Thursday, October 30, 2014

if i did one thing differently, then maybe everything would also be different

i always get quiet online when "real" life is happening.

tonight i plopped myself down on a therapists chair and i thought to myself, "this is it.  you are going to talk about this with a stranger and you are going to begin the very hard task of accepting this has happened and healing."  it wasn't without its share of sweaty palms,"this is stupid" murmurings, and a racing heart.  but to do it, to face it, has taken me nearly four whole months.

there are stages.

for a good while i was swept up in the whirlwind of moving. or correctly phrased, it kept me distracted. 

but then October came and punched me in the gut.  in the way that knocks the wind right out of you and you are left staring reality in the face and thinking to yourself, "it's here.  we were so safe in those months before, but now it's here."

'it' being the month they told us to expect them.  every day that has passed i've wondered to myself, "would today be their birthday?".  i read my book before bed and i think to myself, "you might not have been doing this tonight."

the hardest part about loss is that life goes on.

people stop asking you if you're ok, and it can feel like people just expect you to be ok.  the truth is that there are still so many moments of complete and utter sadness that you don't expect - and that you can't prepare yourself for.  i was walking through the grocery store and unexpectedly happened to be in front of the protein drinks.  "remember when you drank two of those chalky shakes per day because one dr. told you that it might help."  the feeling of desperation sweeps over you.  how badly you wanted them and how willing you were to try anything to save them.  "i wish i still had to buy them because i wish they were still here."  the bottom line is that it just hurts; it hurts in such a raw way.  and who is going to remove all protein drinks from your future?

you find your 1 billion ultrasound pictures and what is there to do?  you sit there and pour over the process and your heart completely shatters all over again.  those pictures will always be there…grenades, just waiting.  but happy grenades, which epitomizes the paradox of experiencing this calamity.  you miss those babies like you miss real people, and you want to see them again.

there is no blame.  no anger.  no "why us?!".
there is just sadness.

this is hard.

“you expected to be sad in the fall.  part of you died each year when the leaves fell from the trees and their branches were bare against the wind and the cold, wintery light.  but you knew there would always be the spring, as you knew the river would flow again after it was frozen."
-ernest hemingway

No comments:

Post a Comment