It was six months ago today, Tuesday, December 25, that my water broke.
It didn't occur to me until I heard the bells in the University tower chiming at 10:00 this morning when I was dropping off C after our coffee run. It was 10:00 am that morning that I woke up and felt something wet, sat up to a gush and ran to the bathroom. We were in the emergency room by 10:20.
In 10 days, both the boys would be gone from my body. Gone from the world. In 10 days, they are gone six months.
It still hurts like hell. Not always, but often.
Six months ago today, my friend JK's father died.
Very early yesterday morning, my friend B's father died. He was 85, and had been ill. Suffering the after-effects of a stroke and years of back pain. It still hurts, though, to lose your parent. She has 2 small children and a husband who needs a heart transplant.
I can't even imagine what she's going through right now. She doesn't talk easily about her feelings. But it weighs on her. We have been friends long enough to know.
I can't go to the funeral. Yes, the flights are expensive, but that's not the reason. I really don't think I would be able to get through the funeral. I get anxious about just jumping on a plane so I can be there for my friend.
Six months and one week ago, I was checking into flights and calling my doctor to see if I could fly at a moment's notice because we knew that JK's father would not live long. I wanted to be there for my friend, but in the end I couldn't, because I was in the hospital myself when he died.
I know she'll understand. I just wish the idea of going didn't give me a panic attack. If anyone needs support right now, it's B. But I can't give it to her, either. And that feels pretty fucking bad.
Six months later and I struggle to find some meaning in my life now. I'm trying, but not invested in my work, not like I should be. I picture my future as a childless academic, wondering what the point is to all my study, all my research, all my classes. The system won't change because of me, my work. I feel so distant, and mediocre. Not quite good enough.
I love my husband and he loves me. I have good friends and family. But my boys are gone. And I don't know if I will ever feel the joy I felt when I carried them. Everything else pales in comparison.
I know, it will get better. I'll find things to get invested in. To hope for. Right now all I feel is anxiety even trying to accomplish anything. Like I'll fail. Or it will all be for naught.