I thought today was going well, or as well as it possibly could. While I walked around with this hole in my heart aching so badly, I kept asking the same question - when will the pain stop hurting with every breath? With every moment, new pain washes into me. The constant ache makes me tired, makes me hurt, makes me feel so full and hollow at the same time. I wonder how long until, in those rare moments they happen, when laughter or a small smile won't immediately be followed with a pang of guilt.
But my tears seem to come less now. Even with the same amount of grief as every day before, even though it hasn't lessened in the slightest, the tears don't come so readily anymore. I began to function today, and thought that was a good sign. I was doing better, physically and mentally, than I had in previous days.
Then I decided to venture outside of my house.
I learned today that there's a ballet school just three blocks from my house. At first, it excited me. I had always wanted to put Katie in ballet school, but didn't know of one near here. But then I saw them. Two little sisters, close in age, both bouncing around in their tutus and little dance shoes. They were giggling together and running around their daddy. I tried to smile, but the tears came anyway. That was how I always envisioned Katie and Elizabeth. In little tutus, giggling and happy and showing off their ballet lessons. Oh, so many emotions came to be at once. I haven't asked "why" yet. I haven't questioned God. I always said that everyone has their time on this earth, and it's different for everyone. Our Elizabeth only had a few months, too short for us but what was in God's will and it was how much time she was given with us. Still, in that moment, I asked why it had to happen. Why all of my plans now mocked me and are thrown in my face. I had wanted my little girl so much, I had wanted her here. I had so much that I wanted to do with her, and now she's not here. She'll never go to dance class, she'll never skip after her daddy while holding hands with her sister. We'll never see her smile, we'll never get to sing her to sleep, or hold her in our arms. They say anger is a part of the stages of grief, and I suppose anger has slipped in.
It seemed like once the bad times started, they wouldn't stop. I had put off going grocery shopping for days, but today we absolutely had to go. We had to get Katie diapers, which meant walking past the infant section that I had spent so much time dreaming and smiling and happy in the last few months. I walked by that little purple infant outfit that I was waiting to buy her. I walked past those little infant ballet socks that I nearly bought the week after Christmas. I hid in the diaper aisle, and Bill held me while I tried to hold it together. I hurt so much.
I couldn't bring myself to cook today, again. Bill had a lot to do, so we went to Subway. It was the same woman there as always before. I had told her a few weeks ago how Subway was a huge craving of mine. She knew how badly I got morning sickness and how the sandwiches helped cure it. Today she greeted us with a big smile, and asked "another pregnancy craving?" Oh, I could feel the stitches in my heart being snipped apart one by one and my heart breaking all over again. I couldn't tell her, I couldn't say the words. I just shook my head no and told her "just hungry," another lie as I'm never hungry anymore. No food tastes good, it all tastes bland and the same. We never know where to eat anymore, as nothing is appetizing.
I saw the table we sat at, just two weeks ago. Bill and I talked about things we wanted to buy the baby, plans we made for her as a baby. We were so happy, so excited. How could we have ever guessed that the next time we'd be there, we'd be so completely the opposite.
There was a blessing today though, while we were walking. Before the ballet school where the grief clouded me. In those moments before, as we walked in the nice, neutral weather, I felt like I had a light but warm blanket covering my shoulders. I felt such a strong presence against me, not just outside but inside, like my heart had a blanket on it as well. Bill said he could feel it too, said he often felt that way. What a beautiful part about being parents to an angel. She still is here, she still visits, and she's still making her presence known. It's easier to feel it when I'm not busy crying, or hurting, or thinking of what could have been. In those subtle moments where I remain calm and leave my mind blank and just "be", I can feel her so close to me. It feels like an angel is reaching in and hugging my heart, like her beautiful, perfect angel wings are covering my shoulders.
I'm trying my hardest to look at the light side of things, even those this has been the darkest time of my life. I've been through my fair share of hell, but nothing compares to this. Still, it helps to that even in this, beauty can be found. Even in the worst moments of my life, little diamonds can be seen sparkling in the rough.
I have learned of a very, very special love. A love that a mommy and daddy can have for someone they never got to meet face to face. For someone they never got to know on a daily basis. There's such a deep, raw love that's so powerful and real. While the situation is horrible, experiencing this love that we never knew could exist is beautiful.
When this first happened, there were scary thoughts in my mind. I always heard that losing a baby at any stage made spouses bicker and fight and put a strain on their marriage. From reading the miscarriage boards that are filled with women who lost around my stage, I know this is true. I'm so glad that this seemed to have bound us together instead. We feel more entwined, we cling to each other, we care for each other during weak moments. We understand each other's grief and try to comfort in any way possible. We talk. We talk about everything we feel. We take turns lighting her candle, fixing up her memorial spot that's currently in our bedroom. We mourn the loss of our child together instead of separately, and for that I am very grateful.
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