Right Where I Am: Four Months, One Week and One Day

The last few days I have been to hell and back. Reaching the one year anniversary of finding out that I was pregnant with Finley hit me a lot harder than I ever thought possible. For three days now I have been an emotional wreck. I’ve not been sleeping, or eating. I haven’t been coping.

Two nights ago my husband woke up and I wasn’t asleep beside him. He found me downstairs at 3 am by myself, breaking my heart, and sobbing. He told me that I should have woken him, that I never need to go through this alone, and that I didn’t need to go downstairs to cry by myself. He held me and let me cry, and I needed to. I’m not sure where the overwhelming waves of grief turn up from, but I felt like I’d hit a new low. The actual physical pain that comes with the grief is hard to describe, but my heart aches for my loss, my arms ache because they feel so, so empty, and my body aches to take care of and nourish Finley. I actually told my husband that I can’t do this anymore, that I feel broken, and that I don’t want to carry on without Finley here.

And that is the truth, I really am not sure how I carry on sometimes. The amount of energy it takes just to keep going; to get up in the morning, and get dressed and to make sure I eat. To attempt to do housework, and go out and see people. Sometimes I feel ok, I can smile and be a part of a conversation. Sometimes I feel like I have something to offer and I can contribute. But other times, like the last few days, I just exist. I feel like all I do is take from what people offer me and that I have nothing to give back. And I am reminded of a conversation that I had with a friend only a few weeks after Finley died. I was, and still am, fearful that despite all of my other qualities, that this loss and this grief will overshadow it all, and that I will forever be the lady with a dead baby. As though mummy to a dead baby takes precadence over wife, friend, daughter, sister, a girl with a passion and zest for life. Somebody who loves to travel and learn new things. A girl who has always been a ‘social butterfly’ as my dad used to say, a person who always wanted to be around people. I wonder if there will be a time where I am all of those things again. Where any of those other qualities will overshadow my loss, and if people will get something from being around me instead of just having to give.

I find it hard to look forward, find it hard to imagine my life where my son is not alive. Even though I’ve been living for four months, one week and one day since he has died, I find that I am still having to remind myself to change my expectations. That Finley isn’t going to be coming home, that I’m not going to have a baby to take care of any time soon. That it is still too soon to try and get pregnant again. That I have to keep on ‘just existing’ until I’m able to have hope again.

I look around me everywhere and see families and babies and pregnant people. I feel like I’m not only grieving the loss of my son, but also of the loss of the little family that I envisaged having. Will that be me someday, out with my husband with a toddler on his shoulders and a baby in the pram with Jacob running around? Will it be my life where I actually get to take my children to the zoo, a petting farm, the beach, an amusement park?

Some days I do have hope for the future and I know that I have a lot left to do and achieve. I am grateful for my husband and how amazing he is and has been. I am grateful for my dog and that he manages to make me smile even through my tears. I am grateful for having had Finley for even the short time that I did. And I’m grateful for so many wonderful friends and family who have stood by me and tried to be there for me in whatever way they can. I just hope that someday I will be able to give back to them all. And I hope that someday my dreams will come true.


The ‘Right Where I Am’ project was started on the blog Still Life with Circles. The following is a description of what they aim to achieve with the project:

Now, it’s your turn. Where are you in your grief? Emotionally. Physically. Psychically. Title your post, “Right Where I Am:(Time since your child’s death)”. then come back here and link your blog post on the Mr. Linky. Click other participants and read about right where they are. Comment if you can. Just a thank you for telling me about right where you are. If you don’t want to write a full post, why not just comment here and tell me the time since your loss(es) and anything else you want to share. Spread the word around the community by linking back to this post, so people can find out what grief is like on all stops on the road.

11 thoughts on “Right Where I Am: Four Months, One Week and One Day

  1. Beautiful. I can relate to so much of what you wrote here. I remember feeling like just living was painful until about the 8 month mark. I mean just agony. I never saw happiness in my future. And then, with time, it came. Sending you loads of support and understanding. I am so sorry for the loss of your sweet Finley

  2. Thank you. It’s so hard to see light at the end of the tunnel. I am glad it happened for you, and it gives me a little bit of allowance to dare to hope to be truly happy again

  3. I can relate to SOO much of what you wrote. Around the 3/4 month mark I really hit a low again. I think the first few months you are in shock & in survival mode. But once the fog lifts & others go on with their lives, you start processing everything and it just really hits you hard. I had days where I was lucky if I got dressed and ate something. Thank goodness my other kids were able to take care of themselves because some days I couldn’t do anything. And you know what, that is OK!! Do what you need to and don’t worry about giving back to others now. Those who are your true friends will understand and will be there for you as you discover your “new normal”. Continue to take things one day at a time, even just one hour at a time. (((hugs)))

  4. You know, when I first lost the twins people used to ask ‘how are you?’ which is always a really stupid question because the answer is undoubtedly dire. Then a friend who had been through a similar experience started asking me ‘How is your heart today?’ and that was what made the difference because it always felt broken, shattered into tiny pieces that I couldn’t pick up they just kept running through my hands like sand. That made me worse.

    Then I realised that I was doing it the wrong way. I wasn’t supposed to pick up the pieces, they pick themselves up. You see I came to the conclusion that if you allow yourself to heal, little by little your heart comes together again, the configuration is different as it makes a little ‘Finley’ space.

    So I promised my little guys that I wouldn’t keep hurting myself for them, I know they wouldn’t want this and I know I will see them all again. You will see Finley again, he is waiting for you but not right now, right now you have work to do with the task that you have been assigned and you must focus on that or change will never happen.

    Right now all there is will be tunnel unless you start to believe that there might be a light.

    I am wrapping my arms around you right now. I know these hard days…….the time it will take to start changing I don’t know but when you feel it let it come without guilt. xxxx

  5. Thanks for all of the love ladies. Having support is so important xx

  6. Anna

    Wow. I feel like you just got inside my head and wrote out how I’m feeling. I’m so very sorry for your loss. Finley looks so beautiful. My little boy died 7 months ago, he was 11 months old and as you describe I just feel like i hit an all time low about a month ago and haven’t managed to dig myself out. Thank you for writing this blog. It is so eloquent and you wrote from the heart so beautifully xx

  7. Thank you for sharing. So glad I found your blog. I lost my little boy Evan on April 23rd of this year. He was 3 1/2 weeks old, and like your Finley, never left the hospital. Everything you say is exactly how I feel. I try to be truthful and real on my blog, but it always comes out depressing and sad. But that’s what’s real. I hope you have days where you are able to breathe a little easier (I’ve only had a couple). Thank you so much for your words.

  8. Tara Smith

    I’ve stumbled upon your site tonight by chance, but I tend to feel that there are many things in life that aren’t really by chance. You’ve echoed many of the feelings I’ve had over the past 4 years, with your anger and your hurt, and I’m incredibly proud of you for putting it out there. You and Finley’s song is still making me weep as I type this, as my Oliver was stillborn at 21 wks due to preterm labour with unknown cause, on August 4, 2008. This month he should be celebrating his 4th birthday with me, and my heart still aches that I have to decorate the tree without his ‘help’. One of the poems you posted “Shoes”, is so so poignant.

    The first Christmas is indeed the worst, and I’m posting a link from the support group that I turned to after Oliver died. It’s their website with all of their newsletters, and the Winter ones have great advice for coping with the holidays, it helped me, and I’m sharing it with you, with the hopes and prayers that you may find a shred of anything in it that will help you with this difficult time.


    Thank you again, for being so brave with your raw honesty and grief, and know that this Angel Mum is thinking of you. As someone said recently “you never get over it, you just learn to get around it”

  9. Oh my, yes. That’s exactly what I felt like! I told my husband time and time again that I was done with this whole living thing.

    Now that it’s been 9 months, those nightmarish days of not even being able to breathe without hurting are becoming less frequent, even thought the sadness and pain are always with me. I miss Samuel so much sometimes I think I’ll just burst apart. I just keep waking up each morning. Maybe some day I’ll feel differently.

    Sending my love and hugs <3

  10. Anonymous

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