I was walking on the treadmill tonight, out of breath, in the middle of so-called self-improvement. It hit me: I feel so alone. It isn’t because there aren’t people there for me, it isn’t because there are no individuals trying to understand me. It just is. It is that way because no one I know personally has been through precisely what I’ve been through. There is no one who really gets it, and it isn’t anyone’s fault. I actually felt sorry for myself as I gasped for air between strides on the treadmill and as tears dripped down my face. This is so unbelievably hard some days.

Baby loss is so isolating. Especially when you’re more than seven months into the journey. People have moved on, or moved forward. I fear that even Chris is starting to drift in his understanding of my state of mind. We had a conversation a couple nights ago about the idea that at some point, a person has to have happiness again… that at some point there must be more than sadness, there has to be something else to bring light and joy back into a person’s life. And my question was, “What if there isn’t?”. That was my question. What if there isn’t? If there isn’t that point, what will I do? At this time, there is a very big part of me that of course believes we will feel genuine happiness again, but I can’t be sure that I will always think that, not if something doesn’t change soon. I feel so alone in this because I fear Chris is drifting farther from me at this stage of the grief journey. Yes, I know he will always feel sadness and heartbreak whenever he thinks of our sweet baby Lucy, but I think he has now advanced past my current stage of grief. In this current stage of grief for me, I still cry in the shower, I still go silent when I see a happy couple toting their healthy infant around (mostly the ones who are Lucy’s age), I still choke up whenever I hear a song that even remotely reminds me of Lucy, I am still utterly and completely spent when I am done with a day at work, I still battle insomnia, I still feel like I am ALONE, ALONE, ALONE. And the thing is, I am truly alone, no matter how many people are in the room with me, no matter how much support others are lending to me… I can’t shake the feeling that I am trapped in some nightmare that no one else could ever quite grasp or understand on the same level. It is heartbreaking and so lonely. There is nothing anyone can do about it either. Because in order for my loved ones or friends to truly understand this grief, they’d have had to experience the same thing… and I would NEVER wish that on ANYONE I know. Ever. This hell is mine. So, the tradeoff is this loneliness. I accept this, but it doesn’t make it any easier to deal with.

I wish things were different.

Even though I am not always proud of myself these days, part of me believes that maybe my Lucy is proud of me. I am trying, I am fighting, I am clinging to hope whenever I can. I am surviving, and I am growing stronger.