Thursday, March 25, 2010
I should be 32 weeks pregnant.
I should be setting up the nursery.
I should be annoyed that he is always kicking and never still.
I should be annoying Ken with going to the bathroom every five minutes.
I should be taking my birthing classes.
I should be shopping like a mad woman for baby stuff.
the list could truly go on forever!
Ken and I both started grief therapy a few weeks back. We go alone to two different therapists. I thought that was best since mommies and daddies grieve differently. I also thought it was best so that one of us (me) didn't hog the whole hour every week while the other one didn't get to talk. I think the therapy is good. It has brought up some other issues but, that is for another time or maybe another blog all together ;).
My last therapy session was on Tuesday. Tuesday being my least favorite day of the week. Why? Well, that was the day he was born. That was the day he died. I know I know I have to move past that day being a burden...but, I can't yet. So, this past Tuesday was 11 weeks. 11 whole weeks. It doesn't seem right. But, here we are. I woke up on Tuesday morning with a heavy heart like always. I got up, had my coffee, walked the dogs, and checked the mail. The mail box had one of those little keys in it meaning I had a package. I could not remember ordering anything... The mailbox had something so powerful, so meaningful, so heartfelt...it had Trent's first baby blanket. Well, a piece of a blanket...made by an amazing woman who has also walked this road. She lost her baby girl too. She made me a blanket and embroidered his name and birth date on it. Such a normal thing for a living child...not so much for my child. I don't need a blanket for him, I can't cover him up anymore...which is why it was framed. But, the fact that someone else took the time to remember him. Someone else took the time to write his name. Someone I have never met. Someone whose heart knows my pain. Someone who gave my child weight in this world. I cried... alot. But, not exactly tears of sadness...the sadness was mixed in there. But, it was so much more about the fact that she cared. She knew his name. She cared. I have seen this so so so much since my baby died. Let's just say I have always been a bit skeptical about people. I have been hurt many many times in the past. (remember those other issues coming up in therapy) I just never really think people care or that people care about me. But, in the hospital the emails and phone calls and prayers flooded our lives. In the days after he died they continued to come. In the eleven weeks since I have gotten hundreds of cards...like real cards...in the mail kind of cards...with stamps and real hand-writing!! (I thought we all only emailed anymore.) I have gotten many many many emails...which mean just as much as the cards. I have gotten flowers, meals, gifts, money. I have shared tears with strangers, people from my past, people from my present. People took time out of their lives for us!
Seriously none of that was my point about the therapy...but, there you have it.
Okay, so back to therapy. I went in a little shaken up because of the whole blanket, it being Tuesday, I am an emotional mess right now anyway, thing. I cry more at therapy than I think should be allowed...if they charged by the tears my insurance company would cancel me. Anywho, I was telling her what I was feeling...which was basically the list above (should, should, should) She stopped me and said that she should have been counting the times I said should. She said I should stop saying it because it is not my life anymore.
Ouch... what a punch in the gut! I have thought about it over and over since then. It is not my life anymore. I am not on that road anymore. I was...but, not anymore. That road was happy, it was filled with joy and hope. That road was taking me to a place I thought I always wanted...a place I thought I would be complete. It was a road to the life I had always dreamed of. I was walking along, Ken at my side, my son in my womb...and life was good. It was a road with signs pointing the way, a GPS in our hand, rest areas along the way that were clean and well stocked. A road that was well maintained. A road that everyone understood. A road with stop lights that told us when to go, when to slow, and when to stop. A road we enjoyed. A road that was taking us to a place we could see. A road that seemed normal. NOW, I am on the back road. I am on the road filled with pot-holes. I am on the road with no rest areas, no lights, no lines marking the lanes. I am on a road that few travel and even less of us understand. I am on a road that is not on the maps. I am on a road that doesn't seem to be leading anywhere. I don't like this new road.
The thing is I can still see that other road. I can see it from here. In fact, I can even see me standing on that road...waiting on this new me to find her way back over. I see her waiting and wanting me to come back over there. I feel like there is a way to get back to it. But, I can't find it...yet.
I am jealous of that other road. I am jealous of her. She has it all together. She knows the way.
My life is not where it was. My life is not where I want it to be. But, it is still my life. I have to figure this out. I have to walk from here...no map, no GPS, no road signs.