The "B" Word

"You're so brave!"

"You are one strong lady."

"You're the strongest person I know."

All of these and a hundred variations have been said to me over the last seven weeks.  I think that's giving me a lot of credit.  I don't have a lot of other options.  I can live my life and deal with things as they come, or I can allow this to overcome me.

It's often said that grief is like the ocean.  It's a cliche for a reason - it's very true.  There are days when I feel almost buoyed by the love and support I've received, and seconds later I am pulled under and feel like I'm drowning.  Grief is dark and all-consuming and rough, and there are moments of blissful calm where you are able to find peace and comfort.  It's all part of that process.  And that's where that strength and bravery comes in.

You can allow yourself to be swallowed up by this ocean of grief and loss and despair, or you can force yourself to swim against that current.  When I was home from work, I made myself do three things every day: take a shower, leave the house one time, and do at least one household chore.  I was able to force myself to function and behave like a normal person.  It was exhausting some days, and some days I showered, went to the gas station, and unloaded the dishwasher.  And that was it.  But it was something.  To me that's not an overwhelming strength, it's a necessary part of life.

If I were to stay home and lock myself inside and not force myself to do these things, I would go insane.  Because all I would do is replay the events of that day.  I relive them enough as it is, but there's something masochistic about allowing yourself to go to that place and dwell.  When I say I would go insane, it's not hyperbole.  I really think it would actually make me crazy.

I know there are people out there who are struggling to do those three basic things, but it makes all the difference.  That sense of normalcy and responsibility was critical.  It's allowed me the luxury to grieve on my own and take the steps I need to.  If that makes me strong and brave, I'll wear the mantle.  I think it just makes a person instead of "that sad girl who's baby died."  And that's what I want right now - to be able to survive and gain understanding.  To be able to be an active participant in the grieving process instead of being a ship tossed along the waves.