After an unexpected turn of events, we found ourselves with a bearded dragon. Following the heartbreaking loss of a cherished turtle last summer, a generous friend offered us her pet. When I mentioned the idea of another companion, my kids went from tears to excitement in an instant. Before we knew it, she was part of our family.
The first time I laid eyes on her, I felt a sense of unease. This creature looked far from the cuddly characters of children’s stories; she was spiky and scaly, swaying side to side like something from a fantasy realm. My husband, who isn’t exactly a fan of reptiles, took on the responsibility of bringing her home and setting up her habitat. Once it was complete, he jokingly suggested I should “keep that velociraptor in the garage.”
Later that day, we all gathered around the glass enclosure.
“How do we hold her?” asked my eldest child. I squinted at the creature. “Let’s look it up.”
“She looks intimidating,” chimed in my middle child.
“Don’t worry, she’s friendly,” I said, half-convincing myself.
To my surprise, our youngest approached the tank, opened the door, and gently put her small hands inside. “Come here, dragon lizard,” she sang. “I love you.”
Our first daughter, Lily, left this world in a tragic way. I don’t mean to imply that she was anything less than beautiful—she had soft cheeks, cascading dark hair, and ruby lips that looked as if she were lost in thought when she passed. She was everything to us—my husband, her brother, and me.
The circumstances surrounding her death were grim, marked by the physical reality of her loss and the silence of the hospital room that offered no answers. We searched the walls for some explanation, but they remained indifferent and beige. What could be uglier than stillbirth? The way life can unravel without warning, leaving you grappling with questions that have no answers? As I looked down at her, I felt a mix of horror and disbelief at what I had endured.
Seven years have passed since then, and I can finally articulate my feelings. I was filled with shame and embarrassment. I had done everything right—taken vitamins, read the necessary books, and followed all the guidelines. Yet on one bright afternoon, she was gone, and it was my body that let her down.
People around me offered reassurances, saying that such tragedies were rare, but those words only deepened my feelings of inadequacy. What happened was not an anomaly; it was my reality.
For a long time, I tried to mask my grief with smiles and laughter, assuring friends that we were moving forward. When a worried acquaintance asked what signs to look for during pregnancy, I echoed the same reassurances I had heard—“Don’t worry. It’s rare.” But the truth lurked beneath, waiting to surface.
Months passed before I could openly say, “Our daughter was stillborn.” Each time I spoke those words, it felt like releasing something from within, heavy and real. The reaction was always the same—people would look down or change the subject. But that moment was liberating; it was the truth.
The reality is that babies sometimes die unexpectedly. You can plan meticulously, but control is an illusion. This truth can be terrifying for those who know me because it forces them to confront their own vulnerability.
The discomfort doesn’t come from the tangible reminders of loss; it isn’t the moments of grief or the memories that haunt us. It exists in the silence, in our collective unwillingness to confront what is difficult. The true ugliness lies in avoidance and denial.
Now, we embrace the things that frighten us. We allow ourselves to hold onto the uncomfortable truths, letting them twist and turn in our hands. We learn to speak about our fears and losses until they transform into something beautiful, something that deserves love and celebration.
This journey has taught me that grief, while painful, can also lead to strength and connection. We carry the weight of our past until it becomes familiar and, ultimately, something we can cherish.
For more engaging discussions on similar topics, check out this thought-provoking post on inclusive narratives. Additionally, if you’re considering home insemination, Make a Mom offers excellent resources for that journey. For further insights into the process, Healthline provides valuable information on intrauterine insemination.
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Summary:
In her reflective piece, Clara Johnson shares her journey of acquiring a bearded dragon after experiencing the heartbreaking stillbirth of her first daughter, Lily. The encounter with the lizard becomes a metaphor for grappling with grief and the complexities of loss. Through candid storytelling, she highlights the importance of acknowledging painful truths and embracing the discomfort of grief, ultimately finding beauty and strength in the process of healing.
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