About Grief Baby
Grief baby was born on July 8th, 2005 when my mom passed away abruptly due to a mostly faultless car accident. I was barely 12, and was as prepared for grief baby as they were for this world.
Grief baby is the relentless endless weight of the loss that came into existence the very moment my mom left. You might have a grief baby too. I was 12. I wasn't ready to raise a grief baby, especially not one made of rocks and straws and loose paperclips.
Heres the thing
Despite grief baby first existing at the very same second I felt my first moment without my mom, I didn't know about them until it was maybe almost too late. I had been carrying them, not realizing it was them behind the growing weight, and the growing ache.
As grief baby got older, they had tried to find ways to continue to hide within the shifting creaks under my skin. They weren't born silent, but quickly learned that no one was planning on listening any time soon. Instead of food, grief baby tried to feed on whatever they found the most of, mostly shame, exhaustion and confusion.
I was carrying them and constantly complaining of the weight, confused by its existence, confused by how it no one seemed to notice, confused by how my screams felt silent, frightened once I realized I forgot how to scream.
I'm off track now
I met grief baby when they were 18 and I was already about to turn 30. I left town when I turned 18 and it felt weird and special that I was returning to town, ready to stop running, when they turned 18.
Grief baby isn't only mine or only for me. My grief baby will never be the same as yours or yours or yours. There are no rules to what brings the unfortunate birth of a grief entity, and I don't wish one upon anyone. If you have your own grief baby, let me tell you first: It was absolutely unfair, and you did nothing to deserve this. It's really fucking unfair, and you're allowed to be loud about it.