Is it getting better? Is it getting better? Some days my answer is yes, other days my
answer is no. I want it to be better, it takes stamina to
grieve. It takes stamina to cry
forever. My husband wanted to watch a
show the other day that was about a full-size person and a little person going
in to have a sonogram in which they’d be able to tell if the baby would be
small. He asked me if it was okay I said
yes but I’m glad he changed the channel.
My best friend invited me her baby shower, not to be insensitive but
because I’m her best friend and she’d want me there if I could make it. I don’t know if I can make it. I mean, I might be able to make it through
the shower, but I don’t know about the rest of the day. She said she understands and I know she
does. I just wish it weren’t even an
issue. But it is. My good friend at work posted a picture of
her new baby nephew. I cried. I want a new baby too. All I could do was post "<3". I had no words. What words are there? I could congratulate. I could and I want to, but I can’t find the
words. It takes stamina to see
references to babies everywhere when they all remind me of a baby that I never
got to bring home. I still have all of
her things, in the closet and in storage.
I don’t know what to do with them, I can't throw them away or sell them, maybe someday we’ll try again, when
the world provides me the opportunity to, I guess. Maybe.
In 2 days Gabbie would have been 6
months. In 2 days I’ll be half way
through a year of grieving. In 2 days I
will have no more insight than I do now.
I will have found no less heartache.
It will always be there. I see it
in the posts online, I see it in the posts in the private group where strangers
and friends poor out their stories of heartache and sadness. I see it in every grief website and every
grief study. The heartache will always be
there; I will always think of her and miss her.
How does life balance those 38 weeks of knowing she was there, the 6
months of feeling her move within me, and the few hours I was given to hold her
with a lifetime of sadness and countless tears at the thought of her? The love
I had for her outweighs time. In that
love I have found a beauty so brilliant that it’s painful, and so sad that it’s
awe inspiring. If we each could love so
much in our lives we would know the meaning of heaven for just a moment, and hell
forever when it is stolen from us. Some
may know physical torture, some may know physical pain, but there is no pain
like the soulful torture of the mother that will never hold her child
again. And sometimes I wish I could un-know
because ignorance truly was bliss. But
to un-know would mean to never understand the capacity I have for love; to
un-know would mean I am not made the wiser for the capacity I have to be
hurt. I had once thought I could not hurt
more; parents divorced at 6 years old, taken advantage of at 17, divorced when I was
23. I was wrong. Those were minor scratches, flesh wounds if
you will, some slightly deeper than others; learning experiences each, but soul strengthening.
Those have only given me a scale to which I can measure the pain of
now. I have lived through those, I’ll
live through this, but this pain is like none I’ve experienced. It is marring, deep, life altering, personality and outlook
changing. It is a paradox of sorts: It
is like she is piercing light that flashed before my eyes and has produced a dark
orb with rings of light around it that floats about my vision; everywhere I focus
she is there, when I glance from the corner of my eye, she is quick to follow
and yet she is not really there at all. She is everywhere, the light that blinds me and the orb that follows my vision.
Happy 6 month angel-versary sweet
baby Gabbie. Thank you for showing me
the capacity I have to love.
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