Over the past few weeks, I have found many resources and blogs that have helped me more than I can say (or write). Yesterday, I found one that had an assignment and I knew right away that I wanted to participate. Still Life With Circles is run by a woman named Angie and she set out to do the following: "...You talk about right where you are in your grief and what it is like now, so new people can get an idea of the experience of grief further down the road, and so people further down the road can reflect on how far they have come in their grief."
It seems most of the women are further along in the grief process than I am, but I still wanted to write.
7 weeks, 6 days ago, I felt less fetal movement than usual. By the time I realized that, my precious daughter was probably already gone.
In the beginning, I said each day was better than the last. I quickly learned that was a lie. There are good days and there are bad days and there is no way to tell which will be which. Some days I think, “I got this!” and others I want to crawl into a corner and cry till my eyes burn and the pain subsides.
I want to be getting better. I want to be on the road to recovery. Everyone around me seems to be healing and I feel like I am stuck. There are glimpses of hope like on days like Monday when we learned that we could try again. I was almost happy then. But then there are days like today. Today, I am agitated and distracted and angry and I have a headache and I just want the pain to stop. I want to be home with our little Allie, walking her in the stroller, maybe having a play date with one of her cousins. I want to read to her and sing to her and hold her in my arms and just look at her. I did not want to be sitting in a cubicle and thinking about what could have been.
My husband says, “Don’t borrow trouble” when I start to get upset or worked up. I think about the plans we had and I crumble. He wants to think about the new plans we will have and I get that, but often it hurts too damn much. I miss what I did not even have. All the weeks and months of planning and dreaming and then nothing. It hurts to dream of a family that we so desperately want but may never have. It hurts to think of our baby not being here with us. I am angry and sad and broken and mad.
“Will I lose my dignity, will someone care? Will I wake tomorrow from this nightmare?” Music has always played a big part in my life and for the past week or so, this lyric from RENT has been playing over and over in my head. I keep waking up and the nightmare continues.
Father’s Day is this weekend and I want to do something special for my husband. He needs to be celebrated and I fear that I will let him down as I just do not know what to do.
I do not think my misery is cause for alarm…yet. It ebbs and flows and it just so happens that this is where I am at this moment when I am writing.
I wake up each day and I go to work and I make plans and I try to think about the future. A future where I am exhausted from midnight feedings and my house is a mess because my baby needs me and I have not had time to clean. Not because I am depressed and do not want to clean.
So this is where I am – almost 8 weeks after our world came crashing down. In some ways, I am very proud of myself. And in some ways I am just so very sad.