I haven't written in a long time, mostly because we've had some other family emergencies and things that have been keeping me really busy. Which is probably a good thing because they've been keeping my mind off William.
But now that everything is under control again and I'm at liberty to grieve again, all my emotions are so close to the surface that any little ripple causes a tidal wave. August 8th is barreling closer and closer, and there's nothing I can do to stop it. And there's nothing I can do to stop the bellies of my 14 pregnant friends from growing.
It seems like every day I get another baby shower invitation. Last week I had 3 baby showers to attend. And each one of them just makes the hurt a little deeper.
I have one really really good friend that is not pregnant (and really, that's it), and she's been trying for a long time to have a second child. While I pray that this month will be the month for them, selfishly I rejoice that I have someone who is feeling that pain with me and who I can relate to. Which is the most terrible thing I can possibly think of to rejoice over a friend's pain.
I guess I just feel so alone and so terrible. Alone because no one understands and everyone is doing what I SHOULD be doing, and terrible because I unintentionally hate all my pregnant friends and am terrible about my non-pregnant friend. These are very confusing emotions I'm trying to sort out.
I think people must think I have to be over it by now too because the things that come out of people's mouths are....ugh. I was sitting at a shower with three of my very best pregnant friends last week, and one started going on and on about how EVERYONE is pregnant and how fun it is, etc. And every word was just torture. And I just wanted to jump up and down, waving my arms and saying, "Hello! Do you not see me sitting directly across from you? Do you not remember that my baby is dead and that I'm supposed to be exactly in your position? Do you not remember the tears you shed with me just three months ago?" How can you forget something like that?
I know I can't. It's getting harder again.
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I came across your blog from Butterfly Mommies. I sympathize with the world believing you've moved on, or should move on. And being surrounded by oblivious pregnant women whose worst fear is the nursery bedding they want being out of stock or not finding any cute tops for the summer is almost painful. Because you know what real fear is, what can go horribly wrong. It gives you all sorts of perspective. I'm so sorry for your loss. It is an incredibly long and difficult road.
ReplyDeleteKirs, I'm glad we talked this last week and that you are writing this blog. And I'm sorry I wasn't there for you in the beginning of this experience, but I hope you feel like you can call me if you need to or want to. I wish I could just give you a great big hug. I may be visiting my parents at the beginning of August, so if you're around, I'll give you one then.
ReplyDeletePS: You'll never forget your little William, even if your tulips die and you misplace your bracelet. You'll always remember him, and you'll know him. Perhaps he'll come to you in a different body--my mom used to tell me that her miscarriage was me not being ready. Or you may not meet him until after this life. Either way, you'll know him and recognize him: you are his mother.
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