I have read a lot of articles about grief being like the waves of the ocean. That makes sense, I can understand their analogy. It is like waves in a sense, some are big and over take you, some are small and just sit at your feet. Since the very first day that I read that Old Fisherman’s grief article, I felt like I didn’t completely connect with it. Although I understood it, I didn’t connect it.
What I understood and connected with was the day I realized grief was like labor pains. Grief was contractions.
Having most of my children intentionally without medication I have quite a bit of first hand experience with contractions. Even my 7th child had a relatively long labor for being the 7th.
Emma’s birth was my hardest. She was the first one I went without medication. The midwife speculated that I might have been a little dehydrated causing the contractions to come one on top of each other without break for hours. HOURS and HOURS. No break in-between contractions to get ready for the next. But it was all worth it. It was worth every terrible contraction to have that sweet baby. She was perfect.
Grief for me has been like contractions. Like that moment when your water breaks and that baby drops hard on your cervix and you feel it like a lightning bolt. Then the waves start coming. You work your way through each one, sometimes you have to stop and lean on something, sometimes you need someone to hold you up.
Breathe. In through your nose, out through your mouth. Relaxing in-between each one and resting because you know another is coming. Sometimes they are huge and take your breath away, and sometimes you can work your way through it. There are a few where you lose concentration and end up screaming and yelling just to get through it. There are waves of grief that hit you the same way.
With every contraction I knew I was that much closer to my baby. With each one I would wonder what that baby looked like, what color hair they would have, and what they would be like. That is what would keep me going through labor and with every contraction, I was closer to them. That was my reward for making it through labor without medication was that beautiful baby at the end.
Grief feels like labor to me. The waves are contractions that you have to work through. But I don’t have a beautiful baby at the end that I get to hold and love on. Even my longest labor was 26 hours. I have a lifetime of grief to work through, talking myself through each wave and then waiting for the next one to hit.
One hit me out of the blue the other night. I was driving one of the kids to school. I was thinking about how Emma had never lived more then 2 miles from where she was born. How she had gone to the same school. How I had gone to the same school. I was completely overcome with a huge contraction of grief as I pulled up to the school. I had taken Emma here so many times for so many different things. Not just for school each day but for basketball, choir, book fairs, programs and so much more. All of a sudden I could see Emma so clearly, I could hear her voice and her laugh. I could see her sweet face and smell her hair. I could see her walking, the way her body moved and see her hands. It was such a contraction of grief I was worried about driving.
Labor was so physically exhausting, grief is also. Your entire body aches all the time, and you are just so tired. It is so painful. Just so painful.
I am trying to remind myself that my reward is just going to take longer this time. That I will see her again, that I will have that beautiful baby again after so many hours, days, months and years of contractions. I try and wonder why we have to endure this much pain in this life. I have no birth plan for this labor. I was not prepared. I fight every contraction even when I know they are coming. Sometimes I feel like I can’t make it through one and frantically look for a way out or someone to save me. There is no one. No one can take it away or fix it. My option is to continue to labor.
The Garcias says
Thank you for sharing your grief with us. I have admired you for a while now. The way you shop, cook, mother and write! And now how you grief and work through it. You have many gifts that shine! I wish I could reach out and hug you! May Christ’s love wrap around you and not let go till you see His sweet smiling face! Tiffany, May God be with you!
Vee says
Wow! So raw. I’m so sorry this has happened. Thank you for sharing.
Sharon Kirkpatrick says
Once again you put how it feels in beautiful words. Thank you for sharing your journey. I don’t feel so alone. XOXO
Ashley says
Beautifully written and heartbreaking. ๐ just said a prayer for you all. I am so sorry that Emma is gone ๐ so very sorry.
Anna says
*type type type* ….. *backspace backspace* … *type type type* ….. *backspace backspace* …
๐
Is all.
Victoria says
Exactly the same, there are no words we can say to help. I wish there was.
Heather BeaDandelion Hazen says
I feel a tiny contraction of my lung capacity every time I read one of your posts. Not comparable. Never will be. I hope I never endure this. I imagine losing my parents will be aweful… but still probably not the same.
Susan Passov says
My toughts are with you. I do not know the loss of my child/children but I feel your strength, love and pain in the words you write. Be well and let others help and show you love for today and may days beyond.
lynne says
I am so touched by your explanation.So many people can relate.Without knowing it,you have probably helped many, put into words what they are feeling.You would be a great asset to others grieving the loss of a child.There is no pain greater.I pray that one day that you will find peace.
vanessa says
My heart goes out to you! As a mother of 2 boys I couldn’t bare to think how I would cope. I have read your page for years. From your posts you can tell your kids were your life. I have no words that will make you feel better. I just want to say how deeply sorry I am for you and your family.
Anonymous says
Dear Tiffany,
your pain is so raw, so heartbreaking.
Which I could hold you and take away your pain.
You love so deeply and teach us how important it is to saver every moment, smile, scent and sound of our children.
Emma has an amazing woman as a mother and she is so proud of you.
Breath, let the pain be and slowly heal from the inside out.
Know that you are loved and that many prayers are coming your way.
Praying with all my heart for you to stay strong.
Lot’s of love and a big comforting hug.
God is watching over you.
Rhonda says
Thank you for posting this article. I can identify with your analogy. I lost my 23 year old daughter last February and coincidentally I gave birth to her without medication as well. I am so sorry for the loss of your precious daughter.
Anonymous says
Your words are so very real. I could never imagine the place you are in. You inspire every parent in so many ways.Sending many hugs, prayers and mending your way. May The Lord continue to work in you and through you,I am deeply sorry for the loss of your precious , and beautiful daughter . A piece of your own heart and soul. Thank you for sharing the rest of you and letting see her light and beauty with every word.?
sandi randle says
I totally get it. I thought the same thing. My Brooke suddenly left us via a brain aneurysm on November 8, 2015. I’ve been in labor for a month now. Only about 30-35 more years to go. My son told me that he gets me now, but Brooke will get me once I die because I’ll die before him (he’s 9). So let’s hope that is the case. We will never know why we must bear this life of hell on Earth. But we have others to raise so we go on. I wish I had more than two, now one child but I’ll give him everything I have until my last breath.
Tiffany says
I am so very sorry for your loss. I am just so sorry you are doing this also.
Sara Bazant says
I have no words, just tears and prayers. Please know that we are here and we are listening. You are not alone.
Valerie says
I’ve been following you for a few years now. I’ve been reading about your struggles and can never find the words to say how sorry I am for your loss. Everyone says those words and so I didn’t want to say the same thing, I want you to know that my words are from my heart but I still don’t know what to say. I feel like a piece of my heart is crying for yours. I told my husband about you the other day and I started to cry. I’m not a crier so he was surprised on how much your sadness has affected me. I truly feel what you express through your words. I hope your pain gets easier somehow, someway. I will continue to pray for you to heal. Much love…
Anonymous says
You humble me…
Angel says
My heart is broken I feel your pain every word you say I read brings tears to my face I cannot imagine being in your shoes I would not bare it I look at my babies think of your Emma I’m terrified so I love them that more and I try to make everyday the best I can cherish more show them more that I care I swear if I could I wish Emma here with you I pray even in your night time dreams you can see her again
Daisy says
Dear Tiffany, I am so sorry for you and your family’s loss. I cannot begin to imagine how you feel. All I know is that God does. He cares and loves you. At my darkest moments it is only He that lifted me up. Give your hurt to Him, only He can heal and restore. There are many praying for you and it will take time. If you don’t have one already, seek a good bible based and spirit filled church. Attend consistently to help with the healing process. Maybe counseling would also help and a lot of churches offer this for free. Praying for you and your family.
Alice says
I have followed you for years and learned to coupon from your blogs. I can’t imagine the pain and grief you are going though. I’ve had some close calls with a child, but by the grace of God he us still with me and our family. I hurt and feel for you. I recall my parents when my sister passing saying a parent us not supposed to bury a child. My mom could never fully be the same. I am so sorry for what you and Paul as, well as the rest of your family are enduring right now.
Margie Conway-White says
as so many others have said before me, I feel awful about your loss! I’m glad you have shared your grief and what it’s like – I can’t even imagine how terrible it is to lose a child (I just pray everyday for my adult daughters and grandchildren). God bless you and your family! As Emma rests in His loving arms…
Cindy Magee says
Praying for you and your family.
Miriah Rivers says
Your pain overwhelms me, your words are beautiful and heartbreaking.
julie says
What you write about your Emma is touching. It is very raw and so very beautiful. When I see her pictures I see pictures of my own children at those ages flash through my mind. I am so touched by your posts. I have talked to my kids about you and your family. Your posts have changed me, made me better. May GOD ease your pain. Merry Christmas. Prayers from Colorado
Debbie says
Wow, my grief has been ongoing for 22 long years, I never thought of it like labor, but you are right. In the end when labor is over we have something beautiful, to see our daughters again, because I also believe we will see them again. Hugs to you lady, and hugs for your other children,
Violet says
I just looked up “grief is like contractions,” hoping to find some reassurance that I wasn’t imagining things! Thank you for putting into words what I’m feeling. The pulsations. The brief reprieves (if you are lucky), and then bam, another truck runs me over.
My grief is from enduring an abusive childhood and becoming a mom before I had a chance to sort myself out. I’ve been raising kids and pushing away all that messy stuff so that I could have the perseverance to function and nurture. I wanted to just get to skip that part, and I pretended to be perfectly fine, with-it, responsible and strong for years.
The intense love and loyalty I feel for my husband and our five children…the hunger for peace and wholeness…the innate need to nurture and protect them…I cannot FATHOM why or how that was withheld from me. I wanted it to all be a dream, but I’ve woken up.
I am now 42, my oldest is turning 18 in April, my youngest is 7. And suddenly, life is full of realizations and “aha”s, some poignant, and others exquisitely painful. And I’m grieving my butt off.
Your Emma was SO blessed in her short life to have the love and family that some of us ache for many decades to experience. Please find solace in that, because it is so beautiful that you gave her that devotion.
And you still do, and always will!