I have decided that a blog is a
build-up of emotions. When it just gets
too much to keep in anymore and the dam breaks, out it pours. Every emotion, thought, perception, and
stress comes ripping out of me, streaks down my face, slowly gouging fine
creases, and pours itself in sunken draining woes through the sopping words and
intense grammar on the page. Damn, if I
dealt with heartache and stress through comedic relief I’d be a millionaire in
standup comedy by now. But instead, I
write down the complex stressors that have become my life in a finite script on
some mythical, technological web for the world to know the sorrows that consume
me.
On the surface, the stressors would
mirror anyone else’s. And they do mirror
everyone else’s. The weight, the daily
stress of life and work and family, these are the same as others’. But beneath
the surface lurks a deep, heavy sadness with infinite beauty. I may have high cholesterol now, as my doctor
apparently tells me. I may indeed have
high triglycerides because I have extra body fat that I didn’t have
before. But I have these ailments because
I made a beautiful baby, a baby that I carried within me for 9 months, and now,
through the rest of life I will carry still.
There in is the burden. It is not
the extra fat around my hips, or on my waist line. It is not the jeans that will not fit, nor
the fats inside me that are not healthy, although, yes these are obstacles. But no, these are not the burdens that weigh
on me. It is the weight of that child,
that sweet baby who has left her soul inside me. It is the weight of that soul that I must
carry forever. Her memory lives within
me, for I am all she had ever known. The
memory of her movements still resides within me, in the soft straining of the
muscles that are no longer taught. She
may have passed up to heaven, but the weight of the remnants of memories and
hopes and dreams are heavy; they are a weight that will be carried through time
only determinable by fate. As with all
weights, the more you carry it the more accustomed to it you become. It is not that the weight gets lighter; it
just becomes easier to bear out of practice.
Similar to a first-time mother becoming accustomed to carrying a baby
around on her hip while she goes about her daily routine of cleaning and chore,
the weight will become manageable for practice, but it is a weight that I
cannot put down and don’t know if I’d want to if I could.
The
beauty in the sadness stems from the amount of love I had for this tiny little
girl I never really got to meet, though I knew her to my core. If a sadness can be this deep, this intense,
it can only be born from a love equally intense. Each tear I cry is shed to lighten the load
of carrying such a heavily burdened sorrow born from love. It takes so many tears to equal the balance
of sorrow so heavy that millions of woefully laden tears, a lifetime of
them, will be shed like ballast. They need to be shed to make room for the weight of a burden as
heavy as love, hopes, and dreams unfulfilled by a stillborn baby.
It is only love so beautiful and infinite
that can cause this sadness that burdens a heart with the weight of another soul for a lifetime.
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