I’ve been struggling lately. While I can go about my day just as I did a few months ago and I can feel joy and hope again (which seemed impossible in April and May, just after my loss), it seems my moments of sadness are progressively becoming more frequent and more prolonged. Shouldn’t it be the other way around? Isn’t distance from my loss supposed to bring me healing? That’s what they say.
But today I think I solved the mystery, or at least a small part of it. Two years ago, on this very day of 7/7, I learned I was expecting a girl. My daughter. My Cupcake. Up until that point, I was certain it was a boy. I mean, I was doubtless. I knew I was having a boy. And when I learned that I was wrong, and would get to have the little girl I always dreamed of, I asked “Are you sure?” and made the ultrasound tech laugh. She assured me of her sureness and my heart melted. A girl! It was a wonderful surprise and the most beautiful and perfect day.
Of course, that is not what makes me sad. Sentimental, yes. Melancholy because that baby girl is no longer a baby, yes. But it doesn’t make me sad.
What does make me sad is that, in just one short week (give or take a few days), I would have been going back to the same radiology lab with Teddy Graham kicking in my belly and learning if he was the precious boy I (once again) believed he was, or another sweet girl.
Some days, like today, my loss still hurts as much as it did two and half months ago. I feel it so raw and deep, as though my heart has been pulverized. And there’s no fixing a mushy mess of a heart. There just aren’t any pieces to put back together.
I know I’m starting to sound like a broken record. Boo-hoo. Poor me. I miss my baby. I’ll never be happy again. My life is horrible. Please feel sorry for me. I’m sure those of you who read this regularly are tired of my whining. To be frank, I’m kind of tired of it myself. But the grief-thoughts persist in my head, playing over and over and I need to put them somewhere…hence, this blog.
So thank you to all those who choose to listen to me complain.
And I’m sorry if it sometimes makes you want to barf as much as it does me. I will try to do better.
Okay, that was a lie. I cannot promise I will do better because I can only write what I know and what I know right now is that I’m still mourning, and maybe I always will be, and there are days when it’s going to hurt like hell and I have nothing good to say. I also know that, even with one living child asleep in her bedroom, infertility still sucks if you don’t feel like your family is yet complete. It’s just as hard this second go-around, and I will moan about that too, but with as much sensitivity to those who are still TTC #1.
What I can and will promise you is that I’m also going to try to be more open…to let you into the good parts of my life…to let you know the “me” that isn’t all about infertility and loss and TTC. I’m not good at opening up, even on an anonymous blog to my virtual friends, but I will try.
Yes, I will try.