What Would Your Grief Say If It Could Speak For Itself?

Remember the last time you walked into a room and felt like you didn’t belong? (pause) Being a childfree woman after infertility, I feel this often. Especially because I have been pregnant and I have delivered a baby. But my story scares people. I’m a parent’s worst nightmare…and the crazy thing is I love my story because it’s mine. 

I’m Carrie Hauskens from Chico, CA. After five years of infertility, I became pregnant via IVF and carried my daughter, Clementine, for eight months. I delivered her stillborn in May 2019. Today, my husband and I are childfree, and we’re happy.

And me being happy means I live with the grief of losing a child. 

I know my grief quite well as I welcomed her with open arms. I knew we’d have a better relationship if I let her in. It’s what we're left with after the loss, right? And I’ll take whatever part of Clementine I can get. 

And I often wonder: What would it say if your grief could speak for itself? 

Well, this is what my grief would say:

I am your friend, one of the closest friends you’ll ever have. I’ll never leave you and will always be with you. Sometimes it feels like I’m breaking your heart, but that’s not my intention. I’m not out to get you, I promise. I’m the love you’re left with and the love that continues. 

My entire existence revolves around you remembering your painful truth. The ache you feel is how I survive. You can’t look away, you can’t get away from me, and you can’t keep me quiet.  And if you try to do any of these things, I come in with more intensity because I am meant to be seen, heard, and felt. I’m a part of you now.

You lost a child, and this reality is most people’s nightmare. But look around…  here we are, all together. I can do that pretty well. I bring people together. When someone dies, I find ways to lead you to them. I train you to recognize the hurt in others so you can find a place where you belong.  I teach you how not to pity someone and instead feel genuine empathy. I gave you an experience that lets you hold a sacred space for others. You can now connect to a community in a way you’ve never done before. It’s a gift that only I can give.

And whether you accept it or not, I am your truth. Accepting it is not a defeat. There’s no winning or losing with grief. And I will always be here to remind you of that. I pop in weird ways and will make you uncomfortable at times. Remember when you decided to fly to Paris after Clementine died, and babies filled the entire plane? That was me! And I knew it hurt… but remember when the flight attendant that only spoke French handed you a Clementine, and the only word you understood was Clementine? And then you looked at your husband, and you both cried through happy tears? That was me too. You can’t have one without the other. I’m here to help you find your way through all of it. 

I’m not here to take the place of the ones you lost; nothing can do that. But I am here to sit with you as you navigate the world. You’re different with me. Not better, not worse, just different. 

I can and will show you how to love in a new way. I’m here to show you how to love someone you can’t see with your eyes but can feel with your heart. It’s a different kind of love, but a magnificent kind of love. This is my purpose and way of showing you how to keep loving. It’s important to keep doing that, and I’ll guide you along the way. I promise. 

I am not a bad thing, even though others might say I am. They just don’t understand yet. They will, but it’s not their time. Please remember that I’m not here to make you feel sad or mad, or even angry. And while yes, all of those emotions are valid... I’m here to show love. To show love to you, those around you, and to the ones we’ve lost. I’m here, just for you.

So the next time you feel your grief showing up, 

-remember they’re your friend

-they’ll always be with you

-and they only want to show you love