I’m not at all ready to talk about the details of what happened because I’ve relived it one too many times already so, I’m sorry to anyone that was interested.
I am feeling so many things right now. I think I’m done with the painful and constant crying bit of the devastating loss of a pregnancy but boy does it leave such an indescribable emptiness to you. It took me until just a day or two ago to acknowledge that my child was gone but I think we’re doing pretty good to be able to laugh with one another again at just two weeks past the event. We’ve learned so much about ourselves, love and marriage through this all.
Joshua, who is usually very strong and closed (“manly”) up with his feelings, has opened up so much. As a woman going through all of the physical pain, you would never imagine that you could recognized how much the guy actually hurts in this situation and this may sound brash but knowing that he was in as much pain as I was/am made this all so much easier. I knew that I wouldn’t have to find a way to heal alone. I wasn’t/am not in this alone. We experienced this together and we are getting one another through this.
Guilt is overwhelming. I felt so guilty for moving on with day to day life. How dare I be hungry? How could I be so worried about food? Clean the house? I should be ashamed of myself. I felt guilty for breathing. For getting a full nights sleep. You don’t fully understand guilt until you understand grief.
I find myself not having any room whatsoever for other people’s feelings. I’m usually very considerate but in this situation, no one else’s feelings trump mine and my husband’s. THAT, I don’t feel guilty about.
I can’t think about what our future will be like because this is still very much in the present but I’m hoping and as much as it make’s people uncomfortable, I am praying to God for clarity and peace.
My Lord, do I need peace.
I was sitting on the bench in my living room, looking at the fireflies through the window, trying to make the best of my Husband being so far away. I was trying to be hopeful– flipping through the pages of a mediterranean cookbook in candlelight, planning a welcome home meal to celebrate his return. Trying really hard to fight the urge to cry because I’m not with him creating these new memories and experiencing all of these new experiences by his side. I am battling ailments as well. Small little reminders that life will be a constant battle. I clinch my fist trying not to raise it and curse the heavens for turning this world, this life, this body against me.
But then I hear a crash behind me. It’s my bookshelf lightening its load from its over-filled shelves of collected stories that have our stories attached to them. My phone pings across the room and it displays messages that confirm a love so great. Our old bedroom door screeches at the hinges, echoing through the long halls as the cat nuzzles her way inside. This afternoon’s mail sits in the foyer with letters from far away friends. There’s a bowl on the dining room table filled with dirt covered tomatoes freshly picked this morning.
I gave into the pressure behind my eyes and let the tears fall. Why do I feel the constant need to compare myself to everyone else? If the life they have received, all of the vacations, possessions and good karma are the things that they deserve, are my gifts– no matter how “small” they are– any less precious than theirs?
The gift of life is precious. This life that I have been given was made especially for me. I wipe my tears, stuff the book back into a nonexistent slot and message Joshua that I love and miss him. He tells me the same and I know that I am alright.
I am alright.
When we pulled up to our new home in a small town in the pitch dark, I was overwhelmed by the size of the moon and the sky blanketed with bright and scary stars. I remember closing my eyes quickly and getting nauseous. My heart began to race and my mom became concerned about my breathing. I gripped my backpack as my sister led me inside this empty new house and sat me on the floor. When she asked what was wrong, I answered. She laughed. So did everyone else.