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Tuesday afternoon confessions

October 7, 2008

I lock my door and cry in my office at least once a day since returning to work. I can get quite a lot of work done while crying, but it plays merry hell with my contact lenses. Someone should invent special contact lenses for people who cry a lot.

Work seems trivial, and it is difficult to enter into projects that more than held my interest months ago. I feel guilty about this, and then I don’t. I should be completing a project right now, but here I am, typing this.

Today I hate God. I do. Mom said to me, a few weeks ago, “It’s okay to be angry at God. He can take it.” Let me just say that this is a terrible thing to say to someone who truly is grieving and angry – I don’t want God to be okay. I want God to be hurt and wracked with pain, unhappy and pathetic, crying like a human woman who has lost her baby and who is getting salty mineral deposits on her contact lenses. If God really was a “Him” I would want to kick Him in His balls. And reminding myself that others really do have it worse does nothing to reconcile me with God.

Yet I can’t seem to stop talking to God, either, which is annoying. What’s the point?

I should sign up for yoga again. It’s good for me and it makes me feel good. It used to be a reliable bright spot in my week. This is what would happen on my first day back, though – How’s the baby? When did you deliver? Do you have a boy or a girl? I’m not brave enough to handle that yet.

I am having trouble fully accepting the fact that I don’t get Teddy back. Logically I know he is gone, gone forever, but my dumb heart and mind aren’t buying into it all of the time. Some desperate part of my mind keeps thinking I’ll turn around and he’ll be there, that I’ll wake up and he’ll be there, that somehow this can be fixed and made right. Many days it feels as though, if I could just figure out the riddle of what this mysterious thing is that I need to do, I could do it and the universe would give him back to me. What is that? Where does that come from?

My body doesn’t fully get it either. I don’t know if it’s just muscle memory, or sheer force of habit, but I still (still!) find myself putting my hand to my belly to feel him, only to remember he’s no longer there. Multiple tiny heartbreaks every day as I re-realize, again and again, he’s not here.

There, now even I am tired of hearing myself whine. I would say, surely tomorrow has to be better, but you and I both know that isn’t how it works.

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One comment

  1. I need a special postpartum yoga class for moms who have lost their babies, or who had really traumatic birth experiences. A class that is not a “mommy-baby” class. I haven’t found one yet…

    I imagine Tikva here with me a lot, what it would be like, if only… My hand ends up on my belly a lot when I think of her.



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