I have a really beautiful post about all of the blessings and tender mercies given through this hell like trial that I have been wanting to post. But I just can't. That's not how I feel this week.
I was told many times that the grieving process isn't a straight line. It doesn't flow easily from one stage to the next. I was told that some days I would be okay and others I would want to die. I would want to curl up in a ball and cry. I kind of figured that but I have never had to deal with this kind of grief before. They were right.
At times I feel truly okay with what happened. I don't agree with it or like it and Heaven knows I never will but I feel like I can understand. I know he is in a better place.
And then there are weeks like this. I hate it. Who cares that he is "in a better place?" I don't. I want him here. NOW. I hate that everyone around me is pregnant or just had beautiful babies. I should be further along than most of my friends. It isn't fair. I know I sound like a toddler throwing a tantrum, I know. There are beautiful baby boys everywhere and I want them, I want Conor. There are babies everywhere but where they should be, in my arms.
Everywhere I turn there are glowing pregnant moms or smiling babies. I'm so jealous, so envious. I wish I could complain with you about your morning sickness or how tired you are. I was there. And now, I'm not.
The rug was pulled out from under us, fast.
You never think it will happen to you.
Until it does.
I don't want to sound horrible and depressed but I am. This is real. This pain and hurt of losing a infant is an unbearable and exhausting roller coaster. Some days are good. Some days I think we are adjusting. Some days I think we can make it. Some days I think. "It really is okay".
Some days are devastating. Some days I blame myself. Some days I wish I wouldn't have listened to that on call nurse who told me to stay home.
The day we got home, Chris and I went to Deseret Book and grabbed as many books on child loss as we could. I read them all within the next couple of days and they were helpful. In one of them it said "Pregnancy is not a disease, but an all consuming condition". I loved that. The author went on to say that losing a child is the hardest because from the very beginning we plan and prepare. While pregnant everything is about being pregnant. All the way from what we eat to how we dress, what we are doing for vacation and holidays to things we need for the baby. So to go from planning and preparing vigorously to nothing- a dead end, is impossible.
What are we doing for Christmas now? We don't know. We don't want to make plans. Our plans were to have a new baby at home. How do I answer when people ask how many children I have? I have two. I know that. How do we explain to Owen that he has a brother, just not here? I guess it's time to put the maternity clothes and baby onsies away, along with all of our dreams of a new future.
Thinking back to that night, I honestly thought he would be fine. He would be in the NICU for a while, maybe a few months, but ultimately he would be okay. If I look back, I see the ignorant and oblivious girl who didn't have any idea what was coming. She didn't know her world would come crashing down in a matter of minutes. She didn't know she was going to be hit by a train, then a bus, and a shovel. I want to cry for her. This story is awful and devastating and I remember it's mine.
I have to deal with this everyday. I wake up without a pregnant belly, without a due date.
I'm sure tomorrow will be different, but today it hurts. So bad. So so bad.