Had a fun night tonight out with the girls. Fun... am I allowed to have fun yet? Seems a little strange, but I almost feel guilty for it. I guess it's sort of like when someone loses a spouse and then starts dating again and wonders... is it too soon? What will people think? Most of the concern is probably in our own heads but it is still there nonetheless.
On the way home from town today Cody and I began talking about Brady. Somewhere in the conversation he casually mentioned that for some reason his death hasn't really affected his day-to-day life as much as he thought it would. Instantly I felt like I was stranded on a desserted island. He wasn't being insincere or anything, he just meant that he has been able to see things in a very "life moves on" sort of way and he is dealing with it better than he anticipated.
For some reason the thought of him being able to feel that way made me feel even more alone. I know (based on my own common sense... and reinforced by the books I have recently read on the subject) that men and women grieve very differently. They tell me not to expect him to have the same emotions that I have at the same time I have them. For the past month though I have felt like we were on the same wavelength... until today. I love Cody to pieces and I know he loves our kids more than anything in this world, but I think for the first time today I actually realized that he will never be able to comprehend my grief, just like I may never fully understand his.
I have several friends (who I won't mention by name) that have gone through miscarriage in the past. Especially after I became a mom, every time I heard of this happening to someone I cared about I truly felt sadness in my heart. I thought about them often in the days following the tragic news, but it lingered with me for a relatively short time. After all, statistics say that miscarriages happen to most women at some point in their lives, many times before they even know they are pregnant. That is simply a fact of life. I think that is where Cody's mind is now and that's why he is able to get on with his life easier than I can.
When it happens to you though, statistics go out the window. I don't care if every woman I know has had a miscarriage in their past, this time it was me. I lost MY son. He died while he was supposed to be safe inside of me. I am not trying to say that all of a sudden I understand what these other women have gone through, but I honestly do have a newfound respect for them. It is tough. Tougher than I could have ever imagined. And I don't think it really matters how old your child was or how far along in your pregnancy you were. Before my loss, I would have said that a loss in early pregnancy would be much easier to "get over" than a loss later on. But now I am not so sure. Early on, your baby is probably nameless... you haven't felt them flutter or kicking inside you. But afterwards, that just means that the child you lost doesn't even have a name to be remembered by... and probably not even a sonogram picture to reflect on. I think the greatest pain there would come from knowing that the world may not even remember him or her.
Later losses, like mine, are no doubt hard... but they are recognized and acknowledged by the world. Brady was taken care of by a funeral home and people made condolences for us to cherish. We brought him home in an urn that we can see and touch every day. His existence is thereby validated. The thought that others loved him, not just us, gives us some measure of comfort.
I feel like I am rambling tonight (probably a few too many glasses of wine to blame for that), but I guess I am just trying to say that today was somewhat of a turning point for me. I see now that Cody and I are not grieving in the same way. I know that I and my friends who have suffered losses have not grieved in the same way. But we have all felt the pain that no one else in this world can even begin to comprehend unless they have felt it too. My prayer tonight is for all of us to continually receive some measure of comfort each day... in our own way... as we remember the ones we have lost. I love you all.