To Share or Not to Share?

It’s almost been five months since we lost Charlie. And here I am, feeling the urge to put my thoughts down into words.This is not unfamiliar. I’ve written since I was in the hospital. I’ve shared with multiple people, professionals and kind friends. But I suppose this is the first time I've sat down to write, thinking there’s a possibility I might want to share these words.  I often feel alone on this journey but my logic tells me I’m not alone. I know there are people out there, traversing perhaps a very similar narrative and yet in my small bubble, I feel alone. Even when I share the words, it still feels lonely. 

I think what’s instigated this urge to share my consciousness, is because as time moves on, I more and more get this feeling that the world has moved on. It’s also my perception that people think, ‘ok, I get it. Your baby died. Now you need to move on.’ There are many kind people that have not even insinuated that when I share. Many people have thanked me for sharing and I thank them because being able to share your dead baby is the greatest gift someone can give you. That is being able to share without judgement. I tell myself though, if Charlie was still alive, I know I would love to share him. I would love to share all those cute moments. Perhaps the first time he smiled, giggled, rolled over. He would be about that age now. And when I share, I don’t think I’m looking for pity or sympathy. I honestly just want to be able to share him. To say, ‘he existed. He is loved.’ And so, without knowing where this is going, here are my thoughts, for better or for worse. 

It’s a beautiful morning. The sun is out, it’s still and I can hear the birds in the trees and the faint hum of the aquarium filter. Bradley and Gracie just left to go for a walk with Zimi, our dog. I chose to stay. And yet, everytime I prioritize time for myself, I feel left out, like I’m missing out on family time. If I don’t, then I never get time to myself, which, I’ve learnt in this journey, is essential. I need time to have a big cry in the car, or in the shower and often, with a living sibling, that time is rare. 

Even so, I’ve dragged myself out of my pajamas and into the shower. I notice with routine helplessness as chunks of hair fall out. It’s been falling out like this for weeks now and I’m surprised I still have hair left on my head. I remember it being intense, the hair loss, in my postpartum with my first, but this time it feels worse; like another reminder of postpartum with no baby. I wash my face with my Natio face cleanser. I purchased it in Royal North Shore when we were in hospital with Charlie. It strikes me that soon this cleanser will run out and that scares me. Each time something that was with Charlie ends, it feels like another step towards the world not knowing him. I felt like that when I peeled off the last of my shellac, weeks after Charlie was born and died. It had been there when Charlie was born and had touched him. It was so grown out but I still grieved when I took the last of it off. I wish I had never washed my shirt that had touched him. I wish we didn’t leave the beanie that was too small but he wore it for the photoshoot at the hospital. I want more ways to remember him and touch him and yet those ways, as time goes past seem to diminish. I reflected the other day when I went to find photos of him on my camera roll, how far back I had to scroll. I love photos. So I did, I had to scroll back a long way. Life just keeps going by without him. 

There are some days where I question the intensity of my grief. Perhaps, as a saving mechanism too. I tell myself, ‘it’s ok. He was a baby. He didn’t really have a conscious mind. You didn’t really know him as a person,’ and yet, I can’t deny that there is this feeling that I intensely knew him. That even though we only knew him on the outside of my tummy for 12 days, I’d known him for my whole life. It was like, ‘oh, it’s you. It’s always been you.’ And so when he died, the only way I could describe the pain, and from the reading I’ve done this seems expected, is as if a part of me was ripped from me. Or more so, every single layer, I’d built upon myself, had been shredded and I was left standing with my soul exposed. How to build that back up? What was my identity now? I brainstormed. Start a flower garden? Go travelling? Everything seemed to require too much energy. Energy that I was sorely lacking. Life without him in it seems numb. I don’t feel in control. The days slip by. I go through the motions and yet even my happiest moments feel hollow. 

So here we are, my first ‘blog’ post. To share or not to share? That is the question of this digital world. And yet, to share is to allow people to bear witness to the strength of Charlie’s love. It is to allow me to be lightened of the load of feeling as if I must hold this in, in a culture that is not overly accepting of displays of grief. It is to allow others, experiencing a similar journey to feel less alone in their own narrative.