I haven't had much to say lately. I'm worn out. Completely and entirely. So many times, I have wished I could find the "Exit" door to this mess and just walk away forever. But, alas, no such door exists, so here I am.
For a few days, I felt like I was going to burst out of my skin. I was stuck in a horrible rut of not sleeping, not eating well, and not caring about anyone or anything. I was am empty, angry, hurting mess. A mama without her baby. It was rough. I finally decided enough was enough.
*On a quick side note (aka soapbox): people like to use the word "choice" when they are talking about grief. They like to think it's a choice to be sad/depressed or not. As if you can choose to be in a bad place, or to pick yourself up and "move on". Let me be clear about this: it's not a choice. When you're in the deep dark pit of pain and grief, there is no choice in the matter. When your baby has died and the world keeps turning, while you're overwhelmed with pain and torturous questions of "why" with no answers, when you are living a nightmare you can possibly imagine as your life, it's not a choice. It's a maze you can't escape. The only "choice" you have is to face it head on - and in doing so, find healing - or to pretend it's not real and end up a mess later when it forces it's way in. It's only a person who does not understand, who says it's a choice to feel so badly. (It reminds me a wave-pool. The waves just keep coming and coming and you can only ride along. When they do let up for a moment, that's the time you can try to pick yourself up a bit before they start again).*
After my big freak out, I pulled it back together and I put a lot of his things back. I realized I can't have so much of it all over the place all the time. It's like a constant reminder that I have things instead of him. I decided to have only a select few out at a time, and then rotate. So far, so good. I do love that just about every room in our home has something of him in it. He's our son and that's how it should be. We love him!
This weekend, we are going away for a few days. My parents had offered to send us away for Samuel's birthday, but we chose not to go. I asked my mom if the offer was still good and, since it was, we took them up on it. (Thank you! to them). We need it. We are both tired and need a break (not that we can get away from it, but there is something to be said for getting out of the house for a while).
One thing I'm very bad at is taking care of myself. Yes, I can stand up for myself. Yes, I will tell you exactly what I need (support, love and encouragement) and what I don't want (judgement, pushing, belittling, etc) in terms of my grief, but I'm not great at doing things just for me.
The person I was before this was someone who appreciated the nicer things in life. I liked a great restaurant with a chef-prepared meal. I liked shopping at finer stores and having things I could be proud to own. I liked to travel and try new and exciting things. I enjoyed being pampered with spa days and shopping sprees and the like.
Now, I couldn't possible care less about those things. They seem so trivial. (and, they are).
But I also know that sometimes in life, you need to do things that make you feel good, even if they are meaningless.
So, earlier this week, for the first time in as long as I can remember, I dressed up, I did my hair and made myself as presentable as I could, and I told Bryan we were going out to dinner. It was good. It was nice to be out of the house, there were no babies to be seen and the food was delicious. It was a good night out.
And since one good thing deserves another, I decided to buy myself some new clothes for this weekend.
Other than maternity clothes, I haven't gotten a single thing
for myself to wear in about 2 years. Partly because I have no place to
go, partly because I'm not feeling the best about how I look, and partly
because I just don't care at all (and clothes are at stores and stores
are full of babies - let's not forget that piece).
Last night, I went out. Thankfully, since Mankato goes to bed at 8:30pm, no one was there and I could look around without the threat of a horrid baby sighting.
I found several things and I feel nice in them. What's strange is that I look in the mirror and I don't recognize myself. I don't know who this sad person is and I'm tired of feeling so broken. I need to start to figure out who this new version of me is, so I can readjust to my new life. I'm not at all okay with it, but there is nothing else I can do.
* Side note, part two - I had to fight myself not to go buy something for Samuel to wear. I know it's crazy, but I have such a strong urge to get things for him (although I feel like I'm cheating if I go near the baby section. It's like a siren will go off saying "she's not allowed here!!") I can't even believe he would be so big now. How I wish I be dressing him in the adorable little outfits for little boys. He would be precious <3. One more thing I'm missing out on. *
This weekend, I hope we can focus on us for a while. I hope we will be able to breathe a bit and relax. All new parents need a break from time to time and we're no less entitled to a break than any other parent of a one-year-old (I still can't wrap my head around that - a one-year-old - what on earth!). If he were here, I'm fairly certain someone would have to pry him out of my arms for us to go away, but there is nothing I can do about that. Instead, he come with us in my heart, as always.
I hope we can be refreshed to face this life once more upon our return. I'm trying to learn to take advantage of the calm - to use it as a time to recharge - because I know how quickly the next wave of hurt can come crashing down.
Here's to a peaceful weekend away!