My complicated relationship with our daughter’s grave
My relationship with Blair’s grave site is complicated. In these early months after Blair died, I haven't liked visiting her grave. Her grave marker came in last week and it was only yesterday that we finally visited. We have had days upon days of flash floods and thunderstorms that kept us from going right away, but if I am really honest, I avoided making the visit. I push myself to do so for the long-term benefits for my family.
My husband mentioned in his guest post how visiting Blair’s grave site has been immensely helpful in his grieving process. It hasn’t been the same for me. I feel at peace in the tangible memories that I have of my daughter growing inside of me. I look down at my belly and see where she left her mark. I remember her kicks and exactly where in my womb she would lay. I remember her body move inside mine and how excited she would get when I had a handful of chocolate chips after putting her big sisters down for their nap. I not only carry her in my heart, but I carry the physical markings of her all over me. I look at her pictures and talk about her daily.
I have not felt peace at her grave site. I feel angry that Blair died. I feel traumatized. I have flashbacks of my saddest memories of seeing her limp body come out of mine, of laying her in a basket as we said goodbye, of the tiny cremation box into which her ashes fit, and the casket where she was ultimately buried. My baby was once thriving. Now, my baby is in the ground. My baby was once thriving inside of ME. Now, my baby is not. My baby is in the ground.
Perhaps visiting the grave site has been least helpful to me because I have felt and continue to feel her death more tangibly through my own body. Two months and two weeks later, my postpartum body is still healing itself and recovering from Blair’s birth. I feel her presence every day. I don’t need another physical reminder. That is not to say that I will never feel peace nor that I will stop the practice of visiting her grave site. I’m trying to get there, and I will keep visiting.
I continue to visit for my three daughters. I want to remain neutral for our older daughters and any future children on how they manage their grief. How could I possibly be absent as their mother as my living children navigate their own complicated realities of having a dead sibling? I feel strongly that our older daughters and any future children should be given the opportunity to explore their grief at her grave regardless of how I feel about visiting for my own personal grief. Could my husband go on his own with them? Sure. Will there be times when he will take them without me? Absolutely. But I won’t let my feelings deter anyone from whatever they need to do to feel close to Blair. I also realize that, while not ideal, it is the closest thing we can do to share the same space with our entire family.
About a month after Blair’s burial, my husband and I went alone to her grave. It was nearing 100 degrees with a ton of mosquitoes biting our legs and compounded by all the visuals mentioned above, I was not at peace.
On Blair’s due date, we went again. I piled the car with beach balls, a large mat to sit on, and her photo albums to give another attempt at ‘trying to do this graveside thing’. This time, I hoped that doing an activity around her grave would help me to feel closer to her, and also give our older daughters a sense that they could do a shared activity “with” or alongside Blair. It didn’t really work on this first attempt. The girls were distracted by all of the memorial items left at other people’s graves. Twin toddlers combined with fragile items at a cemetery do not mix. Or do they? It was somewhat helpful in the end to be occupied with other people’s graves and start to feel a little comfort in the fact that other people have come to the same place we had to grieve another death.
This most recent visit started off just like the rest. Anger. I was angry that my daughter has a grave marker. That she died. I turned my head to find out where the girls had dashed off to and saw a butterfly swirling around C as she giggled with excitement. It was the cutest sight. I was angry that that cute butterfly moment happened at a cemetery. I was angry that my older children now have to come to a grave site to “see” their baby sister, and that they never got to truly see or hold her outside of my body.
At some point, I came around. I had been practicing for a few days by telling the girls that we were going to visit the grave site where we buried baby sister Blair’s body. Even though I reinforced this on the car ride there and when we first arrived, I knew I needed to try again to talk to them about where we were and why we were there.
So I swallowed my own emotions and went to them. At the time, they were enamored by some sea shells that were hand painted. It looked like the shells were painted by grandchildren for their grandmother. I made a mental note that maybe we try to paint or create something to leave by Blair’s grave marker next time. It seems like more experienced grievers know more about what to do in this awkward space than someone new like me.
I asked them if they knew where Blair was buried. They pointed in the correct direction. I then playfully asked them if we might be able to find the letter B at Blair’s grave. Off they went running. This is when I captured the photo attached to this blog post with V pointing to the letter B. It was very brief and off they went running again to find the next coolest thing someone left on a grave stone, but I started to feel the power of being “with Blair” where she was buried in a more peaceful way for the first time. I realized that while Blair may not be able to grow and be with us in a physical sense, we will always have this place to come and share our lives with her. As V and C grow, we will always take their pictures next to Blair’s grave. If we are blessed with more children, we will bring them there to tell them about their dearly missed sibling. That their sister died and was buried here.
There is power to visiting our stillborn daughter’s grave site. It may not be for me personally to help me in my grief, but visiting is a powerful way for my family as a whole to express how much they love Blair and to explore their grief for Blair. Grief is love, after all.
The last gravestone that we saw had a quote on it that was very meaningful to me. I’ve since changed the words a bit to reflect Blair:
Beloved daughter and sister.
While she is absent, she is always near.
Still loved, still missed, and very dear.
By the time we headed back to the car, C lamented in a sad tone, “Bye bye, Letter B”. Yes, my baby girl, bye bye letter B. We will visit Blair’s grave again soon.
