Today is weird. It's the first holiday without my daughter, and I know how difficult the holidays are for grieving families. And it is hard, but it's also weird, because she wasn't supposed to be here yet. My visions of Thanksgiving didn't include her. Instead, they included my whole family at our house - because Lydie would be here in two weeks and it would have been too close to my due date to travel. I was supposed to be so very pregnant right now.
I pictured us setting up our Christmas tree tomorrow. We'd spend time figuring out how to fit a Christmas tree in the living room, along with Lydie's swing and bouncer AND Ben's toys. These were the problems I thought we had. How to fit both the baby shit and the toddler shit in our house.
Instead, we're at my parents' house. Where I'm both comforted by my family and tormented by my family. I'm comforted by the familiarity. Everything is the same. And yet, I'm tortured by the familiarity. Everything is the same. And I feel like I'm the only one recognizing that everything is completely, and totally, and devastatingly different. I'm tortured watching my son play with his cousins, knowing that my daughter will never have these moments. I'm tortured that my daughter isn't here.
For a few minutes, it feels good to sit around and have normal conversation. And then while everyone else is still talking, like nothing has happened, inside I start screaming. How can we sit around and talk about all this stupid shit when Lydia is dead? I want to focus on her. I want to stop talking about who is sitting where at the dinner table, when all I can think about is how we'll always be missing one. I will always be missing one.
I'm here, but I'm not really here.
I am in a weird time warp, always counting the days since my daughter has been dead (3 weeks today) and at the same time, counting the days until she was supposed to be here (2 weeks from tomorrow).