The days and weeks that followed were a maze of emotions. In addition to the expected grief and sadness, I felt lost, without direction. I was unsure what to do with myself. I was very angry this had happened to me and furious at my body for failing me and my baby. I felt very frustrated and out of control. I was not prepared for the depth of loss and all of this was so overwhelming. For me, time seemed to stand still while the rest of the world went on without me, without my baby. Physically I was suffering from postpartum depression and emotionally I was beginning the grieving process – a cruel combination. Reintegration was hard. Getting back into life was physically exhausting. Facing people, putting on a happy face, and trying to perform at work was stressful. I felt guilty for going on ahead and leaving my baby behind.
Despite all my supportive relationships, my grief was still very lonely. I was the only person in the entire world that held that powerful bond with my unborn child. People forgot quickly, or at least they stopped talking about it. But, it is me that remembers the loss. It is me that remembers my baby died and left me empty inside.
My best friend at the time (that's a whole other story), showed up at my door on the one-year anniversary of April's death. She handed me a bucket of dirt and two sticks. It was a forsythia bush. Forsythia bushes bloom bright yellow flowers every April. That was 17 years ago and the bush now takes up almost my entire back garden. As I write this it is covered it yellow buds. It's beautiful. It's a beautiful memorial.