Firsts

I sent an entry into Exhale magazine and I thought I'd share it with you here. This was before I'd found my lovely new family of babylost mothers who help so much, when grief was still such a raw jagged wound and peace seemed as if it was lost forever.


The before jeans.

The first time I went outside a week after coming home from the hospital I wore a pair of jeans from before. They fitted perfectly after a couple of months of being put away until after. Just not this after. This after came too soon.

Wearing these jeans seemed to symbolise everything that was wrong and awful and incomprehensible and sad and monstrous and mysterious and frightful and frightening in my new life as mother to a dead baby.

The tears flowed and flowed as they are doing now writing this down for the first time. Another first. My partner and I stood by the side of the road wetting each others faces and necks with our mixed tears. He knew why I was crying without me telling him. He had noticed the jeans that didn't fit but now did. The strong healthy life that was there a week ago was gone. Thrown out by a body that couldn't hold him safe.

There were more firsts after that. Much harder firsts that I'm still dealing with as they slam into me. But that particular small first was the very first. At that moment I knew I would never be the same.



If you have a famous first to share, you could share it here or there or in your own blog.


Today I'm not at work and it feels good.