I have manners.
I know that when someone has a baby, you tell them congratulations and ask how they are doing. Then they go on about not sleeping or how amazing the baby is or how lucky they feel etc. You are supposed to ask and they are supposed to answer.
I know that when someone is pregnant, you are supposed to ask how they feel and if they're excited and if they're ready. Then they talk about how miserable it is to be pregnant or sometimes they talk about how magical it is to feel someone brand new growing inside you.
I know that my loss is not something that other people think about every day. It isn't their first thought or second or 275th. I know that people have their lives to live and that they have forgotten Isabelle and the fact that she's gone. Not here. Not alive. Not growing. Not learning to crawl or walk. They have forgotten that I am not planning a first birthday party.
They are supposed to. We are all supposed to go on with our lives. I know that.
I just can't. I'm stuck in limbo between having fun at Girl's Night Out and not getting out of bed again. Ever. Most of the time I don't think I can function. No, scratch that. Most of the time I don't want to function. I want to lay down in the snow with her and keep her company. I want to be with her every day. I feel compelled to go see her, and often the only thing that keeps me from falling to me knees and weeping is my fear that I won't be able to pull it together if I let go. Scratch that, I know if I let it go, there is no coming back. This is also the reason I haven't had more than one drink at a time since she died.
If I move on, I'll be moving on without her. What I can't make anyone understand is that there is a member of my family that is gone forever. We will never take a picture of our whole family. We will never have a family movie night with our whole family. We will never all be home together. Never. Every time, Duffy or I say "Here we are, our whole little family," we both look at each other, because we know that it's a lie.
So, while logically, I recognize that others have moved on. I haven't. I never will. I don't know when or if I will be able to see a pregnant woman, or a new baby or any baby, and not think of Isabelle, and break my heart a little all over again.
I know that when someone has a baby, you tell them congratulations and ask how they are doing. Then they go on about not sleeping or how amazing the baby is or how lucky they feel etc. You are supposed to ask and they are supposed to answer.
I know that when someone is pregnant, you are supposed to ask how they feel and if they're excited and if they're ready. Then they talk about how miserable it is to be pregnant or sometimes they talk about how magical it is to feel someone brand new growing inside you.
I know that my loss is not something that other people think about every day. It isn't their first thought or second or 275th. I know that people have their lives to live and that they have forgotten Isabelle and the fact that she's gone. Not here. Not alive. Not growing. Not learning to crawl or walk. They have forgotten that I am not planning a first birthday party.
They are supposed to. We are all supposed to go on with our lives. I know that.
I just can't. I'm stuck in limbo between having fun at Girl's Night Out and not getting out of bed again. Ever. Most of the time I don't think I can function. No, scratch that. Most of the time I don't want to function. I want to lay down in the snow with her and keep her company. I want to be with her every day. I feel compelled to go see her, and often the only thing that keeps me from falling to me knees and weeping is my fear that I won't be able to pull it together if I let go. Scratch that, I know if I let it go, there is no coming back. This is also the reason I haven't had more than one drink at a time since she died.
If I move on, I'll be moving on without her. What I can't make anyone understand is that there is a member of my family that is gone forever. We will never take a picture of our whole family. We will never have a family movie night with our whole family. We will never all be home together. Never. Every time, Duffy or I say "Here we are, our whole little family," we both look at each other, because we know that it's a lie.
So, while logically, I recognize that others have moved on. I haven't. I never will. I don't know when or if I will be able to see a pregnant woman, or a new baby or any baby, and not think of Isabelle, and break my heart a little all over again.
My heart breaks as a mother for you... I can't even imagine.
ReplyDeleteSending my love,
Kerri