Leaving the Cocoon

So, the days in our cocoon are coming to a close. I'm officially back to work this week which means I've taken a huge step out into the "real world". We've spent so much time the past seven weeks staying close to home, mainly because it felt comfortable to just be around each other and our families. Our therapist calls it cocooning. Though I don't feel like I've evolved into a butterfly like most creatures who leave the cocoon. Rather, I feel a little vulnerable. A little scared. Anxious. But also a bit ready to get back into a routine and some normalcy, though a "new normal" as I've coined it.

My first day back to work was good. I'm so very fortunate to work with such supportive, understanding people. I was greeted warmly by them today. But I'm finding that not everyone knows "my story". "Oh, Erica, you're back, how wonderful. How's your baby?" Heart sinks. Awkward explanation ensues. I imagine it makes some people uncomfortable, like they regret even asking. But I must say, I really don't mind talking about it. In fact, I love talking about Grace.

I'm glad when people acknowledge the situation and tell me that they've been thinking about us or praying for us. So, word of advice if you're struggling with how to approach me or anyone else who has gone through a similar situation. It is MUCH better to talk to me, acknowledge Grace and all we've been through...rather than to avoid eye contact or walk the other direction when you see me coming. This hasn't happened to me at work, but we have experienced it elsewhere in the past weeks. It's hurtful, particularly when it comes from someone you would think wouldn't do it. Funny how some people surprise you in such wonderful ways through a tragedy like we've experienced...and others surprise you in the complete opposite way. Ways you wouldn't expect and will never forget. Grace was a human being who lived and breathed. Yes, just for a short time. But she was real. She lived inside of me for 32 weeks. I think it's hard for some people to connect this. They didn't meet her, so to them she's not quite real.

When you talk to me, I might get teary eyed. I don't do it because I'm uncomfortable with talking with you or wish that you hadn't brought it up. It's not that at all. I miss my daughter. I miss what could have been. And I'm just a little emotional about it still. So, please don't take my tears the wrong way. And sometimes I find tears in my eyes because I'm happy that you've acknowledged her - I'm proud that you think enough of Grace to talk with me about her. It's a brave thing to do, so thank you to those of you who tackle what might be an awkward or tough conversation.

There's no manual on how to handle these very difficult life challenges. I'm just finding that these are the things that seem right to me. Going through this has given me a keener sense for how to approach people who have experienced tragedy - a true empathy for their pain. Mostly, I think I understand now what a process grieving can be. It's not a day, rather a lifetime. To many, Grace's passing was May 24 (and probably most won't even remember the day, and that's okay and expected). To me, her death is forever. There will be birthdays, holidays, vacations she'll never experience. Her picture on my desk at work will never change. She won't age, I won't get to replace her picture at 3 months, 6 months, 9 months, a year...and so on. She won't be with us on family vacations or in family photos. She won't go through the milestones, though in my head I think I will often think of what milestone she would be achieving, or what she might look like at that particular age.

I hope, as well, that Grace's story will bring a deeper appreciation for children to others. Brad and I were in the Carter's store yesterday picking up gifts for friends/family of ours who just had babies [congrats Kendra/Roger (twins, woohoo!) and Jeni/Rob!]. It's a bit difficult for me to step into the baby girl section of the store, but I managed yesterday. I must say, I'm not at all envious of other pregnant women or those who have recently had babies (I'm surrounded by lots of you). I am genuinely grateful that you didn't have to experience the loss that we did. And that your precious babies are healthy. I think some women who have experienced what we have may be envious. But I'm not. Your babies are not Grace, I'm not jealous of you for what you have. I know what being a mom is - it's wonderful. I'm so glad that you get to experience this.

So, back to my Carter's story. I'm checking out and there is a woman there shopping with her two children and her mom. Her three-ish year old daughter is throwing a major temper tantrum - screaming at the top of her lungs. Frustrating, I've been there. As she was yelling at her daughter, threatening her with "the vinegar when we get home" (not sure what that even means, I assume it is vinegar in her mouth...not my choice for how to parent, but I'll try not to judge), I couldn't help but think how incredibly lucky she was to have her daughter. How lucky she was that her daughter had the lungs to scream so loud. It's moments like these that I now have a deeper appreciation for...and really, I'm now convinced that 99% of public temper tantrums are really brought on by us as parents. We put our children in adult situations and expect them to behave. Her daughter didn't want to be shopping at boring Carter's. She wanted to be doing kid stuff. If she had, there probably would have been no tantrum. So, lesson learned...appreciate them, even when they don't meet your expectations. You're lucky to have them.

Alright, I'm done ranting random thoughts for the night. I feel much better now, so off to bed I go to prepare for another day of the "new normal" out in the "real world". Thanks to those of you who help to make my transition back a good one! I'm glad to be back working on the projects that engage me and bring me great satisfaction. It's nice to use that part of my brain again!