The grieving process...

Death is a part of life.  An inevitable part of a life, but a part of life nonetheless; a part of life I figured I'd just "deal with" when the time came.

The reality of it though is that when death abruptly interrupts life, all hell breaks loose.  This rings true for me when I lost my daughter.

My struggle with PolyCystic Ovarian Syndrome (PCOS) since the birth of my only living child was and still is no easy feat.  The chances of pregnancy are very slim without medical assistance so getting pregnant again after 7 years of infertility was truly a blessing.

I knew I was approaching 30 soon and after on-again off-again desires to bare more children I had pretty much given up on the idea.

It wasn't until I decided to take a leap of faith and start my own consultancy, leave the comforts of my 9-5 and forgo a steady income that I got "the good news."  I was shocked to say the least.

Initially, confirmation from my doctor via a blood test after vague sono results, was upsetting.  Selfishly I thought, " Damn!  I just left my job..how the hell am I gonna take care of a new baby while starting a new business?"  And just as quickly I said to myself, "God will make a way.  He always does."  And so the journey began...

I considered the backlash I may have received from my friends and family and that of the friends and family of my fiance...but it didn't matter to me one way or the other.  There was us (my family) and there was them (the others whose opinions meant and mattered none).  Of course some were happier than most but in the midst of my personal joy, I was secretly worried about our future.

The pregnancy was smooth for the most part but there was always this nagging suspicion that this baby was going to come sooner than expected.  I anticipated going through similar hardships like those of my first born but I assumed I'd make it through again just as I had before.  After all, my doctors were pretty positive about the situation so I figured why shouldn't I be.

The morning of October 23, 2011 was like any other morning.  Physically I felt fine.  But mentally I was disturbed by "something" I just couldn't quite put my finger on it.  When I proceeded to use the bathroom as I'd done a million times over throughout the pregnancy something went awry.

There was some blood and lots of mucous.  All sorts of alarms went off in my head.  We called the hospital, got dressed and arrived in record timing.  The doctor in charge of the labor and delivery unit that day didn't think anything was wrong after a few examinations...at least nothing that couldn't be corrected so there was hope.  Subtle hope.

I was admitted and had to stay the night until my doctor arrived in the morning to examine me further.  When morning came, my doctor told me things were much worse than he imagined and that I would be forced to deliver that day but my baby's chances of survival were minimal.  We had no option but to prepare ourselves for the inevitable.

Navarea Rosa Briones was born October 24, 2011 at 5:53pm.  She was 20 weeks old and weighed 11.99 ounces...just under a pound.  She was absolutely perfect.  No physical deformities as far as my eyes could see.  She looked exactly like her father...she had his lips, his nose, his fingers and toes.  She had all of her lady parts, her little tongue, her gums.  She was petite; about the size and length of a small squash.  I was in awe of God's work.

In just 5 short months she was complete and so was God's creation.  How fitting we had just chosen her name, Navarea, the night before I was admitted.  Her name means "Dedicated to God."  I remember during the entire ordeal I kept thinking, "This is not a mistake.  God doesn't make mistakes."  I felt confident.  I felt strong.  I felt spiritually grounded.

I had the support of my friends and family, both personal and extended...I had the support of a minister from my childhood church.  I had lots of prayers, lots of visitors and lots of phone calls.  The hugs were strong, the words were encouraging, my spirits were lifted and I felt I could get through this with ease just as I've triumphed over tragedy in the past.

I was wrong.

It was in those quiet moments, in the still of the night when I was left alone that reality set in and thus the grieving process began.

I didn't think it would be this hard but the experience was more than just upsetting...it was heart breaking and I hadn't a clue on how to recover from a broken heart.  I just had to somehow trust it was all apart of God's design.

Piece by piece, my life and all I thought I knew about life began to fall away.  I had to rescind a contract from a new and promising client, my relationship with my fiance drastically changed for the worse, my son's behavior in school was starting to get out of control and I began to lose my grip.

I had my ok/good days but I really had some bad ones too.  Typically more bad than good.  I started to lose sight of my dreams and goals, I lacked motivation and confidence in myself...life as I knew it, suddenly ended for me.  It's barely been three months but it feels a lot longer than that.

I keep thinking the grieving process is something tangible...something that will inherently pass with time...something I can set my watch by and once that set time frame has passed things will automatically return to normal.

What I'm starting to realize is that there is no set time to grieve or "get over it."  Yeah, I'm young and am still capable of having more children but what's the probability that it will actually happen and the outcome be successful?  Is that something for me to even be concerned about?

There are days when I feel like I can make it and most others I am still very hurt and don't quite understand...I'm still searching for answers that don't exist.  I just can not accept it as fact.  It's almost surreal; unbelievable even but what has happened has happened and its officially over.

I was told to just cry...let it all out.  If you feel like crying do it.  If you want to scream do it.  This is what the grieving process is about.

Each day I slowly gather strength again and pick up each delicate piece of me and carefully put things back in order... yet no one told me THIS was part of the process though.

As the days go on it gets just a little easier.  I can talk about it without breaking completely down although I haven't quite run out of tears.  The memory, as I expected it to, never faded.  When my body began to produce milk for a baby that wasn't there to be nursed, it was like reopening a deep wound.  The planning of a close friends baby shower in November was a painful reminder and equally the birth of my best friends baby before Christmas somehow seemed cruel and unrelenting.

I try to live a faithful and righteous life.  I try to follow the commandments.  I try to be as Christ-like as possible...I couldn't help but think, was this my karma for something I did wrong; was it something I said?

It didn't really matter what I thought happened or the reasons why...it happened because it was supposed to happen.  The exact day.  The exact time.  The exact circumstance.  It's something that can't quite be explained....just accepted.  I truly believe that whatever purpose Navarea served in her short life was not in vain.

She taught me what it truly means when people say life should not be taken for granted.

Ever.

Yet there is life after...

And as I continue to journey on I'm determined to know what lies ahead.