Hamster Wheel

Grief feels full of U-turns. 

Coming to a place of, not even happy, just not sad seems like it might be just over the hill. And, then all of a sudden as I’m reaching the top I get turned around and feel like I’m headed back to where I started. 

I have no energy to do anything today. I tried to sleep for as long as I could in order to just not be awake. Because when I’m awake, I feel. And feeling means pain. This is pretty much what the last 36 hours have felt like. I’m so tired of crying. I wish I could distract myself from it and watch TV or a movie, but that makes it worse. It all feels meaningless.

I’ve really wanted to write all of these happy posts about our trip to New York, or meaningful, hopeful things about yesterday – Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Day – but I feel like I’ve been rung out and have no energy to muster up any happy.

I feel hopeless today. I feel like my life will always just hurt. There’s no way out. No fix. 

I’m mad that 7 months has gone by and there’s no sign of us being parents any time soon. Just more longing. Just more isolation. Just more of other families getting pregnant. Just more of buying baby gifts and cards for other people. I feel like the clock is just ticking in my ear and everyone around me is getting closer to getting pregnant and having a healthy, happy family. I want less pain, but it all seems to be getting worse. 

I’m anxious about her first birthday coming up, about the memories, about Thanksgiving and learning of her diagnosis. I’m anxious about reliving each day we had with her in my memory until March 13th, and then reliving the nightmare of the days, weeks and months following that. I feel stuck in a hamster wheel of pain. 

When will life feel good again, instead of just feeling like pain, distraction from pain and numb?

No bow ties on this one, again, just tears. 

-Brooklyn’s Mommy

17 thoughts on “Hamster Wheel

  1. I’m so sorry Corrie. And I know those words start to mean nothing sometimes, but I really am. I hate that pain exists, that children dying exsists, that families that deserve more sometimes seem to get less. It sucks. you will continue to be in my prayers, and I will lift up these next few months especially for peace, comfort, and wisdom.


    • Thanks, Heather. You’re right that the words, “I’m sorry”, can feel void sometimes but I appreciate your willingness to say it anyway and acknowledge the hard stuff that brings so much pain. I have such a difficult time wondering why family comes easily to some and why pain always seems to be far out of reach for many and why it feels the opposite for others. It feels nice to have someone else just say that sometimes.


  2. Dear, Sweet Corrie:
    I don’t even know what to write, but I have to write something because I need you to know that I hear you. I hear your pain and I ache for you. I wish there was some way I could take some of it for you…give you a break. Thank you for being so honest. I love you for that.


  3. Corrie, I’m sitting here with tears streaming down my face. I don’t know what to say to comfort or encourage you, and have read each post of yours without knowing what to say. I know how much you love your baby girl, how terribly sad and unfair this is, and have been so grieved for you. I’m so sorry that you have to walk down such a hard road. If there is ever any way for me to help you, I will. I love you, Corrie, and continue to pray for you and Adam.


    • Thanks, Christina. I appreciate your courage in writing something even though you haven’t known exactly what to say. I find myself even at a loss for words when I come across someone else in a painful situation. Comforting can seem like a tricky thing some times. Thanks for your words.


  4. Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Day – Sounds like what you’re doing, full out. Amazing that days of “just not sad” are even conceivable. Praying for you.


  5. Corrie, I wanted to give you a virtual hug and tell you that, although I have not experienced infant loss, during the years of our own infertility and one miscarriage, I remember feeling so alone – as if the entire world was fertile and moving forward with “life” and I felt like I was the only one who was stuck. Even in those days, God was working (unknown to me at the time) and I never lost my hope that somehow he would turn the mess I felt like I was in for His glory. His blessings and timing are truly perfect and even in the darkness, in the anger and sadness, He is still there working everything for good. Brooklyn’s life blessed me and so many others… in a way that a “normal” baby couldn’t. I work with babies every day and I still vividly recall her newborn session in the hospital, her beautiful delicate features and her calm yet fighting nature. I was so blessed to be a part of capturing those pictures, and the canvas you posted yesterday brought all those memories back. Hugs!! Remember, after the storm, comes the rainbow. 🙂


  6. I also wish I could carry this for you for a while, or take you to the top of the mountain. I wish that the wold wasn’t so broken and this kind of pain didn’t exist. I pray that you continue to write and share and I pray God will use this space to help you and others heal.


    • Thanks, Katie. I have certainly felt your love and care for us even though we really didn’t even live in the same city for very long or get a chance to get to know each other super well. I really appreciate the way you have hung in there with us through the emotional roller coaster we’ve been on. Your commitment to reaching out to me/us has been very meaningful to both of us.


  7. Brooklyn’s mommy, I woke up thinking of you this morning. I pray the squeaking of the hampster wheel is SO annoying that you get off it today so you can hear something more pleasant…anything more pleasant.Just for today, don’t ask for anything else, just for today. God Bless sharon



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