After the Miracles

It was somewhere during the first year after Emily died, it occurred to me the miracles that had been ever present throughout the pregnancy and again for most of the days of her life, had gone. This was almost as depressing as the fact that she was no longer around.
So much of her life had been filled with those wonderful moments that affirmed my original decision to follow through with the pregnancy.


My days and nights became increasingly hard to live with. I know for a fact that I became increasingly hard to live with. The grief of a mother is arguably the most difficult for anyone to console. I made attempts to 'get over it', by going to counselling and speaking to anyone who had shared the experience. This was my biggest stumbling block. There are very few people in my close circle of friends who have any idea of what I've been through.


Worse than this was the counsellors themselves. Even those who were specialists in grief counselling had not had that same experience. Yes, they knew about grief, of a parent or sibling, partner or close friend yet not one of the counsellors I spoke to had my personal experience of having to bury your own child.


How could they empathise with my feelings and emotions? What was the use to me of the all too often throw away phrase, I can only imagine what you're going through. Actually you can't. Even in your wildest fantasies whatever you imagine it to be like to lose a child is nothing like you have ever imagined it. I know. I've been on both sides of that statement.