The holidays are coming.
It almost sounds ominous. Like “look out, the boogey man’s coming!” I’m trying not to think about it too much. I’m trying not to dwell on it. I’m trying not to sit around and count the months, and stare at the date on the calendar. I’m trying not to tell myself that this would have been his first Thanksgiving, old enough to eat mashed potatoes and yams or other smashed up Thanksgiving fare. I’m trying not to think about how hard these holidays would be with an insane 22 month old and a 6 month old. How traveling back home would have been chaotic and stressful. I’m trying not to look at all of the First Thanksgiving and First Christmas bibs, stockings and outfits. I’m trying not to think about what I would have bought him for Christmas. I’m trying not to think about what happened to us, what we lost, what we miss. I’m trying. For the most part I’m winning. Or at least I think I’m winning. I continue to stuff my face with anything that brings me a little pleasure. I continue to try not to think about it, instead of just not thinking about it…naturally. It seems like the worst is over though. Like the first 9 months were intolerable and now I’m sort of just coasting through. So sore, so numb, so devoid…but at least not feeling like I’m burning alive, gasping for breath. Now I’m limping along. Trying to get to that one year mark and just get it over with. Rushing along my life, my daughter’s life, my son’s very short existence. I can’t believe I’m knocking on the door of a year. Seems like yesterday, seems like a hazy dream, seems like someone else’s nightmare…seems like a lifetime ago. So many weird things that swirl around the whole dead baby thing. So many things I’ve yet to be able to comprehend, and now have lost all interest in trying to comprehend. Just go away. Leave me alone. I’m tired.
Yesterday I went back to the uber-OB. Turns out the nurse I saw last time while the doc was in surgery doesn’t know what she’s talking about. Gotta love that. Turns out I DO have PCOS and am Insulin Resistant. Yay. But, I did get to stop taking the pill, and am now taking an anti-diabetic that will help with the PCOS and even weight loss. But, now I have to really buckle down and eat healthy, organic, unprocessed food and exercise. I did that about half of the time anyway, but I couldn’t loose or was still gaining. She says it will also help with some of the exhaustion and depression. Not all, but some. Nature will still need to run its course. I should be sad. It was traumatic. No depression meds. You need to feel it, deal with it, and cope with your loss. We can’t put off the inevitable... Ok. Sigh.
So that’s where I am these days. Trying not to think about it. Trying to move on. Accepting that it happened, it’s over, I can’t change it. Trying to accept it anyhow. Trying not to be hateful or resentful. Trying not to blame. Trying to enjoy what I have, find the happiness in my daughter’s life, the happiness in the holidays, the happiness in a good marriage with a guy that even God himself couldn’t replace. Trying to be content. Trying to be happy, really and truly. Trying not to fall of the deep end, run away, scream, give up, curl up and die, shut out, or… You name it. Because it always feels like its right there. Like any minute its all going to come crushing down on me. Like any minute I really am going to flip out, and my mind will wander away and I’ll never be right in the head again. Although, honestly, I feel like I won’t ever be right in the head again anyhow. I feel like I’ve been messed up. Seen too much. Know too much. Must be like post traumatic stress or something. But I keep trying right? I keep breathing. That’s gotta count for something…right?