I want to extend my apologies to everyone in my life—my friends and family—who’ve had to deal with me since the heartbreaking loss of my daughter last year. The grief has turned me into a less-than-stellar friend and a bit of a downer, and I recognize that. Even now, I often find myself feeling the weight of sadness over losing Cate. On days when I seem fine, I still mention her frequently, as if she’s still with us. I realize this can make you uncomfortable.
The circumstances surrounding our loss can amplify that discomfort, especially since I often discuss my advocacy efforts. I know that many of you may not want to hear about my political activism. It’s true—I’ve become that person who’s either moping, pretending to be cheerful, or endlessly discussing topics that may not resonate with you. My focus has shifted almost entirely to my infant daughter and her twin sister, whom we tragically lost. I’ve plunged into political advocacy, researching legislation, writing articles, and reaching out to my representatives—activities I previously wouldn’t have given a second thought.
I’m aware that I don’t ask about your lives as much as I should. In my mind, I sometimes fall into the “pain Olympics,” where I feel that my loss overshadows your struggles. That’s not fair, and I know it. You know it. We all know it. I genuinely care about what you’re experiencing, even when I may not show it.
However, I don’t feel sorry for how my experiences have transformed me. The infertility journey my husband and I faced, followed by a loss that many can’t fathom, has irrevocably changed me. The core of who I am is no longer the same as it was just over a year ago. The trauma of being told that both of your children could die if you don’t act decisively is life-altering. You make choices and live with them, grappling with the reality of carrying one healthy child and mourning another for weeks, praying to make it through each hour without breaking down completely.
I admit I’ve become somewhat self-centered in the wake of these experiences, and for that, I sincerely apologize. I hope we can rebuild a mutual, supportive relationship that benefits us both. Please share your challenges, victories, vacation stories, and even the silly antics of your pets. I need to hear about your life just as much as you may need to hear about my advocacy efforts, my fears about parenting, and the absurd things my dog has done lately.
I truly appreciate you all. I miss you, and I promise to put in the effort to reconnect.
If you’re interested in learning more about home insemination, check out this informative piece about it here. For those looking for resources on pregnancy, I recommend this excellent guide. Additionally, if environmental concerns related to insemination are on your mind, consider visiting this site for more insights.
In summary, navigating friendship after a profound loss can be challenging. While my experiences have changed me, I hope to reconnect and support one another in our journeys, sharing both the ups and downs of life.