I have been a bit sad lately, and I realize it's because about this time two years ago the shit started to hit the fan. (That is such a gross visual, sorry!) I am reliving the sadness on various levels. Today, for example, I cried because I thought about how my sister never helped me when I was grieving so violently. She never said, "Hey, I'm coming over and picking you up and we're going to hang out." That hurt as much today as it ever did, if not more. Because today I can see how horrible it all was that no one--actually--said or did that. And I think about how I was trying SO HARD to stick it out in DC, to stick it out with Chris, and FOR WHAT? Why didn't anybody help me? Why did a stranger on the beach think I was going to drown myself in the October ocean off Long Island one morning? I think again how Mr. E saved my life. I do believe that. He was the one calling and saying he was coming over and picking me up so we could hang out.
I realize no one will remember it's Blue's birthday on August 10. I realize this is just so unfair and is just so sad and will never not be. And in a gentler moment I realize that there is still a lot of healing to occur. THIS is what it feels like, two years later.
I keep seeing pregnant women in the park where we live--with their three or four young children in tow. The women who have three or four young children with them, they are always pregnant. Whyyyy? I envy them and their bevy of brats. I try to convince myself that I would envy them anyway, because I started my family a few years later than I really wanted to. I try to convince myself that if Blue had lived, I would still only have one child at this point, that I haven't really lost any time. I try to convince myself that I have all the time I need to have all the children I want. All these things may be true, but they still don't help this bitter, useless feeling to go away. This feeling that many, if not all, of us BLMs feel at one point or all points after loss: that other people's pregnancies suck for us. I want, so badly, to stop feeling bad when I see a pregnant woman. I want to stop feeling the need to stare at her belly, to wonder if she's feeling smug about this pregnancy. Because...we know where the thoughts go next.
So yeah, kinda feels like I've made very little progress in the last year. Which seems impossible considering the fact that I did give birth to a wriggly, wrinkly son (very wriggly, not so wrinkly anymore). His arrival made some thoughts and some feelings better, but not as much as I would have expected. I guess I thought things would be more different by now, more better. But--duh!!--my first baby died, and NOTHING will ever take that pain away.
Two years and a thousand life changes later, yep, it still hurts.