One Month

In her book, "An Exact Replica of a Figment of My Imagination: A Memoir", Elizabeth McCracken writes about the normalcy of her life post-stillbirth.  When you decide to have a child, you are making a conscious decision to change the course of your life.  When the child you are planning on changing your life for dies, your life remains dramatically un-changed.  There are no midnight feedings, no packing of diapers and sippy cups, no pumping...the crying at night is over your child.  The only thing you carry in your purse are extra tissues.  The sameness of your life is a slap in the face.

I mentioned that last week I had my post-delivery follow-up with my doctor.  I had to take a post-partum depression survey.  One of the questions was something like, "Things have been piling up on me and I have been unable to keep up with day to day tasks."  I asked Jeff, "What do you think?"  He's a normal human man that would like to have sex with his wife again someday, so clearly he said, "No, I think you've been keeping up with everything.  It's been fine!"  I believed him about 0%, but I do think that if I was living in "Hoarders" level squalor he would let me know.  The next day I was waiting for Jeff to get home (he works until 8 p.m once every other week, and it was his turn), and I decided to vacuum.  Because that's something normal people do, and I'm making every effort to be a normal person who maintains her home in a respectable (esque) manner.  I ran the vacuum, and then I sat down on the couch.  I kept thinking of the random sludge that I saw on the kitchen tile and decided to steam mop the floors, as well.  Then I cleaned the sink and the stove, and I organized the linen cabinet.

I felt a twinge of a sense of accomplishment, followed by a sting.  The fact was, I wasn't supposed to have time to do these things.  Day to day tasks should have been piling up on me, and I should have had a stack of laundry to do in the basement instead of a stack of clean clothes to put away.  I am one month out from the birth of my sweet Emma, and I am still struck by the sameness of the day to day.  I still shower, take the dogs to the bathroom, watch the news...little has changed from the exterior.  Yet I still relive the events from one month ago each day.  My mental life, my emotional life, my spiritual life, have been rocked by this loss.  My physical life continues to exist.  Because it has to.

I miss you so much, sweet girl.  I can't put it into words because it's a love that I don't yet understand.  I miss you with every fiber of my being, and it's a pain that resonates so deeply inside of me that it's become a part of who I am in a short time.  I love you, Emma.