I don’t know how to write this… … is it cheesy to say my loss of him is like the elevator music of my life?
— it’s always playing. sometimes it’s not really heard as other things take over. Sometimes it’s loud, and annoying. irritates me out of my skin. But, like in the elevator, I look around, see the buttons, spot the camera, but can’t see how I can switch off that music.
I don’t like to say this because I don’t want to portray that he is annoying, irritating.
It’s not about him; it’s how *I* have to deal.
I don’t know why but I thought of these mythical creatures in fairy tales– those ferocious dragons that guard the enprisoned princess whose eyeballs still look and stare even when they are asleep?
I feel like that sometimes too. Staring at my grief all the time.
Today was a crazy day of preparation for Val’s birthday party tomorrow. So many places to go to, so many things to do. The day was hot, the girls whiny and I just want to check myself into Gelato 64 and eat every flavor there.
Then as it cooled down in the early evening, just the two of us, me and Val, we went to get the balloons for her party tomorrow.
She was so terribly excited, and happy and chatty. I felt excited too, and happy. Thrilled that she is seven and we’re going to have a party tomorrow. I even thought of drawing a mandala on her cake.
Then, as we drove back home, and I saw the balloons bounced in the rear-view mirror, the wave hit.
He will never have a party like this.
With cakes and balloons and friends and presents and songs and games… …
No, it’s not him… I will never get to do this for him. Never. Ever.
I felt again, that it was my fault. ok, we will never know (though sometimes I feel I will, in the distant future, like, after I die. I think I will then be able to access these special place of records and find out exactly why this has to happen) but because he died while still inside of me, it is my responsibility. Which is really shitty.
I felt the momentum of us, moving along in our car. I sped along as traffic was free, and I thought of how he stopped moving, one day, inside of me.
could not help recalling my short days on the stage. tried to imagine myself in the role of a stillborn baby.
Still. Be very still. Do not move.
The amniotic fluid is decreasing. No food. No oxygen. can’t move. can’t breathe. gag. struggle. gasp. kick. struggle. fight. scream silently within. gag again. gasp for breath. then, slowly die. do not move. still. be still. be born, still. and silent.
This is what kills me. Thinking of him screaming to me from within, “Help me, mom! Why are there no more fluids! I cannot breathe, and I have no food! What is going on?! Help!”
And there I was, going about without any inkling at all. I had NO idea at all. This makes me want to give myself a good beating up.
Tears flowed down but I did not sob. dared not, with Val at the back of the car.
We got home, and I quickly make dinner, assembled the cake and got everyone off to bed.
Then I sit down here, in-front of the computer, and spew out the dark that had been slamming against my insides.