I’ve been revisiting some of my old posts (mostly because new people are reading my blog and I’m weirdly curious about what they’re reading) and so I have revisited some of my more raw posts. And it’s still hard to read. I keep waiting for the rawness to go away. January is normally not a hard month for me. I grieve the most around big events. Izzy’s birthday, the anniversary of the day she left me, her blood drive, and the holidays. All the obvious things. And then Facebook felt the need to remind me of things posted “On This Day.” Assholes.
So yesterday 6 years ago I learned she was a girl. Duffy girl #3. Reminded me vividly of that day, that dr’s appointment. Dr Eckman announcing that we had the start of our own in house volleyball team. Abbey being pissed off at the appointment, because she couldn’t quite make out what was on the screen. Maddy’s glowing face at having a tiny little person to dress up and make hair bows for. And how excited I was at having another girl.
Other reminders popping up. Posts from friends complimenting my baby bump, congratulations on having another girl. Me complaining about her hiccups. All of the things I posted about her. In excited anticipation of her arrival. Every day.
I should just stop looking. Actually I need to stop looking. Because what is coming is April 29th when she arrived, and we posted pictures of her. May 2nd when I convinced Dr. Eckman to let me out early so I could go to Maddy’s dance recital. The hundreds of congratulatory posts about her beautiful perfection. And then May 19th and 20th and days and days after that. The “I am so sorry for your loss, your family is in my prayers” posts. The ones I just could never bear to look at it because it was just another tangible reminder of the loss. I remember those days when I would have hundreds of notifications, and it was a crushing reminder of my new life. The one without Isabelle.
I know. Those aren’t the only things that I’m reminded of. Yesterday there was also a picture of JT’s tiny 6 month feet in slippers. And it made me smile. I get reminders of that very first blood drive we planned. The Team Izzy shirts we ordered. I close my eyes and think of all the good Isabelle has done. But I still feel empty and hollow when I think of all that I have missed with her.
I want to stop looking “on this day” but that feels wrong too. I’d like there to be an option. “Good morning Niki, do you feel mentally together today? Can you handle what we want to throw at you?” And if I say no, I don’t get the damn notification. Who do I know that can write that algorithm?
So yesterday 6 years ago I learned she was a girl. Duffy girl #3. Reminded me vividly of that day, that dr’s appointment. Dr Eckman announcing that we had the start of our own in house volleyball team. Abbey being pissed off at the appointment, because she couldn’t quite make out what was on the screen. Maddy’s glowing face at having a tiny little person to dress up and make hair bows for. And how excited I was at having another girl.
Other reminders popping up. Posts from friends complimenting my baby bump, congratulations on having another girl. Me complaining about her hiccups. All of the things I posted about her. In excited anticipation of her arrival. Every day.
I should just stop looking. Actually I need to stop looking. Because what is coming is April 29th when she arrived, and we posted pictures of her. May 2nd when I convinced Dr. Eckman to let me out early so I could go to Maddy’s dance recital. The hundreds of congratulatory posts about her beautiful perfection. And then May 19th and 20th and days and days after that. The “I am so sorry for your loss, your family is in my prayers” posts. The ones I just could never bear to look at it because it was just another tangible reminder of the loss. I remember those days when I would have hundreds of notifications, and it was a crushing reminder of my new life. The one without Isabelle.
I know. Those aren’t the only things that I’m reminded of. Yesterday there was also a picture of JT’s tiny 6 month feet in slippers. And it made me smile. I get reminders of that very first blood drive we planned. The Team Izzy shirts we ordered. I close my eyes and think of all the good Isabelle has done. But I still feel empty and hollow when I think of all that I have missed with her.
I want to stop looking “on this day” but that feels wrong too. I’d like there to be an option. “Good morning Niki, do you feel mentally together today? Can you handle what we want to throw at you?” And if I say no, I don’t get the damn notification. Who do I know that can write that algorithm?
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