Forgetting Lyla

When we were pregnant with our daughter Lyla and we had just let everyone know about her life threatening diagnosis, we were overwhelmed with support from everyone around us. It truly felt amazing to feel all the love and prayers we had coming our way. What we were also surprised about was the overwhelming support we were getting from the most unexpected people. People neither of us had talked to in years, people we were never particularly close to, were reaching out in the most loving way possible.
In the midst of all this love, there were also some disappointments regarding some family and friends we thought would be there but weren't nearly as interested or concerned as we had expected them to be. I had created Lyla's blog so our loved ones who were genuinely interested, could keep up with her progress. Yet there were some people 'close' to us that I know never even read the blog. That was hurtful.
What brought me back to all of this, was this pregnancy. We are expecting our 3rd and the other day, someone close to us said, "oh yeah... This is your 3rd!!... Crazy.'
There it was. The "oh yeah." The afterthought. The 'aha' moment when someone remembers something they had forgotten. There it was. Out on the table. Clear as day. Lyla had been forgotten.
As a bereaved parent, it's difficult enough to have to watch life 'go on' and see people resume their own daily lives. Part of the fear of watching that go on around you, is the fear that your child will be forgotten. That you'll be the only one sitting alone in your sorrow while everyone else seems to forget. That's the hard part about the grieving process- the fear of forgetting. And there it was in front of me: my fear coming to the surface. While others can move on and think, 'oh that's so sad', we're living it every single day. Then a moment like that happens and it's like a bomb goes off by your head and wakes you up out of your sorrow, yet everything around you is still slow motion and silent.
Why is it, that society makes baby loss moms feel like an afterthought or an exception to the rule of bereaved parents? It's almost like you can only say aloud that your child has died if they were older. It almost feels as though there's a certain age to be able to say your child has died. When strangers ask if Harlow is my first, or if this baby is my 2nd, I always correct them and say its my 3rd and Harlow is my 2nd daughter. Normally I'll leave it at that. But if they ask anymore questions such as how old my other one is, I say she passed away. If the conversation continues to the point that I'm saying she had a chromosomal condition and she died at 32 weeks, I get a sad face, but also an 'oh okay'. Like she wasn't alive long enough for me to really know her, really miss her. Almost like I miscarried or something? Which completely crushes my heart. I had a full pregnancy, into my 3rd trimester, I carried my sick child when many others wouldn't, she enjoyed eating Honeycrisp Apples, listening to worship songs, Dancing to Britney Spears, and cold water... I was induced and delivered her, held my dead child in my arms, she was taken to a funeral home and cremated and I have her ashes with me in an urn. She was very much here, very much alive and very much my child. I am a bereaved parent and it confuses me when I get an 'oh yeah, this is your 3rd.' Yes. Yes. This is my 3rd child.
Moments like these tend to get me down and make me feel very alone. They make me come to this blog and write.
But then I'm reminded of all the love and support we still have around us and I know we will never forget her, and those who love her will never forget her either.