Tears, and could it be, some hope?

Yesterday was hard.

Dave and I went to Edinburgh to find a new suit for him because he didn't feel that the suits he had would be suitable for Isla's funeral. I wanted to get a couple of things to wear in Montreal because it is actually summer there now. I also wanted to get something for my BFF's unborn baby and 3 year old daughter.

This is where things went wrong.

After a nice lunch in a character hotel, we went to a baby clothes shop. I was focused on getting something I saw months ago for this baby. Dave freaked out. We left. Then I freaked out. Then we saw a pregnant woman. We made it to the top of the street before I started crying. I cried because I would not buy cute little things for Isla and because my bump was gone. Ugh. It hurt. My heart hurt.

We finished what we needed to do and got the fuck out of Edinburgh. When we got back to the town we live in, which as provided us with a space to actually mourn in, I was exhausted. Since my body is more or less back to normal (which pisses me off. My stomach is soft and flat. My engorged breasts have settled down and are soft again. Looking at me, you would never have known I was pregnant last week), it makes it hard to remember I gave birth last week. I was tired. After receiving an offer to talk from my MIL's co-worker who went through a similar thing last year and who has just given birth, then my MIL telling me everything will be alright and we'll be happy again, I lost my shit. Like, boo hoo on the steps. Dave took me to bed and I cried and cried and cried. I miss my daughter. I'm tired. Life will never be the same.

So we slept. Sleeping helps a lot.

When we woke up, I knew we'd have to make a decision. That night there was to be a meeting for bereaved parents organized by a group named SANDS. They support parents who have lost children through stillbirth and neonatal deaths. On the one hand, we just lost Isla and maybe it was too soon to go to this. But on the other hand, talking to others who have gone through what we have might helps us to learn how to cope with the trauma and learn how we can live and be happy again even with broken hearts.

After thinking about it, I knew we wanted to go. So we went. And it was brilliant. Everyone was so helpful and kind. They could not believe that we were there after we had just lost Isla last week. They called us brave and strong. I don't know if I believe that yet. I just know talking about it helps me cope and cry and relieve stress.

We talked and listened for over 2 hours. I would definitely go again. I borrowed a book I had coveted in their library and I'll read it after I read this one. I need to read and listen to stories, particularly positive ones. They help me. I want to be positive again. I want to be happy again. I want to mourn Isla properly and cry and grieve and despair for her, but one day, think about the beautiful baby I had the pleasure and honour of carrying her for nearly six months. Yes, I want to get there.

Dave's beautiful sisters are in town and they'll be coming to the funeral with us. I'm so happy they're here. They bring levity to this house of mourning. The only thing is that right now, I'm not great with the effortless banter they all have. My thoughts are always so far away. But it's nice talking to them. I'm so looking forward to seeing my family and friends next week. I need them now more than ever.

It's my darling's birthday today. I told him next year's will be better. I sincerely hope it will be.