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Eight years ago, my firstborn, Ethan, was born prematurely at just under 23 weeks. He only lived for two hours on December 13, 2011.
This year, celebrating his memory has been rather quiet, almost muted. It’s not that we don’t care anymore; we’ll always care, love, and celebrate our baby. It’s more of a quiet reflection.
As 2019 is drawing to a close, and a brand new decade is upon us, we decided to just honor Ethan with more reflection. It hits different to honor your baby when you’re about to enter a new decade without them.
Mourning, I found, is a lifelong process. The first year is the absolute worst with the first several months being something short of a nightmare. Immediately after I lost Ethan, my mind almost convinced me I was never pregnant and it was just a bad dream. I later found out, through therapy, that was my mind protecting me from having a complete breakdown.
I spent most of 2012 in a suicidal state, debating if life was worth living after Ethan. It wasn’t until the final four months of that year, the fog was finally lifted and I found reasons to live.
The next February 2013, I found out I was pregnant with Bear.
Grief is a funny thing. Not funny in a ha-ha way, but funny in a ‘I really can’t believe this shit happened to me’ way. It’s ongoing. It’s lifelong. There is no one way to grieve.
You suddenly understand why people turn to drugs or alcohol to cope with their grief. You have more sympathy to those who just lose a moment of cool.
You finally understand the saying – Be kind to everyone you meet for you don’t know what secret battle they’re fighting.
Our weekend was very quiet and very lowkey. I took a break from all social media and just focused on the three of us. Originally we’d planned to go to Ethan’s gravesite but we’re going to do that over the weekend so we can decorate it for Christmas.
I think a part of me will always grieve my baby. I grieve what could’ve been. I grieve what currently is. I keep replaying what was. I hope I will forever keep my memories of Ethan.
