4:00 a.m. ramblings

September 17, 2008

We made it through the first month.

I’m afraid to sleep because I can’t dream about Teddy, and I keep dreaming about being without Teddy. If my dreams can’t offer me anything better than my reality, I’ll privilege the reality for tonight, thank you.

We’re going to a picnic today. N’s colleagues from work and their families will be there. It’s my first get-together since Teddy died and I don’t know if I can do it, but I’m going to try, damn it, and I’m praying that I don’t have to run into the bushes and sob because someone is pregnant or some little boy plays catch with his dad or because people are nice to me. Silly how I can break down simply because someone shows me kindness.

My mom keeps telling me that she wishes she could “fix it” for me. I hate that. It makes me very angry and I haven’t fully sorted out why, but it seems to have something to do with how none of what I’ve been through or am going through is hers to fix. It’s mine, all mine, the sorrow and excitement and fear, the tortured months of waiting and hoping and wondering and the crushing sad climax where hopes fell around my head like a rain of dead birds, like shards of glass, like poisonous jellyfish, like dark and fetid waters. It isn’t all mine, of course. I share this grief, and I’ve shared this journey. I couldn’t have made it this far if I didn’t, but none of it is hers to fix.

My skin is dry, dry, dry.  My lips are chapped, my nose is chapped, and the skin around my eyes is dry and itchy.  My cheeks are becoming chapped, too.  A lot of this is from crying, but Is dry skin yet another post-partum thing that the books would tell me is “worth it because you now have a beautiful little baby”?  I can’t read them now.  I wonder if there’s a post-partum information source for baby-less new moms.

I left N sleeping restlessly, crept out of the bedroom like a fugitive. We sleep better together and it was hard for us to be apart for even the distance of a room, those nights in the hospital when I was being induced, when I was recovering from the c-section.  I should be curled up against the comfort of his warmth, his heartbeat, but I am now, I realize, typing too fast so that I don’t have to think about what a month without our little guy means.

Too much moonlight, tonight. I used to love moonlight.

I still want him back.


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