Another day in loss world

I’m going to be honest here…these last couple days haven’t been going so well. I’m not sure what’s going on. Another down day? Pregnancy hormones? A combo?

I wasn’t going to blog today, I would really rather talk to a RL friend…but I find myself not picking up the phone and calling anyone. I’m tired of talking about my grief and really think there’s nothing new to say. There’s only the hurt that still resides deep within myself. No one can say anything to make it better…and I certainly don’t need someone to just listen to me cry.

So, once again, my blog will be my therapy for today.

I came very close to holding a baby at my husband’s company picnic this afternoon. I can’t remember the last baby I held, but it was long before we lost Brayden. I wanted to very badly, but I knew I’d lose it. My arms ached to hold him, and I literally bit my tongue to stifle the urge to ask. He was three months old and so beautiful. I forgot how soft a newborn’s skin is and how good they smell. I settled for stroking his little tuff of hair and made small talk with my friend who was holding him. Surprisingly, my thoughts were not of the new baby we’re having in a few short months. My only thoughts were of Brayden, and what should have been.

It’s all just so tragically sad.

Every time I’ve gotten in the car this last week, I’ve heard the exact same song on the radio – this afternoon was no different. It’s a popular song, so I shouldn’t be surprised…but the chorus hit me like a ton a bricks, even though the song isn’t really about loss grief at all. Regardless, I turn it off every time it’s on.

Tell them all I know now
Shout it from the roof tops
Write it on the sky line
All we had is gone now

Tell them I was happy
And my heart is broken
All my scars are open
Tell them what I hoped would be
Impossible, impossible
Impossible, impossible

Those lyrics just tear at me. I was happy. My heart is broken. My scars are open and raw, most days. What I had hoped was impossible has happened to us.

My husband’s coworker and his wife are expecting. She’s due in October, about six weeks before me. She always wants to talk to me at these get-togethers, which I don’t mind, but it conversation inevitably turns to our loss. They are on baby number five, and she told me today she panics every time her baby doesn’t move because of what happened to us. She’s terrified, because she now knows a loss like we experienced doesn’t happen to “other people” – it now happens to the people you know, in your immediate circle.

I’ve actually heard this a few times from friends who have recently had babies. That they thought of us during delivery, or the final stages of their pregnancy. Unfortunately, it wasn’t in a good way. It was in a “that could happen to me” way. And it scared them, badly. I do my best to reassure them, but it’s hard when I harbor the same exact fear. I don’t have words of comfort for them, other than telling them it will be okay - words I, myself, don’t really buy. Because I know that sometimes, it’s not okay.

Ugh, I don’t know where to go from here. Like I’ve said before, my grief is mine and I deal with it the only way I know how. I try not to control it (unless I’m hit with it in public) and just let it wash over me, as it will. These last few days have been really trying. I’m hoping after this blog I’ll feel better, like the weight will be lifted from me for a short time. I try not to sensor what I put on here, but it’s hard knowing some of my friends read this blog and I’m not exactly honest with them sometimes.

Maybe, when I’m asked how I’m doing, instead of saying, “Fine” I’ll just say, “Read my blog”. Then I’m covered.