Raging Lunatic

My Reason For Writing...

My reason why I write for you.
My reason why I write for you.

What is wrong with me?

If you have not experienced this episode of utter craziness that I am about to divulge... you will at some point.

For all of us moms there is that one special item related to your baby that you cherish more than your significant other. I would even go as far to say this item probably holds more sentimental value than life itself. You cling to a lovey nursing doll, a blanket, a lock of hair, a bow, or some other sentimental irreplaceable item that belonged to your baby. It's the only thing tangible you have left that touched your angel besides your own uterus.

You freak out because it used to smell like them and you are afraid it is losing your baby's scent. You carry it with you in your purse so you have something with you of your baby's, because you are not carrying their diaper bag, like other moms whose babies are alive and you need to have something. You might even have the item in a ziploc bag so nothing happens to it. You catastrophize and play out random worst case scenarios in your head of someone trying to steal your purse and losing the lovey doll. You even rehearse what you'll say if someone tries to take your purse. Demanding, "you can have everything in there just give me the blanket!" Or you put it in a special place when you go on vacation and worry every minute you are gone that someone will break in your house and steal it. If you have your baby's urn at home, you will worry until you return that someone has stolen it thinking you were hiding valuables in it. If only they knew HOW valuable that little wooden or ceramic container was to a grieving parent. Sometimes, you even take the urn with you in a cup holder or in a seat belt. Unless you can ask your relatives to babysit the urn while you're away... which no one understands unless you too have walked this God forsaken path.

Down the road, you reach in your bag and notice the treasured item is nowhere to be found. You dump out the contents of your bag on the closest surface available: the passenger seat in your car, the restaurant table, the bathroom floor... and it's gone. You frantically look in the normal places. Nowhere. You begin to get tightness in your chest, you get hot, you may have tears running down your cheeks. You are beginning to tear up your house. As your adrenaline rages you hit crazy lunatic mode. You scream obscene words, you throw things, you turn things over in your home like an alcoholic in Walmart on black friday. Nowhere.

Now, you are hysterically crying. Your spouse does not know what to do with your craziness and tells you things like, "we'll find it," or "it's not her/him it'll be fine without it." Your heart is bursting with sadness. Your heart, whatever part of it is left, will feel like it is being ripped out by a malicious (and starving) cannibal . You will scream at the top of your lungs about what a bad mom you are and you will cry so much you're dehyrdated. You exhaustingly apologize out loud to your dead kid telling them how sorry you are for losing their belonging.

You may find it, you may not. But this my friends is a reality that grieving moms go through. It will throw you into a raging and seemingly uncurable depression. Everyone will tell you, "things can be replaced," or, "it's only stuff." But that "stuff" can be the only tangible item you have left that your baby touched, held, or was wrapped in. For us, it's like losing them all over again. Unfortunately, life continues moving, even when we do misplace a special item... just like life continues after your baby grows wings. You will feel like a raging lunatic, but rest assured you are not.

You are not a raging lunatic, you are just a
#grievingmom

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