Sneaky Bastard

Grief.  It’s a sneaky bastard.  It creeps up on you when you least expect it.  It stabs you in the heart, leaving you unable to breath or think about anything other then your loss.

Like today when I was reading a friend’s blog.  She’s fostering new puppies that lost their mother due to a car accident.  She’s bottle feeding them, keeping them warm and safe.

I did that once.  Not to puppies.  They were bunnies.  It was over eighteen years ago.  I was in the last month of my first pregnancy.  I bottle fed them.  I kept them warm and safe.  Until I was in The Car Accident.  My whole life changed after that.  My pelvis and my spine were fractured, resulting in nerve damage and a slight paralysis.  I gave still birth to my baby and the bunnies died.

I’m used to the daily reminders of my loss; pain during the winter months from the nerve damage, my left toes still not working ‘properly’ – especially when I do yoga, the fact that I only have three kids – instead of four.

I’m NOT used to the surprise reminders or the brief flashes of lost memories.  As I struggled to swallow my lunch, tears streamed down my face.  I wept as I told Nathan about the blog reminding me of the bunnies.  With love he said, “Although the memory coming back was a surprise, the timing was right.  You’ve been sick, laid up, having people take care of you.  It brings you back to that fragile state and reading her blog just ignited the memory.  I love you.  Take time to grieve.”

So this afternoon I’ll let myself cry and ache.  I’ll let myself feel the pain and loss for those bunnies….and for my daughter, Shea Marie.

Thank you Nathan.

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10 Replies to “Sneaky Bastard”

  1. This is raw and I can feel the pain that eminates from you. Please let me know if I can do something – anything for you. I love you. Your daughter’s name is beautiful. Thank you for sharing this. Nathan rocks!

  2. Unfortunately there is no “defense” against grief. Not time, not family, not friends can deflect the sorrow that comes with missing someone, or “what could have been”.

    I love that Nathan was there for you and had the right words. I love his encouragement. I love you.

  3. Thanks everyone. I really needed to let myself feel the pain today. I didn’t hide it or deny it. I just let it flow. You are all so lovely. <3

  4. I remember how the grief washes over you – my granddaughter died at two months. It was awful and it still makes me cry. You are lucky to have a good husband who understands. I hope you are feeling better.

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