Tomorrow...

4.28.14

I have good days.  And I have bad days.  Some days, I feel like going on.  Other days, I don’t want to go anywhere at all. Some days, I feel like I need help coping.  Other days, I feel like, “I got this.”

It is hard.  I think people underestimate the grief felt when a woman loses her child.  They understand the grief when the child is born, lives, and then perishes, but they fail to understand the grief that is felt when a mother loses her child in utero, and has that child either ripped from her during a medical procedure, or has that child forcibly removed from her body, by her body.  Either way, it is a traumatic experience.

I would be lying to you if I said that a part of me has serious doubts.  There is a part of me that wonders…did I make a mistake?  What if, a miracle did occur, and after I left the doctor’s office on the 16^th, just a tiny bit of growth took place?

Yes, I know that is not logical, but when is grief ever logical?  I mean, if my body expelled on its own, then I feel I would not have these feelings, but to have to have surgery, I keep wondering on some small level, if my body was holding on for a reason, and I terminated too soon.

My mind knows this is not the case, but my heart keeps trying to poison my mind. I literally have a war raging inside of me right now: my heart against my mind. 

I still have yet to schedule my post op appointment, and it has been almost a week since the procedure was done.

 

I wish they would have scheduled it for me, and then just called me with a date and time.  It’s hard to think about going back right now. I don’t want to see them right now.  I don’t want to talk to them right now.  I don’t want to walk in to that building, get in to that elevator, walk in to that office. But…if they would have GIVEN me a date and time, I would be there.  It’s just, picking up the phone to make that call…is difficult. 

There’s a part of me that can pretend that we will get pregnant again soon…all is well, and I think a part of me is afraid that to go in to the doctor, she is going to drop that other proverbial shoe, right on my head.

I told you…I have my good days, when I’m flying high, and I have my bad days…and this, is a bad day.  

But if it helps someone to see that we all go through them while trying to heal, then I will continue to allow you in my head, in my world.

And I do know deep down, that things will get better when I am in my funk.  Tomorrow will be better, I know that.  However, I have to get through this storm right now, and make it to tomorrow. And that, family, can sometimes be the problem—making it through today.  

Where Do Broken Hearts Go? From 4.22.14

After lots of soul searching (that's where I have been these past couple of weeks), I am back.  The below post is from April 22nd.

4.22.2014

Today is my first day back to work.  I don’t want to be here.  I want to be home.  I want to be hidden.  I want to be invisible.

I wanted more than anything to stay home for this entire week…but what good would that do? It won’t undo what has happened.  It won’t make life stop, pause, or make the world stand still until I am ready to deal with it.

I didn’t think it would be this hard. I never understood women who miscarried and fell to pieces. I never understood that…until now.  People argue when does life begin…from conception, or when the heart begins to beat…I feel qualified to answer that question now…it begins from the moment you find out you are pregnant.

I feel like a ball of knots…tangled in every which way you can imagine.  I do not want to be here.  However, if not now, then when?  I have to press forward, I have to move on.  I cannot become mired down in grief.

I cried this morning…but it was in the pantry, away from my son…away from the world.  The other times I cry? In the shower, where the tears will wash away down the drain, and I can emerge and blame my red face, my red eyes, on the intense heat of the shower.

I am beginning to understand why people don’t tell they are pregnant until a certain point in time—it reduces the amount of explaining and sympathy you experience after the other shoe drops.  However, it never occurred to me to not tell the world. I mean, this was a miracle! I was told for YEARS…NO! And yet, here I was…or there I was…pregnant.  Why wouldn’t I want to testify of the goodness of the Lord?

So far, here at school, I am doing well.  Yes, I am getting the “I’m so sorry for you!” looks, but no one has SAID anything to me about it—thanks to my guidance counselor who sent out an email alerting the staff that I would like to grieve in private...and I am ok with that.  I have sent my heart in to “hiding” in order for me to be able to pick up and move forward.  My mind is in total control right now.  However, if I SPEAK about it…then my heart hears the words, and takes its cue to come out of “hiding,” and that…is when the dams are removed, and the river is allowed to overflow its banks…

Whitney Houston once asked, “where do broken hearts go?”  And I really wish I could answer that question.  If I could answer that, then maybe I would know where to send mine so it can heal completely.  

They say time heals all wounds…we will see.  However, for now, I am doing the best I can to move on.  The best I can to try to not be a burden.  The best I can to be an awesome parent to the child I have been blessed with…

But I am struggling here.  I will not lie to you about that.  And I will not stop blogging about my progress…or lack thereof, as if I can show one person…just one person out there, that they are NOT alone, then my suffering will be eased…because at times, I feel like I am…