I'm so tired of rehashing my miscarriage...
Christian's bosses and coworkers are still congratulating him on the baby on the way, and he's crushed every time he has to tell them I miscarried. I'm asked at least once a day how the pregnancy is progressing and I have to tell them the pregnancy stopped progressing when it was lost 16 days ago.
And I'm lost too.
My life has been forever changed by this, and while I want so desperately to move forward, I'm rooted in this sadness, stuck between a future where I'd have five living children and a present where I'm ruminating upon every action I took since becoming pregnant to figure out what the hell I did wrong.
People keep offering to talk to me, they share their sorrows, but all I can say is "This sucks." I lack the vocabulary to properly and adequately describe my pain, and don't want to burden them with my grief.
All around me, people are falling pregnant and I am bitter. It hurts to admit, but it's true.
They are angry at this surprise, they complain, they hate their figures, their nausea. And I know the feelings, for the two weeks I was blissfully pregnant with Y. I complained too. But I can't handle it. I want to invalidate their feelings, tell them how much I'd give to feel exhausted again because I was growing my baby.
I can't congratulate them. I can't commiserate with them, or be excited for them. It's too difficult. So I say nothing at all. Just nothing.
Sometimes I am sure I want us to try again, to not let this defeat us, and then I feel guilty for trying to replace Y. I'm too scared to give an answer either way, but soon our personal deadline approaches and I don't want time to make that decision for me, so I know we have to do it quickly.
But first we need to grieve, which Christian and I are both horrible at, and then we need to heal, and I don't want to rush that process either.
I sit by my windows every evening as the sun sets and I can feel the coming change of Autumn, the slight chill in the air, that refreshing crisp briskness. My favorite. I watch the leaves on the trees begin to redden and wilt, soon enough they'll fall away and the trees will be left bare and vulnerable to the eventual snowfall.
I hope that I won't still be sitting here, watching the world, when it happens.
But it hurts too much to move.