So the new year is here. What’s new for you?
Not much for me. I resolved not to do commit to the silly habit of resolutions but I still made a mental list of “desirables” and “wanna-be’s”. I made R print some new photos so we can switch out last year’s photos with something different (and my, how fast the girls are growing!). We went through our garage and threw out boxes that we had kept because– “Oh, this box is sturdy/a-good-size we should really keep it in case we need to send something to somebody!”. I donated about 8 pairs of shoes to Goodwill because they no longer fit me and really I don’t think they ever will again. I am not kidding but my shoe size has changed from 7.5 ten years ago to 9 in 2009- I am sure your shoe size changed too, no?!
I feel nothing much is very new even though time continues to tick and the earth continues to orbit, because for some reason I feel my grief is still fresh, the scab is not tough enough yet.
For the month of December the girls could not stop talking about Lyra turning one soon. They kept asking what cake will I bake for her? How are we going to celebrate her birthday? What presents will we give her?
And all I could think of was how, last year in December, I was living on the edge of sanity and insanity, sitting on the brink of life and death, not sure what the new year would bring for us. Will she be born safe and alive? That was my question. And for the most of 2009 I spent in disbelief that she is indeed here and how fast she is growing.
This past December, I kept thinking how fast Lyra has grown, and I kept thinking, I am still in disbelief. Disbelief that Ferdinand had died. And that I am still intensely sad about it. And people commenting on how I have three girls and no boys just is downright rotten.
Like today, I was in a kids apparel shop and the sales associate came and tell me she loved my skirt. Then she asked what sizes I was looking for. When I was paying she said, “So you have three girls!” Again, I nodded and then she asked, “No boys?” and I wanted to say, “Well, it’s pretty obvious, isn’t it?” But I did not. I also took a step back to size her up, to see if she could handle me telling her, “Why, yes, I do have a boy! But guess what- he is dead.” I did not tell her, I only sighed deeply within and tell myself that would not be the last time.
But today I did not cry. Yesterday I did. We had to put away our tree and ornaments and I have a box just for Ferdinand’s ornaments. How incredibly sick and sad, to have a box for your dead baby’s ornaments. It felt wrong and horrible and I could not stop stewing over it and finally during dinner I boiled over and totally broke down.
It was pretty sudden and not the usual expected during dinner, and everyone stared at me. Val was the first to ask if it was because of Ferdinand and R just stared at his glass of red wine and did not say a word. I just covered my face and shook my head and bawled some more. What can I say? I am tired of repeating. I. am. sad. sad. sad. sad. sad. that my child died. I still cannot believe it.
Were he not cremated, I would be off again, running to the grave to dig, one more time, to see one more time, to be certain, that indeed he was dead, and buried. In my mind, in my heart, I am always digging into the cold soil, trembling fingers seeking to find a body, a small body, cold and stiff, that once curled up in my womb. Just to touch, just to make sure.
So, it’s nothing new, really. And I loathe to have to repeat this. I am having less and less time for the internet, and sometimes I think since I have nothing much and new to say, perhaps I ought to close this blog. But I also wonder, where else do I go to spill my thoughts? To openly and shamelessly sob about my always-new grief?
I do tell myself, it is going to change. I am going to handle it better, grow wiser over time. But right now, Time is not doing its job, as people love to promise, that Time will heal all wounds. I do not really believe in that, because I know Time itself will not do the work. I gotta change, the way I think and deal has to change. And I know I have changed. But my heart, it still aches. It’s nothing new.
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