Over the past eight months I have tried very hard to be understanding and to not make people uncomfortable when dealing with me. I have worked hard to make my life about more than just losing Alex. I have really searched my soul to find the pieces of me that remain whole and untarnished...and build something that isn't bitter and angry and sad.
But as I sit here typing this, there is a screaming seven day old baby in the next office.
Now never mind that our LAW office is no place for a baby...seven days old or seven months old. And never mind that the child is obviously unhappy about being here, for whatever reason. And never mind that I already gave them a baby present just to show how kind I can be (when a baby department/store is pretty much one of the most painful places I can ever find myself). Never mind that the endless baby-related talk is making me want to run screaming from the building.
Never mind all that.
Just tell me how much I'm supposed to take?
The parade of babies through this office is just too much. I was once a part of all of that...the happy anticipation and the shared joy of welcoming a new little person into the world. There was a time when I would have gladly oohed and ahhed over a screaming bundle of joy without one single nasty comment or thought coming to mind. But now? Now I'm lonely...isolated...afraid. My office door was closed before the screaming baby appeared...and closed it remains, despite the new father's obvious "announcement" for everyone to come out and meet the precious little one. I so desperately want to be a part of that again. But I know that if I open the door, I run the risk of falling apart...the risk that the tears will come uncontrollably.
I know what they all must think of me. I know because of the hushed whispers that stop when I come around a corner into a room. I know there is a combination of pity and impatience for me. Yes, I lost a child...but why can't I be happy for other people? Aren't I over it yet?
But I know too what they would think if they were witness to my immediate deconstruction at the sight of the kind of miracle that eluded me. Maybe there will come a day when I can look into the face of a newborn baby and not see the gaping empty hole in my own life.
But right now it's just too much. I'm not strong enough. I wish they would understand that too.
Oh crap. I was sitting here crying and daddy knocked on the door. (Doesn't a closed door buy you ANY privacy these days?) So I dried my eyes as best I could, took a deep breath, and told him to come in. To his credit, he didn't run away, but rather walked right in and introduced us. His son is beautiful. And I feel like I've been flattened by a truck. And I can't stop crying.
Why did this have to happen to me? to us? I want to know damn it!
(On the up-side...I guess I'll get to find out what happens when they see me fall apart.)
Daddy stopped by my office later in the day to tell me how sorry he was that I was upset...how sorry he was for everything I had to go through. He made me cry AGAIN. I know he meant well...and he was so kind (more than any mommy has ever been who hasn't suffered a loss). He really tried to comfort me...I have to give him points for that. He's a good guy and he'll be a great daddy to his new boy. And hopefully someday I'll look at his baby and not cry.
MB...I would have told your therapist to f*ck off too. rofl