Experiencing the death of my
baby the second time has made the affects even more intense. Anything that I
have lived since and continue to live now have been totally guided by these two
heart wrenching experiences.
Experiencing the deaths of six small babies that were born so early, we don't even know if they were boys or girls. Many people don't know we've had this many losses. It hurts to know that they often have strong opinions about how many children we should and did have. To have to say, one more time, "I'm sorry to tell you we lost another baby" meant often, we didn't tell. Bretton's death, followed by Ciara's death, marked the time in my life when I began to hear "she's very sensitive, be careful" and "sorry, we kept that from you because you're so sensitive."
I am sensitive. I’m sure I
came out of the womb feeling sensitive to everything. The lights, touch,
smells, the air. I can remember being a very young child and reacting to the
emotions around me. For most of my life, others have described me as sensitive
and each time I hear the term now as an adult, I cringe. I cringe, because it
is never delivered to me as a positive attribute but one that I obviously need
to work on, one that holds me back from moving forward and one that I have to
carry as a descriptive burden of my personality. Loss has exacerbated these to
the point that it takes me forever to let anyone in to my life and even then,
those relationships may not be solid and long-lasting. I no longer trust, no longer try and no longer truly care.
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