Blah

Today really sucked. It started almost immediately when I woke up. The familiar knot in my stomach. The dreadful lump in my throat. The heaviness in my chest. I looked at the clock as my brain started running through the possible scenarios and excuses that could buy me a day in bed. I rolled over and hugged my pillow tightly. As if to protest life and the coming day. I made myself get up eventually. But it didn't get better. I simply pushed through each task mindlessly. Up. Coffee.  Cereal. Makeup. Clothes. Lunch. Keys. Bye. 

It followed me to work. I cried on the way. The facade of happy, streaming down my face. Fresh with mascara and salt. Physical proof of my pain. Kind of nice actually, to see something tangible in my tears. 

I walked into work with a deep breath. Grateful to have an office where I could sit in silence. With my light off and my lamp on, the only sound was coffee brewing and music playing softly. Thank god for those mornings. I surely needed it today. But I felt no better. I was just glad to have a peaceful place in which to feel like shit. Between the emails and the meetings, the lump returned. Through everything, the knot remained. I thought of her with every passing moment. Finally the clock shed some mercy on me and the day ended. 

I cried again. I like to cry in my car. Not the wailing, hyperventilating, ugly cry. Those are best suited for the bed or shower or pretty much anywhere other than behind the wheel. But the calm, effortless cry. Where tears fall freely and with solid conviction. I stopped at the cemetery on my way home. I sat by her grave. And then I went home, where my two lives collide. The life that is and the one that should be. I cook dinner. One less plate. I hug my son. One less child. We watch his show. No sibling argues. He goes to bed. A lone goodnight kiss. 

Now I'm in bed. This day is done. It was awful. But I did it. And I survived it. And that makes this awful day, also kind of amazing. 

Come on tomorrow, please be gentle. 

The Should Haves

This is the week that Jocelyn should have been born last year. My due date was never really agreed upon, but I would have had a c-section which means it would have been somewhere around this week.
It should have been.
I should be getting ready to celebrate a first birthday. Instead her first birthday happened four months ago and was celebrated only by a pink balloon in a lonely cemetery and lots of tears.
I think the should haves are one of the worst parts of child loss.
A friend once told me that it's so complex because it's not only the loss of a baby. But it's the loss of potential. The loss of what that child would have been. This loss of what our family would have been.

It's the should haves. And they are evil.

The should haves waste no time getting started. I should be blank weeks pregnant. I should be finishing the nursery. I should be preparing for maternity leave. I should be, should be should be.
I thought (or perhaps hoped) naively, that the should haves would slack off once I passed my due date. Once I should no longer be pregnant, surely the should haves would get better.
Oh, sweets. Wishful thinking.
It quickly became she should be this old. She should be doing that. She should blank. I should blank. We should blank.
Then I thought (or perhaps hoped) naively, that the should haves would slack off once I passed all of the "firsts". Once we made it through all of her should have been first holidays. Once we survived her first should have been birthday. Surely, then the should haves would get better.

But alas, I was wrong. Again. Damn. It is now my belief that should haves are here to stay.
They may change and they may shift. But they are a permanent part of my world. There will always be something that she or we or I should have had or done or experienced.
And my mind will always go there. It will always go to that place.  I will always wonder and wish and hope. I will always think of her in every piece of my life. In every possible capacity.
No matter how much time passes, or how many times I buy a pink balloon or hang an empty stocking.

I will never stop knowing that she should have been.

And that, I guess, is simply how it should be.

Ninja Feelings : Anger

A while back I shared my opinion on feelings that just sneak up on you, seemingly out of nowhere. I call them Ninja Feelings and I generally think they are evil.
Anger is one of them. I've found that it is quite crafty. See, it doesn't only present in it's original and most common form. You know, the normal angry. Oh, no. Nothing, is normal anymore. Feelings included.
Ninja Anger comes in many different shapes and sizes. So many varieties.
For me, the most intrusive version of anger is resentment.
Resentment that quietly creeps into the corners of my relationships. And whispers lies to me about what his intentions were. Or what she really thinks. Or what they really meant.
Another common version is bitterness.
Bitterness is a tricky one. Because a part of me, and sometimes a big part, feels entitled to that bitterness. It's justified. My baby is dead. And I get to be bitter about that if I want or need to.
But, no matter how valid that bitterness may be, at the end of the day, it only hurts me.
Bitterness rusts the edges of my soul. And that is not okay.
I could keep going on about the many facets of the Ninja Anger.
Fear, anxiety, isolation, etc.

But I will leave it at this: Be on the look out for this particular Ninja Feeling. It's a sneaky, manipulative little bastard. And it will eat you alive.

It hurts.

My heart hurts. It really fucking hurts. 

There are moments that still take my breath away. Moments where I still can't believe this is all real. Moments that send me spinning back into darkness. 

I want my baby. 

Absent

It's been so long since I've written. Partially because of totally benign reasons. Work, 3 year old, life. 

Partially because I've been tired. In so many ways. I'm going to try to write more. We shall see. 

Seasons

The cemetery keeps me acutely aware of the days that pass. 

There is no room for denial. The changing seasons are the ultimate clock. Tic Toc with change so visible, so tangible, that I feel it in my bones as I drive toward the cemetery.

Summer is burial. So hot. The air is thick and I sweat. We buried her in June. And the heat accompanies my first memories as the mom of a dead baby. 

Then the leaves begin to change color. And I grow uncomfortable. Fall is my favorite season but it's changing her place. It brings cooling winds and shorter days. Darkness falls early and I have less time. As if there has ever been enough. 

Winter falls. Christmas comes. Trees are bare. Just like her stocking. Suddenly the cemetery is a different place. It's cold and it's quiet. Somber. My memories reflect a backdrop that is almost unrecognizable. And I'm reminded that time is passing. And passing quickly.

Rain falls as Spring begins. The birds begin to stir. The sun warms my tearstained cheek and things begin to feel familiar. Shit. A year has nearly passed. I don't want to believe it. It feels impossible. But the seasons make it real. 

The heat returns. With thick air and sweat. Her birthday approaches and the cemetery now matches the memories.

A year has passed. 

The first of many. 

And the seasons continue to keep count. 

Mother's Day

Happy Mother's Day.
I want to stay in bed. Under my covers. Where it's safe and warm. Something about being in bed seems so protective. Like my heart can't ache quite as much as long as I'm snuggled in my bed.
I know my precious Jude is here. And I'm so grateful for him. But I can't NOT notice her absence. The void in my life. In our family. It's always there. Even in times of (almost) joy, in times of happiness - it's there. And she's not. And it fucking hurts.
So tomorrow, like so many of you, I will celebrate my mom and I will be celebrated. I will smile. And maybe laugh. But she will be missing. And my heart will hurt and my chest will ache. And my mind will consistently wander to our precious daughter, our missing piece.