Two steps back

November 9, 2008

Yesterday, on the homeward part of our weekly walk to the library, N let me know that my brother in law and his wife are expecting a baby boy. And since they’ve been “trying for a long time” (and I understand how over a year can feel like a long time, but I’m not certain they really know what a long time means or can mean) and since they’re doing very well for themselves, they’ve apparently gone all out with the decorating and shopping.

I was really, really, really hoping they’d have a girl. They’d invited us for Thanksgiving this year, and while we were fairly certain (okay, I was completely certain) we wouldn’t be going, we are definitely staying home now.

Because it would be really tacky to spray paint “It’s not fair!” all over their newly decorated nursery walls. Because it would be simply torturous for both of us right now. And because we really do wish them the best and neither of us wants to play bad fairy during their time of joy.

But their good news weighs on me today more than I’d expected. I miss Teddy, miss him so much, and sometimes the fact that he’s gone seems so strange and wrong that it is hard to accept that this is my life, that I can’t get him back. And it takes effort to wish them the best, which scares me. Why is it that my grief is bringing out all the worst sides of me, the jealousy, the covetousness, the desire to be savage and cruel, to say and do hurtful things?

I bite my tongue and wish I didn’t have to. I feel sorry for every witch and ugly stepsister in every fairy tale, convinced that grief is how they got there.


One comment

  1. I understand. I really do. I went through the same thing with my husband’s best friend and his wife. We were due a couple of weeks apart. Our baby girl died; their’s arrived on time, solid and healthy.

    They didn’t know the gender until she was born, and when we got the voicemail saying “It’s a girl” I completely lost it. Wailing, stomping, you name it. I hated myself. I hated the universe. The words “It’s not fair” took on an entire new meaning.

    That was 5 months ago, and I can’t say it’s gotten easier. I’ve stopped feeling guilty that I don’t go to visit. I tried. I can’t. I’ve taken on a role that puts me first, all the time. Selfish, maybe, but I think as a deadbabymommy that’s all we can do sometimes.

    Hang in there. I’ll be thinking of you.

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