I haven’t written publicly about my feelings in a very long time. Because I try not to feel any feelings. That is the only survival mechanism that works for me. The dam has been secretly filling up and cracks have appeared without a notice. But I know they are there, because of all the obvious signs. The routines I keep and every deviation is a source of incredible stress, stress that I can’t handle and I immediately start to fall apart.
I know that today is yet again the “danger day”, yet another anniversary of Sara’s death. Two days ago a Critical care ambulance passed me by on the highway and I lost it. I haven’t been crying at the sight of ambulances with their lights on for a bit now, but the sight of the ambulance we so desperately waited for for six long hours, in which our child’s brain died, it’s always too much.
I try to tell myself that in loosing Sara we gained other things, but some days the only gain equals to loosing the hope that we will be parents to a healthy child.
It used to be easy for a while to answer people’s questions. But the ongoing grief has amounted to a detachment from these questions. Is this your first? No we HAD a daughter before. Carefully evaluate my ability to provide details without loosing my shit. Oh she must be excited… Frankly I don’t think she cares, her ashes are on top of his sock drawer… What should I say? I have no energy to make up shit anymore.
How old is your baby? Eight months. So he must be sitting now… No, he isn’t, he can’t even hold his head up yet. Long pause follows with a pity and hopefulness that “he will catch up”. Nope he will not, he might eventually do it too, but he will never catch up, the gap will only get bigger and deeper.
Some days I loose my shit just seeing a healthy baby on TV. It has been harder and harder to look at our friends’ small children, but I force myself to do it, even thou some days it amounts to torture. I know it’s the only way, but sometimes I look forward to Monday’s, when I get to leave the house and have a grown up interaction with Tomas’ Physio. In the waiting room I exchange understanding looks with the lady who brings her celebral palsy four year old. And I feel not alone for a minute.
Today is a rare disease day, what is there to celebrate? Belonging to an exclusive club? Hardly. I don’t feel like celebrating, I don’t feel like accomplishing anything today. No I’m not suicidal even thou I’m depressed. My depression has a clear cause, grief, stress and my disabled child. So I’m allowing myself the healthy thing to wallow in my pain and let the tears fall freely and I thank you all for letting me share it with you
No I still can’t throw away Sara’s last shoes, I might never will…
ktojoy 