A few weeks after Anya's death, almost six years ago, I wrote a general outline of 13 posts I was planning. It mapped what her story had been from beginning to end, and plotted the journey of grief ahead. It's interesting today to look back and reflect on that journey, including the posts not written.
Telling the story of our firstborn did indeed start with the planned "A Perfect, Uncomplicated Pregnancy", which set the stage. It reflected my need to emphasize that everything had gone perfectly well - that we didn't ignore anything - and my need to justify our choice for opting for a birth centre, rather than a hospital. I remember in those first days, questions about why we hadn't been at a hospital had felt almost accusatory. I felt the need to say "this wasn't our fault", as much as it obviously wasn't.
The second planned post, "Low Risk vs No Risk" didn't actually materialize. The sentiment behind it had been to capture how the first post ended: There is always risk. Even in the face of odds that are 99.75% favourable.
The third post, "Our Birth Story" was originally going to tell the story in one go, but it felt natural to split it into two: before and after we lost her. I remember writing it with Kayleigh, and being grateful for getting a better understanding of what her perspective had been. In re-reading my portions, it's striking how vivid a few of the memories still are: the anxiety as I waited, and waited, and waited in the ER. The moment the doctor confirmed she had died. The first chance to have a long look at my beautiful daughter. But some key details have blurred - the doctor's face, the bed in the ER.
The next post, which gave this blog its title was "This Happens to Other People". I've sometimes felt that it's not a particularly good name for a blog, but the sentiment still resonates so powerfully: although we know bad things happen in life, we feel like they won't happen to us. Until they do.
"What Happens Now?" was the second unwritten post - intended to be one that dealt with the feeling of returning home, empty handed and defeated. Of tearing down the note I posted on our door which told Kayleigh's mom that we had driven to the birth centre. Of seeing the birth-snacks i'd forgotten in my rush. It was more about a feeling than a particular point.
"Burial" is another unwritten post - probably the one I most regret not writing. It was to talk about December 30th, 2013. The day we had a funeral service with friends, colleagues and family, ahead of Anya's burial. I regret not better documenting what an incredible day full of love this was - expressed through many beautiful words of comfort, speeches, and even song written for Anya.
As might be expected, posts started to diverge a bit from the planned title over time, though often still with the same sentiment. "Our Incredible Family, Friends, and Colleagues" was posted as "This One Goes Out to Our Friends and Family" - signaling our gratefulness for the love that helped keep us afloat. Likewise, "Questions, Anger and Anxiety" became "Questions and Answers", trying to understand what had happened.
I don't actually remember what the intent was behind "Will we be okay?" - whether it was to be about me and Kayleigh as individuals, or about the "we" as a young married couple. Most likely the former. I do recall the fear of not being able to return to full form in my work - a scary thought when I took (and still take) so much pride in my work. That fear subsided over time, and my return to work was written about from Kayleigh's perspective in "Empty Home" which captured the dread I had hoped to capture in "Returning to Routine".
I optimistically planned to write "Autopsy Results" a couple of posts ahead of the one that had to do with us considering having more kids. I felt it belonged there at the time, since we were under the impression it would take a few weeks at most to get those results, rather than the 23 months it actually took as written in "The Coroner's Report", and complained about in "The Long Wait for Answers".
The last unwritten post, "Cloudy Future" was intended to talk about the uncertainty of whether to move ahead with having kids - Was it worth the risk of getting hurt so deeply again? That post simply didn't materialize, partly because I didn't feel it quite as strongly as I initially did (though the fear didn't disappear until after William's birth).
"Trying Again" was fittingly the last planned post in the outline, intending to document the decision to try (or not) to have another child. It ended up sharing not just our decision, but also the fortunate news that William was on his way.
What is striking in looking back is that those 13 posts planned in January 2014 turned into more than 70 that documented the ups and downs of grief, highlighting the lack of linear progression along the way. How fortunate we are to have had the chance to live through it and learn from it.
