Isobel was born the day before my 32nd birthday. I keep wanting to say “I literally died that day” but I really hate when people use ‘literally’ so completely incorrectly so I will say “In many ways I feel like I died that day”. The last birthday I celebrated was in 2014. It hasn’t yet felt possible to celebrate another year of life and growing older, the day after commemorating the stillbirth of my daughter who didn’t even get one proper birthday.
One of the impacts of this denial of life continuing is that I really honestly find it hard to remember what age I am, and more often than not tell people I’m 32. This is from genuine error rather than any attempt to make myself seem younger. It happened recently with a doctor who asked my date of birth, followed by my age and looked at me quizzically realising that my dates didn’t add up. It wasn’t until later I understood why he was looking at me strangely, and that he must have thought I was quite the idiot for getting my own age wrong! On many occasions I have had to count from my year of birth to correctly identify my age and even when writing this post I double checked it with Simon.
In addition to feeling frozen in time on the cusp of 32, I somehow also feel I have aged around one hundred years in the past 28 months. I’m not sure how these two things make sense together – oh the great contradictions of grief. The person in my wedding pictures from less than three years ago feels temporally light years away while I imagine myself a kindred spirit to my 90 year old self. It really doesn’t help that I’m writing this after a particularly bad couple of weeks with Theo, very little sleep and lots of other stressors. Life is short but I feel old, heavy, tired and quite often ready for it all to be over. Life is short but still I am struggling to garner enthusiasm or excitement about much. Life is short but it feels like really hard work right now.
#captureyourgrief #stillbirth #pregnancyloss #babyloss #babylossawareness