Change by Joanne Watkinson

Image:Joanne Watkinson

It had been four days, six hours and thirty-four minutes since November 7th, yet here I was back in the normal routine. Collecting my daughter from the school gates, I could feel the burning glances, could almost hear the whispers. In truth, I did not know what to expect. I actually had not even thought about it, so deep in my grief, I was lost.

Getting up in the morning was an effort, every day felt so pointless in the morning. I was not thinking straight. I could feel my chest tightening and the feeling of dread creep through me.

No one knew what to say, which I understood, and yet, I couldn’t tell them I understand since they didn’t dare come near me. I felt the urge to hide my head. Was it wrong to be out?

The panic started with the loss of our little boy, born still at 39 weeks. Just being here was a massive step. Isn’t that what everyone kept telling me? The sooner I got out, the easier dealing with grief would be?

The pain in our hearts was immense, just horrifically immense, but we were trying. We carried on for the sake of our sweet little girl. She had been so desperate for a sibling, so distraught in how cruel our dreams had been snatched away.

And yet, at just nine years old, she had been the bravest one of us. She showed us the meaning of faith, love and hope. Our daughter, was the one who remained level-headed. Yes she was consumed by her grief, but she also was able to carry on, to stand and be proud.

She was brave while her father and I were hiding. We may have looked the same on the outside. Our faces were the same, with the exception of the lines that had appeared and the tears that nearly stained our faces. Our grief was imprinted, while we functioned outwardly while breaking internally. Looking back now, I can’t pinpoint what happened. How we managed? How we got from the worst place in our lives to functioning?

Only that it happened when we were hiding.

We hid behind an exterior of calm acceptance, because that is what people expect you to do.

Author Bio:

I am a 32 year old wife,mother of three and student. Our eldest daughter, Leah 13, Zach our middle son, died in utero in 2009 due to a true knot in his umbilical cord and our rainbow Henry, who turns 2 in January 2013. We have battled infertility due to PCOS for nearly 13 years (diagnosed after the birth of our first daughter).

I am studying to become a radiographer, hoping to specialize in high risk pregnancies to utilize my skills and help as many parents as possible, at a time when they need it most.

I am a keen writer, in my spare time and am just now strong enough to start sharing our story to help others.

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