m just done.

I am told by our grief counselor that this is a very normal grief reaction to losing a baby, but, of course, this still makes me feel guilty and think of myself as a terrible person. In fact, each time this happens to me, and it has been happening A LOT in the past couple of weeks, I spend the following three days coming down hard on myself about being such a colossal, unfeeling bitch. Not only do I have to deal with the pain of watching friends and family have happy little families popping up around me, I also have to deal with the guilt my feelings of sadness, angst and anger always bring on.

And then I’m spent.

Greg told me the other day that he is extremely worried about me, but he hasn’t been through what I’ve been through in my life. I know that these are the moments, however fleeting, that will eventually build up the resistance and strength within that I’ll need to finally stand up and start carrying this pain around without it’s constant weight knocking me to my knees every few days.

And to do that, I just have to sit in these moments of complete exhaustion and desolation and remember one very important thing – to remember to breathe. In and out. In and out. In and out.

Eventually, the room will stop spinning and my wounded heart will stop beating out of my chest and life will pick up and carry on, as always.

Have a good Saturday, my friends.

I wish you all enough…

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