Thursday, January 16, 2014

Common Thread

this entire post could consist of seven words.

i love our support group.
the end.

our counselor, who we see through the journey program at seattle children's hospital, referred us to this group last fall. five couples who have lost an infant, two loving facilitators, one therapy dog. (he's actually a legit service dog for one of the members, but consoles us all. sometimes he comes and rests his head on my knee when i cry. i love him.)

we meet every other wednesday and last night was our first meeting after the long break for the holidays. so it had been four weeks since we had been together. and i missed them.

i also was a bit nervous to share our recent, heavy news of losing baby isaac. not because of what i was afraid their reactions would be, i knew they'd be supportive (good thing, because they are a support group), i was nervous because talking about it means that it actually happened. and sometimes i'd rather not talk about it because then it almost feels like maybe my life hasn't crashed into a million pieces.

denial is a lovely place to be when your heart is broken.

but being honest is so freeing. and healing. after we shared isaac's story, i literally felt like ten pounds was lifted off my shoulders.

they cried with us. swore (a lot) with us. and reminded us that in this hell, which feels like the most isolating place in the universe, there are others. and in our new reality, we are not alone. i say, and hear, at least half a dozen times per meeting something like, "you know, because..." or "i'm sure you understand" or just heads nodding furiously when you are explaining how you feel or something you did while grieving. 

don't we all just yearn for ten empathetic heads to nod with us, as we go through this messy and confusing life? 

affirming that whatever we're feeling is "normal." 
letting us know it's okay, we are allowed to act a little insane sometimes. 
being so beautifully empowering.

and hearing words from someone else's story that just makes complete sense and knowing i'm not the only one who feels or experiences what i do. oh, man. it's like taking my wounded and tired heart, wrapping it in a blanket, and giving it a loving squeeze. 

i hate, hate, hate the reason that brought us all together, and the common thread of pain in each of our lives, but that same thread also holds understanding and support that cannot be found anywhere else. can't have the understanding without the pain, it's the same thread. and for that, i'm grateful. and devastated.

(apparently grateful and devastated can also live on the same, common thread. what a wacky world... i love/hate it.)

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