But today? Today, I am making up for yesterday. Today, my grief feels like too big of a burden to bear.
I'm not sure exactly why.
Maybe because last week, my always thoughtful best friend sent a potted flower to my office. Before I left on Friday, it looked like this:
|Thank you, Kate!|
And walking in today, I find this:
|I'm sorry Kate! I watered it before I left on Friday, but now that it is dead, I realize that I had put the plant above a heating vent. My mom says maybe it will come back to life, but I don't feel very hopeful about that.|
That fucking dead plant set me off. And I haven't stopped since.
I saw that dead plant and I thought, you can't even keep a plant alive, much less your baby. My head knows that it's not my fault that my daughter died. But sometimes my heart still holds on to the guilt. And sometimes my heart says mean things.
Or maybe it's the article my sister is writing about Lydie and stillbirth for the Washington Post. She said she wants to raise awareness about stillbirth, wants to save other babies. Today, I don't want to save other babies. Today, I just want to save my baby. Today, I can't even read the draft she emailed me much less imagine it in print in national syndication. Today, I don't want to share Lydie with the world, I want to keep her to myself.
Or maybe it's because today, if this world wasn't so fucked up, Lydie would be one month old.
Today, two coworkers stopped to talk to me and I could barely make eye contact with them. Today, a completely well-intentioned coworker who happens to have a pregnant wife asked if I'd like to talk more, and I responded no. I think it's the first time I have turned down the opportunity to talk about Lydie. Today, I couldn't wait to be alone and I couldn't bear the possibility of him mentioning that pregnant wife.
Today, it's been 9 weeks and 5 days since that haunting moment of the silent Doppler. Today, it's been 9 weeks and 4 days since I held my daughter's perfect little still body in my arms.
Today, I tried to run on the track during my lunch break but found it hard to run through the tears.
Today, I feel more alone and more isolated than I have in a long time.
Today, I want to climb into a hole and come out when the hardest part of this grief work is over.