Grieving This Sibling That I Never Met

I wrote this post last night, and the grief was deep. Today, right now, it is easier, for the moment. But I know that it won't always be so.

Three weeks ago today, I lost my youngest sibling. Miscarried, at just nine weeks.

It was a grief far greater than I could've imagined. I ached so much. 

Not for this baby's sake, because I knew that he or she was (is) in heaven with God, which is by far the greatest place to be, but I ache for me, for my other siblings, for our parents.

There were (are) so many hurts. It hurts that I never had the chance to meet this sibling, the opportunity to cuddle and rock it as a newborn, the gift of watching it grow up. 

So many things I never had the chance to experience with this baby.

I thought I was doing better, that I was moving on. It still hurt, yes, but not the raw grief like at the beginning.

But raw grief comes again.

I have yet to be able to talk to anyone other than my family about this loss, without falling completely apart. 

I dear friend expressed her sympathy this morning at church, and even that was almost more than I could handle without falling apart. She knew, because it wasn't a sibling that she had lost herself, but rather her own babies. How much more a mothers' heart must yearn for a lost baby, than that of an older sibling. But she understood that I hurt, too.

Two weeks ago, I shared some of my grief and feelings on Facebook. I'm a very private person, and I felt so vulnerable sharing that pain with so many. 

In the end though, I was glad that I did. The outpouring of love and compassion that I received was a beautiful thing.

One friend, who has lost multiple tiny siblings, shared this in a comment -

"It's ok to not be ok sometimes, even long after everyone seems to think you've 'moved on.'"

And you know? She was right. It happens. Even I thought I was starting to move on - and in a way I was. But that doesn't mean that the pain has all dissipated, or that it won't ever seem huge and fresh again. 

Talking about it is hard. Even when I saw my dearest friend a week ago, I didn't go there because that pain was still too raw. It wasn't that I didn't want to talk about this sibling I lost, but rather that I wasn't quite ready. 

I can write about this pain, but talking is a lot harder.

I know there are probably those who secretly think I'm crazy. 

Maybe I am. After all, I still have eight siblings here with me. 

But none of them are this one that I lost.

I'm grateful for the time we did have, and the blessing that this baby was to our family. But I also know that I will never be quite the same again.