All last week I walked around in a numb fog. I felt eager, angry and antsy. And my tears, they just kept coming and coming. And I could not identify why. The monster was on my back. #2 and I often refer to her issues as a monster on her back. It gives her the verbal ability to communicate a hardship with me when she can’t find the right words for . And my monster, he was heavy. I tried telling my guy early in the week and again on Friday I tried to talk it out a bit with Mommy Jargon but I could not place my finger on it. Whatever it was.
It was a hole in my heart and I was sad. But I didn’t know why. Honestly, life is probably the best it has ever been. I have nothing in the world to be sad about. But I was/am. It wasn’t OCD related because I didn’t fall into that old pattern. More than anything it was a heavy heart and tears that I couldn’t give place.
By Friday night I was irritated and agitated. I struggled through the day Saturday and closed everyone out. I knew where ever my mind was that it wasn’t good and I decided to text my close friends and told my guy I needed to work through whatever this was and disconnected.
Then I read it Saturday. Heather lost her baby. I was so devastated for her because that is entirely too much loss for one family and I became angry at the unfairness of it all. Then I remembered. I was due with a baby May 15th. Adrian, a name we rarely utter. A baby I lost August 22nd.
And then I went there and I knew I shouldn’t. But if I am honest you and with myself, I was already there. In that dark place. The one where the ground shifts from under you. The one where someone tells you your baby is dead. The days, weeks, months, and years of people saying how you should/shouldn’t feel. It fell on me like a basket full of apples and I didn’t want to get up.
I have passed this day every year for the last 8 and commemorated it someway somehow. Maybe a flower, maybe a balloon or a small prayer said in the quiet of my bed holding my guy’s hand. But this year, it came and passed and I forgot, we forgot. For the first May 15th I didn’t wake up in dread and sorrow. But the days that followed fell so heavy on my heart. That monster it climbed on my back and I didn’t know why. Then I remembered.
The feelings I had not all that different than how I felt back then. Angry that no one dared to utter those words, or acknowledge that life. And here how was I any different? I woke May 15th and I went to bed on the 15th all without a 2nd thought. Instead I let myself be plagued with anger, doubt and sadness and wondered why.
And I am angry because nine years later it can sweep me off my feet and run ruckus in my heart. My # 2 is so in tune with me. She hoovers over checking on me, “Momma, are you okay?” I look at her, “I am just tired baby.” She knows better and I know better. We are kindred spirits that way. Feeling what others do not have to even say. Out of one of the darkest moments came life and truly where my faith was born. So it is no shock to me that she is there in that moment for me. That is why she is my Abigail Faith.
Obviously, her story goes much deeper than that but, it is another post for another day. The funny thing about grief for me is giving myself permission to feel it. For some reason I have always struggled with my believed right to this grief for a child I never met. Sometimes I believed it was societies restrictions on it, and sometimes I believed it was a punishment for my lack of faith. More than anything I believed it was a sadness I took on myself. I never let my guy carry its burden or even dared to share it with those I loved and care about.
If you have been a long time reader of my blog you know. You being the anonymous someone out there in the Internets that reads my words even when I forget I am writing to others. This loss will forever be one that plagues me. Try as I might, I will never forget and it isn’t that I even want to. But the gut punches get me every time.
So I gave myself the day yesterday to do what I needed to do. I turned off the computer, the phone and life and I just was. I woke up this morning I went to church and I made peace with myself for another year. I sat in the pew next to a very rambunctious # 3 and I watched as # 2 scurried away to Sunday school. My guy put his arm around me and I was grateful for what I have and how far we have come. Trying to remember that just because we have lived doesn’t mean I forgot, or that I even will.
This song brought me so much comfort back then for reasons I have yet to utter aloud. And while the religious overtones to it mean something I always heard it a bit differently in relation to my loss.