The Gray Days of Grief

—The first stage of grief hit when she was still in my womb

Those were the cold days, when the moon was out and sun was dead - Photo by Fernando Cabral from Pexels

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The weeks following the greatest tragedy of my life were filled with sympathy and admiration for my strength like it was some kind of race I’d won. Some kind of chutzpah I’d proven to everyone I had. That I had it in me to lose a child and still hold my head high.

I felt far from strong; if they’d only known that my days became grey and long, with all the colour sucked out of my life. A feeble attempt to get a spark of sunshine was met with a few hours of watching cartoons and escaping the solitude of my grieving thoughts by exchanging them for busy parties and happy drunkards. It was the only way to prevent my sadness and grief from consuming me.

Though, I would trade it all for just one chance to hold my child. Nothing mattered; nothing could ever make it better. I had so much to be grateful for. I was healthy and young, and I had everything I needed, yet there was only one thing I wanted, and that was to turn back the hands of time so I could hold my baby in my arms one last time.

When all is said and done, people usually move on with their lives. They forget, they smile, laugh and enjoy the little things in life again, almost instantly, like nothing…