Here’s the thing about being a member of the Infant Loss Club– it sucks. Joining is not a choice. No one wants to be here, and the entrance fee is incredibly steep.

Membership package includes:

• A lifetime guarantee of ‘should haves’ and ‘what ifs’
• Awkward silences from friends and acquaintances at the mere mention of your deceased child
• Abrupt subject changes from others when you relate something to your loss
• The plight of having to pretend you’re fine when you’re never fine
• Burning jealousy of people who have normal things, for example: living children
• Simmering rage and extreme sensitivity
• A jaded view of the world
• A potential reputation for being totally crazy
• Inability to “get over it already”
• Compromised relationships with people in various areas of your life
• Constant disappointment
• Frequent, unexpected triggers
• Post-Traumatic Stress
• Avoidance from people who used to talk to you
• A heartache that never goes away
• A warped body image
• Allergic reactions to pregnancy announcements and newborn photos
• Extreme irritation with society’s taboos on talking about infant loss
• Discomfort in ordinary social situations
• A penchant for being consistently misunderstood
• Desire to isolate oneself from others
• Acute anxiety
• Phobia of grocery stores, home improvement stores, restaurants, or other random public places where there may be lots of babies
• Insomnia
• A kind of suffering you never imagined possible
• Distaste for faith-based, godly advice that indicates your child is “in a better place”, their death is simply “part of god’s plan” or that “heaven needed another angel”
• A low tolerance for BS
• Overall hopelessness
• A grief that is much bigger than you and completely unpredictable
• A life sentence of being without your beloved child

…and much, much more!!

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I realize I’m coming across negatively right now, but come on, does anyone really think that there’s only good to be gained from the death of your child?? Does anyone really believe that?  Sometimes it needs to be acceptable for bereaved parents to shine a light on the ugliness that makes up the reality of infant loss. It’s hellish, and most of the time, it feels as if there’s absolutely nothing good to focus on, no matter how hard we want to. I honestly believe the ugly stuff needs to be acknowledged just as much as the strength and hope that eventually manifests from these situations. I can create a beautiful story from all of this… in fact, I don’t need to create it, because Lucy’s brief life IS a beautiful story. It holds a tragic, heart-wrenching, unfair ending, but it is still beautiful. What isn’t beautiful is the tendency of society to simply push the grief of the bereaved along merely because it doesn’t like sad things. Hurry up and grieve already, move forward, move on, live your life, inspire others, think positive, look for the beauty in the pain, share only goodness, don’t make us sad….  Heaven forbid anyone else should be uncomfortable for a few brief moments.

Though grief exists because there was first love, grief isn’t always beautiful.

Losing Lucy turned our world upside down; her death has impacted many people close to us. However, as time goes by, I continue to see so many bereaved parents’ broken hearts get swept under the rug by the people in their lives. The averted eyes, the uncomfortable shift of the energy in the room when it’s mentioned, the pure avoidance of the topic in general… it’s all a dismissal of that pain and experience. No, not every single moment of my life is defined by Lucy’s death, but much of it is. We’ve lost so much more than our baby, we’ve lost everything she might have been, and that continues to impact the very fabric of who we are every single day. I’m tired of feeling that my continuing grief is an inconvenience to others who can’t handle the truth. I’m not afraid to share it anymore, even if it makes someone else a little uncomfortable for a minute.

Am I like this all the time? No, truly I’m not. I do my best every day in this life after loss to be kind, to inspire others, to avoid causing anyone even the mildest discomfort, and to share the light and love that my Lucy left behind her. There is so much love, really there is. I see my blessings, I really do. Unfortunately, being authentic means that I end up sharing some of my pain and frustration sometimes because those things are part of my experience too, part of who I am. Even here, I am apologizing for being genuine about my grief. I’ve conditioned myself to do so, because even here, in MY space, I feel as though there’s something wrong with my expression of grief. This has to stop. Time to reveal the good, the bad, and the ugly. Time to be real.