Over the years, I have amassed a collection of posts in draft mode that I never published. Almost all of these posts are about grief and infant loss and many are darker than I would like to admit.
They have actual titles like:
The Me I Used To Be
What Would Be Different?
When Your Parenting Story is Unlike Any of Your Friends
This last one is about how hard it is not to resent my friends who have not experienced the vast amount of loss that we have. Actually, most of my closest friends haven't experienced any of the kind of loss we have, except as they have experienced it through us. It isn't a nice post and I have a hard time admitting it even exists.
Some of these posts were written in the last 18 months and others at any point over the last almost 9 years. Some of them, the title is as far as I ever made it in writing.
What are all these posts to me now and what do I do with them?
They are a part of my story and a part of my girls' story but they are an unfinished part in many ways. They represent pieces of life, death, and grief that I haven't quite come to terms with. They represent the very struggles of my soul on a daily basis. They are pleading prayers to find peace with sometimes dark places inside of me.
My child died.
Dead. Died. Gone.
Two of them.
Well actually five....
I'm not sure anymore what I'm supposed to say to that whole number question.
I'm sure these thoughts and feelings will not ever go away completely but how do I find peace with them? What do I do with them when they come? I have promised to be real with my readers about the journey that is grief following the loss of a child, but these particular thoughts seem out of place even in the spirit of honesty. Aidan calls things like this "just because they are true doesn't mean its good to share" facts.
For now, I leave them in the in-between. I put those thoughts to paper, but I leave the posts unfinished. The drafts unpublished.
The story incomplete.