F*&%ing Instagram, man. Or better yet, social media as a whole. For the last 8 days our family has been on a road trip throughout New England and I’ve spent a lot of time in the passenger seat of my car… scrolling Instagram.
The constant pictures of babies never really bothered me when I was fresh in my child loss journey four years ago, but now they do. The babies and the birth announcements and the sibling pictures. The family pictures. The perfect families.
So many things that were once tolerable… things I learned to gracefully avoid or deal with or just push through… things that didn’t really bother me after Olivia died… they’re almost unbearable now.
I feel like I’m always one word, or one picture, or one second away from a breakdown.
I‘m constantly on the brink of tears.
Even on the days that feel normal.
When I shower and blow dry my hair, and put on real clothes instead of my leggings and baggy postpartum clothes. When we do normal activities and smile in pictures and laugh at something silly Gemma does.
I’m still constantly on the brink of tears.
I still sit on my closet floor in the morning and clench my jaws and cry angry, angry tears.
I still sob, silently in bed at night.
I still shed a quick tear (or 10) at least a few times each day. A random article on the internet. Some clip on the news. A sweet memory of Olivia. Or the realization that Gemma speaks Rory’s name more than anyone else.
I still cry often. Usually quickly. I wipe away the tears and am back on my way.
I’m still utterly heartbroken. My entire life’s vision shattered, once again. My body physically hurts from the thought of so many dreams, crushed, again.
I’m still deep in grief. Even when I’m out and about. Even when I’m smiling.
Child loss and grief are neither simple nor easy and the process most definitely not linear. What looks like a great day might actually just be one great hour, or even one great minute.
And even if it is a great day. An entire great day. Tomorrow I might wake up and once again feel crushed.
#thisisgrief
