So many of you have said, "Well, you seem to be taking it well!" to the fact that I'm not quite sure how I'm supposed to be acting now... Do I wear a scarlet letter on my clothing? Am I supposed to wear my grief like a black veil for all to see? Am I supposed to the bearer of bad news to every event and "that girl" you told your friends about? The girl who vents her hurts on a blog because after years of trying, she finally got pregnant, only to loose the child due to her own faulty, broken body?!
I understand that I may have been 'taking it well' when I am with you- but mainly when I'm taking it not so well, I hide. I hide from everything possible. I can't bear to see women, or hear women talking about babies or pregnancies or happiness or their future and their hopes and dreams of being called, "Mommy". To sum it up- on a bad day, I can't bear to even sit in my own skin.
I thought this is the beast I've been hiding, and it's time to at least blog it out.
On good days, a girlfriend and I can meet for lunch, and she can ask me questions about the surgery and the child we lost. We can laugh and I can explain with patience and we can look at baby clothes as we pass and ooo and ahhh.
On a 'bad day', such as today, I can't bear to see all the smiling faces on facebook- yet I torture myself anyways because of a loss at what to do next. I feel like my skin is cracking and breaking from all the hurt and that my body just cannot keep it all inside. I feel like my guilt, bitterness, and anger is mimicking our little one... trying to stretch in a place that just cannot contain anymore growth. Some days I feel like I am on the verge of rupturing.
I'm trying to continue life. I am watching what I eat, and getting healthier to help our possible next pregnancy. I am staying away from cigarettes and alcohol; however there is nothing in the world that I want right more than a LARGE glass of wine and a smoke. Even though I just celebrated a year of being smoke-free, nothing has nudged at a relapse more than loosing the baby. I feel like I have made all these sacrifices to keep our little one healthy. I quit smoking, ate healthy, gave up caffeine... I did all the "recommended guidelines" for an expecting Momma! Yet, my uterus is empty and my heart is broken. And I am forced to watch Fertile Myrtle whoof down a double cheesy Big Mac and an extra large Coke and still have that beautiful pregnancy glow.
I am so bitter. So bitter I wouldn't be friends with myself- I am delighted that up until this moment many of even my closet friends realized how painful life is for me. I know with the things I think, and what I feel, I am afraid of myself. My own bitterness, anger, and guilt frustrate me and make me sick.
I'm sure my husband has had his fill of me as well. Today was the first day he just had to let it out and over the phone yell, "You are NOT the only person in the world who has lost a baby!" I know I am not- but sometimes I definitely fall into the trap of feeling that way. (Hence, I have decided to give up facebook for awhile.) Egotistical as it may sound, I loathe seeing everyone going on with their life and not stopping and mourning for our Grace. I know probably it sounds crazy! My life has been put on hold, and I feel like it forever will be.
(TMI WARNING) It makes me even more mad than I am SO outrageously late on my period again! It may not be possible- however it got me thinking that I may be pregnant... AGAIN! Logic didn't matter... however, another pregnancy test was wasted last week and the chip on my shoulder because a larger boulder. I'm not on day 44 of my "cycle" and I'm constantly having flash backs of the promises of the 'benefits' to having a previous pregnancy- even if it ended before I could hold her.
I know God gives us eternal grace and no one in the world knows that more than He does- and how bad I need that grace right now. I want to scream! I want to hate Him for His evil trick He did to us! Why?! Why?! WHY?! ... but deep down, although I have buried it very deep, I know He has better plans than I.
At this, I don't know how to end this blog. I'm still miserable, yet I'm trying to have hope. I'm angry at Him beyond belief, yet I can feel my faith trying to grow. I can't stand to sit alone in this home I thought would belong to the three of us, yet here I must stay. I don't want to remember or even think about it sometimes, yet I fear of forgetting any detail of her.
I can't help but think if she had Walter's eyes... or my stubbornness... or his need for assurance... or my giving heart...
There will never be an end...