When you're pregnant with your first child, nobody really tells you the truth about how hard it is to have a newborn. You hear the stories about sleepless nights, colic, sore boobs and the baby blues but none of it really means anything until you are there yourself. It's only then that you realise that although you love this baby more than anything else in the world it's hard, hard work.
It's so hard that at times you forget that you were ever excited about having a baby. It's so hard that you question what you've done and wonder if you've made a huge mistake in having a child. It's so hard that you wonder if you will ever feel like yourself again. It's so hard and no one tells you that you can be so tired that you feel physically sick. It's so hard and you wonder if you and your husband will ever have the same relationship ever again.
But then your baby starts smiling, and the colic starts getting better, and they may have a good night where they only wake up once for a feed and you think that having four hours sleep in a row is the best thing ever! Then suddenly you realise you are getting more done during the day without having to carry the baby everywhere you go, and you start forgetting what it was like when you couldn't move off the couch all day, and you had cracked nipples, and you couldn't even go to the toilet, have a shower or get a drink.
Your baby then starts doing exciting things reaching, rolling, sitting up, sleeping through the night, crawling, walking and talking. And it's still hard work, and always will be (even when your newborn is 14!) but it's then that you remember why you wanted to have a baby, and you look at your husband and you realise that relationship is even better now, than before you had kids.
It's the same with grief. Nobody really tells you how hard it is. Or if they do, you don't get it, and none of it really means anything until you are there yourself.
But you don't have another stage to look forward to. There's never going to be a time when there is smiling, or crawling, or walking or talking. There's never going to be a stage where you think 'this is why I wanted to go through grief'.
Of course there are stages, but a different stage doesn't mean it's easier. It's just different. The shock has gone, but the sadness is greater than ever.
You can cope better with the day to day things, but your heart is so empty that you wonder why it hasn't broken and stopped.
I don't want to be visiting their graves. I don't want to be talking to them in my head, wondering if they're listening. I just want them. You don't want people to tell you it's time to move on.
Nobody tells you how to grieve while you are trying to be strong for your children who are grieving at the same time.
I hear many times 'thank goodness we know families are forever' and yes that's true. But it doesn't make it any easier when I know I can have up to fifty to sixty years to wait for that time when we will be together again...and nothing and no one is going to replace them. And it's hard not to get angry at times because you feel like you have to be strong because of what you believe and know. Sometimes you just want to say it's not fair. Because it's not.