One of the hardest things anyone can do for any person is sacrifice something that believe in or truly want to do so that the other person can be happy. Yesterday I had to lay my head down on the guillotine again by writing to someone who might have just deleted the message without a moment’s hesitation. It wasn’t about blame or redemption, not about answers or other questions; it was about trying to help someone get something they desperately need, help.
My relationship may be over and irretrievable, but I still need to ensure that she is getting the best help she can under circumstances that I neither understand or are able to assist in. That meant going to her parents and giving them details to painful events and hoping they already knew the information. Hoping that they were aware and able to help my now ex in dealing with her won pain and grief. It may have fallen on deaf ears, but it had to be done.
The trauma of having lost our child has been debilitating, but for her there may be more to the story than I am aware. Details that have been hidden, facts that I might never know. But at this point, my loss is for a child I never got to know. Was it a miscarriage or something darker, my therapist has said I am going to continue looking for the answers until I am satisfied for myself. But I can’t ask her in any more direct a manner than saying “I think something more happened that day, I really need to know so that I can stop beating myself up. Stop questioning what I might have done to save either of you from this.”
I gave up talking to my friends about this because she asked. One had told me I was positively glowing the weekend after I learned, but had yet to share with anyone my new joy. They had a feeling something was going on, something that just had me happy. I’m not much for running around, twirling people as if on some 1950’s musical; but that news had me there. I couldn’t help spilling the beans to a friend at a wedding a couple of weeks later. I wanted the world to know about this little girl. Her mom was scared.
Scared of how her family would take the news. Scared how she was going to deal with things considering she had separate medical issues to concern her. Scared about what it meant, how she was going to do it all. To me those were normal fears, nothing that couldn’t be worked on. For her they became paralyzing. Even sitting her down with friends who truly only wanted to help, cared about us both; it just wasn’t enough. She needed something more, something different.
When it all fell apart, my first and only concern was getting her surrounded by people who would care for her. Help her deal with how her life had changed. Help her see that she was going to be loved no matter what. I gave up on seeking help from friends because I wanted them to concentrate on her. Make her the same priority that I was making her. For me, her getting help over-rode any sense I had in getting help for myself. I sacrificed myself so that she could be made whole again.
We found a way to get back some sense of normalcy. It wasn’t easy, there were still arguments about her not being around as much. Not telling me everything that was important to us.
Every day has been filled with trying to ensure she is safe. I don’t know what that means anymore. It could be many things. I don’t know if she still goes to work. I don’t know if she is physically well. All I want to do is help her. She is worth that to me, putting all effort into making sure she is safe, loved, happy. It may sound weird to others, but I still don’t talk to the friends around here so that she might have the opportunity to do so. The ability to feel safe, surrounded by loved and cherished friends. I can’t give her much anymore, but I can do that for her. Sacrifice everything for her so that she has the ability to be safe.
Grief counselling, it helps. Too bad there is just so much of it to deal with. I wish we had been able to do it together, maybe it could have saved up both. I will love her with my dying breath, both her and our daughter.