It has been a very long time since I have written here. I don't expect anyone reads here anymore, it is a waste ground of emotion.
All I can say is my grief is still there, bubbling away. Sometimes I suppress it successfully, and speak of Lucy in light and matter of fact tones. Mainly to save the feelings of the person I am talking to. Why? I don't know. I guess I just don't want to lose the people that still listen because I am the lady that talks about her dead baby over 2 years down the line. The important people will ALWAYS listen. But I am encountering these days the Fools Gold friends. The ones who seemingly let me grieve, and speak, and weep endlessly during the first year. But now seem to think that I have moved on, and have relegated her into my 'one of life's sad experiences' drawer in my mind. I find them hard to deal with. People I trusted who now suddenly say if I touch on her in conversation, "Oh - do you still feel sad about her?" in a surprised tone. Often they have children themselves and I want to scream at them. I mean, if their living 8 year old had died 2 years ago, would they think it would be acceptable for me to ask the same question? As if 2 years suddenly was a magical turning point and they were like a bad memory, or a bad relationship break up? Her short life does not make her any less of a person. I find myself wanting to tell people about her. But I am torn between being seen as honest and open, and being seen as the insane harbinger of doom. I lead a double life, more often now I am the 'me' that was before baby death. The me that people want to see. But I am also the mother of a baby that died inside me, I felt her dying, although I did not know at the time. When I talk about labour I feel I have to say, "despite knowing the sad outcome, blah blah blah" rather than just relaying my experiences. I cry when I read about other losses. I cry when I read about a baby stillborn, I cry when I read about a 3 year old that has drowned. And I don't mean I just shed a tear, I sob, wail, the pain bubbles up from my inner soul and I can't control it. In some ways I feel it has made me a better person, in the sense that I truly can empathise with parents going through a loss. No one will ever understand, appreciate, or vocalise the raw, dark, physical pain that engulfs your entire being after losing a baby. Unless you are a member of this dark club.