Friday, July 16, 2010

Wherever you go, there you are

As you all know I’ve been trying my hardest to outrun the grief. Feet to the ground, running my heart out, focusing on getting away. Guess what? It didn’t work out for me. Surprise, surprise. Grief caught up to me last night and made its presence known with a full on tackle from behind that slammed my body into the ground. Face meet dirt, meet tears, meet screaming.

Last night was not as bad as the first few nights after Charlotte died, but it was reminiscent, there were faint echoes of that time. Once again I was a collapsed heap on the bed, sobbing, wondering where my daughter was, what I did wrong. Nine weeks ago I screamed at the top of my lungs for Charlotte. I screamed “Where’s my baby? I want my baby!” over and over while the equally upset, but less able to express it, husband sat near me and rubbed my back. Last night was same story, different day, but with whispering instead of shouting.

I went to the dark place, friends. I hate the dark place. For days I’ve been circling the dark place like an anxious dog protecting its pack from a potential attack. There is a path worn around my dark place, but I have managed to avoid going through the gate. I have walked to the gate, warm hand on cool iron, pulled it towards me, inhaled a great big yoga breath, prepared to step in, and then walked away. The gate slams with a great clang, metal ringing against metal, and I scamper away, unscathed. Last night there was no flirting with the gate. Last night was a sudden tackle to the ground and then grief picked me up, flung open the gate, tossed me inside the dark place, locked the gate, and walked away whistling with his hands in his pockets. I hate you, grief.

I do believe I am putting too much pressure on myself. I feel a great need to not be here anymore, in the early stages of grief, so I am trying to force my way forward. Obviously that’s not working. I have been so focused on doing well and making progress I forgot to make room for falling apart. I have now learned that if you don’t make room for falling apart, it will make room for itself, and the forced sorrow is much worse than letting it happen as it happens. I feel pathetic, a bit like I’m wallowing, so I make myself do things. No one is putting pressure on me, this is all internal. Last night while I cried my husband reassured me that I am on no timeline and that he is fine with me sitting at home all the time. Yes, I know. But I am not fine with the sitting at home. I am not fine with feeling purposeless, useless, like a failure. I knew this would happen. Immediately after Charlotte died I told my husband I did not have a purpose and freaking out would commence in the near future. I don’t do well when I feel as if I am not contributing to the family. He insists I am because I take care of the house, but I am barely taking care of the house. And the man is lucky if he comes home to find food on the table.

Still a mess. Nothing has changed since yesterday. If anything, I’m even more of a mess today. I want to stay in bed. I would like to eat chocolate, drink good, local beer, pout, cry, generally feel sorry for myself. Instead I am headed to Portland for an appointment with Dr. B, the naturopath. This is a good step, a necessary one, but I really would like beer, bed, chocolate, and a good book.

I just realized it’s not even noon. So maybe no drinking. Although yesterday a friend noted that the sun is always over the yardarm somewhere in the world.

11 comments:

  1. Im so sorry!! The early stages are so hard! If you need someone to talk to im here. Sending much love to you today and always!

    ReplyDelete
  2. My heart is breaking for you. That horrible feeling that you described so well. The coming close to feeling it and forcing yourself to walk away.

    It always catches up with us.

    Your husband sounds wonderful, absolutely wonderful.

    I don't know if you want suggestions, but something that might keep you busy, make you feel productive etc that involves Charlotte might help. Does the clinic where you had her or the local hospital give boxes to people who have lost their babies with blankets, a bear, measuring tape and other items? I got one at my hospital and was touched to get it. I met a woman who lost her baby 6 years ago and she didn't get anything so she started up the program. Since Jacob was stillborn, I wouldn't even have received a birth certificate (but I am the owner of 4, FOUR, death certificates). She started up something where women get a 'recognition of birth certificate', which was nice. I'm going to start helping her with the program. It helps to think that I am making a difference in Jacob's memory and it will keep me busy.

    Thinking of you and wishing you peace.

    ReplyDelete
  3. it took me five or six weeks to get to the bad place. i stayed there three or four weeks. then i started to climb back out.

    before then i had kept moving, just fast enough to stop the bad from catching up with me.

    i needed to sit still and let it in so i could move out of it.

    sending hugs. this is so unfair.

    ReplyDelete
  4. *offers you a piece of vegan brownie, gently pats your hand and whispers* i hate grief, too.

    ReplyDelete
  5. Grief has a mean way of picking us up and throwing us in that hole...and slowly but surely, we climb out of the hole, keep living the best we know how, and there it shows right back up again.

    My last couple of days have been rough(er) too...thinking of you!

    ReplyDelete
  6. The dark place still gets me sometimes, and I suspect it will continue to. Although less often now than the early days. I find it's best to go through it, not try to keep the grief away, or it's even worse.
    You're only 2 months out. Please be gentle with yourself. Take the time to stay in bed and drink beer if that's what you want! It's great you've got a supportive husband.
    Good thoughts your way.

    ReplyDelete
  7. Next time you are in Portland let's have coffee and share pistures or something. If you want. You can message me on Facebook.

    ReplyDelete
  8. you are so right that if you don't allow for falling apart, it will work its way in somehow, anyway. i hope every day will get the tiniest bit better for you.

    ReplyDelete
  9. Oh Angela, I wept reading your blog tonight. :( I feel so strongly for you... I have screamed and cried the same exact words myself. And as usual, you so eloquently expressed yourself in a way that rang to true to me. I too have been fighting making time for falling apart. Too busy being strong and busy. And I can feel the edges crinkling..

    ReplyDelete
  10. Grief has a mean way of picking us up and throwing us in that hole...and slowly but surely, we climb out of the hole, keep living the best we know how, and there it shows right back up again.

    My last couple of days have been rough(er) too...thinking of you!

    ReplyDelete
  11. you are so right that if you don't allow for falling apart, it will work its way in somehow, anyway. i hope every day will get the tiniest bit better for you.

    ReplyDelete

thank you!

LinkWithin

Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...
 
Design by Small Bird Studios | All Rights Reserved