I decorated for fall. The holidays are coming (I say that with a
grimace in my heart and a slight frown.)
I preferred being stuck in the spring.
At least then there were no holidays coming to notice. But a year is
passing with or without me, and the holidays are on the way. I know I have to
make them pleasant and fun for the girls.
It feels like work this year. I
put up some fall garland, lights and candles.
I put pumpkins in the girls’ bathroom: three jack-o-lantern votive
candle holders. According the girls, they
are the two of them, and Gabbie. They
know that she is here. She is a part of
everything they do. Today, D went to
lunch with Gracie. When they heard a
baby cry, she asked if it was Gabbie.
Gabbie never cried. We, however
do for her, almost daily. The comment
made D notice her absence. It’s hard for
both of us. He doesn’t comment often,
but I know it’s true.
I think I’ll buy a special candle,
and light it just for her. I won’t make
a big deal about, but when the thought of her is really with me, I’ll light it
just for her. As for the Christmas tree
(I’d like to scrap it altogether, but the not-so-jolly fat man needs to put the
Christmas presents for two girlies who had a rough year somewhere), I think I’ll
buy an ornament for Gabbie. Something so
she is with us. I don’t know. How does a mother honor her dead baby for
that baby’s living sisters and daddy when Christmas should be a joyous time? Christmas: a day to celebrate the birth of a
quite notorious baby. My baby might not be notorious but she deserves to be
with us during the holidays as much as He does.
I’m sorry if I’m not very faith driven tonight.
I know what I do feel like though;
I feel like a blubbery blimp. The worst
part about the weight is I KNOW it wouldn’t be there if I hadn’t had
Gabbie. And though I don’t HAVE Gabbie, I
do have fat. Fatty fat fat. I’m self-depreciating right now and I don’t
care what you think. Every time I
exercise a little sneaky nagging voice reminds me why I’m working so hard. “Gotta work off the baby fat.” “Gotta feel good about yourself again.” “The fat isn’t going to go away on its own.” “You
don’t want people to ask you if you’re pregnant do you?” That stupid voice is pretty harsh inside my
head. But the sad part of me just wants
to sleep. Sleeping doesn’t promote
skinniness and I feel huge and fat and sorry for myself. Whatever even Superman had Kryptonite and I am not a superhero.
It’s Friday after an incredibly long week, and the day after the six month
angel-versary of losing my baby and I feel fat and hideous and *sigh… I need
sleep. Maybe that will make life seem
less haggard, and me less jaded at myself.
It doesn’t help that I’ve been sick the last few days. I’ve been so exhausted I even needed to nap
on my lunch today and then again when I got home. Maybe it’s the medicine, the vertigo virus or
maybe I’m just tired of… of living sad… forever sad and missing her and, like I
said grief takes stamina that I currently lack today. It’s hard to imagine that for the rest of my
life a piece of the pie of my life will be missing. Even if I added a new baby and that baby
lived, my pie would get bigger but a “Gabbie” piece will forever be missing. I will always have a broken heart. No matter how many children I have or how
much mending, gluing, and taping that could be done to my heart, it will always
be broken.
Now
that I’m even sick of my pathetic nature…. I have to find a dress that I can
squeeze my fat self into for a wedding tomorrow. Maybe tomorrow I’ll have a skinny day. There’s always tomorrow. For most people,
except for stillborn babies. (And for once I typed a blog without a
tear. Maybe I’m even too tired to cry. But I did cry earlier... just because.)
No comments:
Post a Comment