Missing You

Missing you just now. No particular reason, except maybe because I'm watching an episode of Penn & Teller's Bullshit about the death industry. I've only dealt with them once, and that was when my grandmother died. I was lucky I didn't have to do anything for you--the hostpital took care of all the "arrangements."

I have your ashes still. Your daddy and I have finally decided what we're going to do, if not where or when. Daddy wants to built you a rocket. A pretty big one, given the stuff he's shown me online. He wants to put your ashes in as the payload, and shoot the rocket up into the sky out somewhere beautiful. He wants the mountains, and I guess that's fair. You were made by the ocean, where I grew up. Where a place inside of me comes alive that doesn't anywhere else. The mountains are that for your daddy.

In fact, the first time I ever saw your daddy was a picture of him in all his mountain climbing gear, standing triumphantly in the Monkey's Mouth. It's a big rock shaped kind of like a monkey face. See?



I can't find the actual picture, but I'll probably put it here later. But what I'm saying is that the mountains are his spiritual place. And if he has feelings about anything having to do with you I almost always follow them. Don't think he doesn't love you just because he doesn't talk to you like I do. He does, just as much as I do.

I want my baby now

Sometimes missing you is almost more than I can stand. Today was one of those days. I had to work, so of course I had my perky groove on. But I wasn't really there. I was distracted and clumsy, and on every break I would sit in my car, unable to cry, rocking back and forth and whimpering to myself.

I want my baby now.

I want my son.

Really, jokes over. I want my son back now.

I can't stand this. I want my baby back!

I wish I had something more eloquent or interesting to say. But I don't.

Workdays

Going to work is harder with you gone. For so many reasons. Surprisingly, dealing with customers doesn't make it worse--even when I have to explain what happened. That's healing in it's way; not talking about you is harder.

Its the little things I miss. Not just your movements inside me, not just having a reason to sing under my breath when I'm working. Sometimes it feels like there's no light at the end of the tunnel. I don't hate my job, but I was ready to take a nice long break while I got to know you. Now there will be at least ten months--probably more--before that kind of break is coming again. And you won't come with it.

Things just seem pointless some days. My life's work--smiling sweetly and serving coffee. My life has meaning, but my job doesn't. And without you, I question even that much.

I try to just get through it. It's not so bad, my job. My life. But it's so much emptier now. I ache inside and out. I miss you so much.

Still Without Words

I haven't been able to write. I can't find words these last few days. I wanted to post happy memories of my pregnancy, inspired to do so by a post on a support board. I still want to write about your birth. I want to write so much but none of the words will come. No words today, no tears either; even going to my Make-Me-Cry playlist hasn't eased this. I hurt, but mostly I just feel tired and anxious.

I miss you so much. Sometimes I'm so shocked that you're never coming back, that I'm never going to hold you again. Other times it seems like you were never here at all. I miss your little kicks. I miss wishing I could have a drink or a cigarette. I miss fretting because you were having a quiet day. I miss how your daddy would sleep with his hand curled around the roundness that was you. I miss how you'd kick him in the back while I was trying to sleep. I even miss being so achingly tired at work that I thought I'd never survive the shift--it's easier to be there now, but so much lonelier.

Your daddy and I are already talking about "trying again." But sometimes I feel like that's disloyal to you. Especially on those days when I feel like you never really were here. Those are bad days. I'm afraid you'll think we didn't really love you; that you weren't the epicenter of our universe. That you didn't matter. That you don't matter. Because you do. Oh, you do--there isn't a moment I'm not thinking of you and missing you. You are and always will be my son, my first child. My beloved.

A Hard Day

Today is hard. It isn't any special day. I don't know why. I'm so angry, and so sad, and so very lonely.

I never had something so bad happen that couldn't be fixed. It isn't like I lived some charmed, pain-free life. Far from it. Lots of terrible, painful things have happened in my life. I've mourned, I've grieved, I've cried, I've learned...but all of it was something I could "get better" from. But you being gone--it's un-fixable.

Sometimes its like I'm pregnant with your memory--I can no more put you down and walk away from you than when you were safe inside me. I can't feel your kicks in my belly anymore; now you kick in my heart. You're here but you're gone and you're never coming back.

I'm trying to clean the bedroom today--I need to put away the maternity clothes, but I can't bring myself to. The sight of them brings pain, but the thought of folding them up and putting them away doesn't feel right either. I hate almost all my clothes--I don't really fit in anything. I've gained more weight in my pain than when I was carrying you. I'm eating like a defiant child, not really caring what goes into my body. If I'm not nourishing you it's like I can't see a reason to nourish me. Don't have much more appetite than when you were here, but sometimes I find myself eating to fill the void. I feel ugly and fat in everything--and in mortal terror that someone will think I'm still pregnant.

I can't seem to move in any direction right now. I feel guilty for sitting in my pain, listening to music that makes me cry, brings the dull gnawing ache to a clarity, in hopes that this too shall pass. But sometimes I feel guilty when I'm not sad; I question my own happiness when it comes, doubt my own peace when I find it.

I am more aware of magic because of you. A bird landing in a tree, a deer seen unexpected in someone's yard, rainbows, snow in the springtime, beautiful clouds; when you were still here, I saw them and thought they were miracles just like you. Now that you're gone, you're in every beautiful thing I see. Often it's a comfort, but there are moments that I cry that you'll never see them. Never point out something mundane with your child's wonder, never squeal with joy at the sight of a soap bubble, never chase a butterfly. The list of things you won't do aches.

And I'm so angry. I want you back. I want the innocent faith that nothing truly bad could happen to us. I don't want to be grateful sometimes. I want to scream, to yell and swear. Why couldn't we be normal? Why did there have to be some genetic specter lying in wait? Why does it still have to be there, threatening any siblings you might someday have? Why does something so normal as having a baby have to rest on the edge of a coin toss?

Sometimes I feel like there's some greater plan at work.

Sometimes I want to kick the shit out of whoever planned it.

Make It Go Away

I had to make myself cry. The numbness was so complete, so aching that I had to do something to bring that pain forward. I listened to one of the songs I've been trying to avoid and cried so hard I was almost afraid neighbors, strangers walking down the street would hear. It hurt, oh god it hurt, but it hurt with a kind of purity I needed. I needed the tears, needed the choking sobs, needed the near-screaming. It's the same almost-scream in my heart most of the time, sometimes receding to a dull ache, sometimes even almost silent.
But always there. Always.