Well, a year ago, I started again. I had begun my blog in January, emailed Mel at Stirrup Queens to let her know, and promptly felt blocked, not able to write a word. So I started again today, posting their names.
I have over 200 posts now, I think, many of them saying the same thing: It hurts. I hurt. I want my boys back. I can't believe this is my life now. How am I going to get through this. There's been a lot of whining. A lot of incomprehensible exposition. A lot of cursing.
And I sit here, a year later and, to be honest, it's not really where I'd like to be. I thought perhaps I'd be pregnant by now. Or at least trying. I worried how I'd do school pregnant again; I assumed I'd be able to get back to it by now. Get some semblance of me back. And there is, here and there, a bit of me. But this roller coaster doesn't seem to end and there are more days than I'd like to admit that find me curled up and crying, sobbing, angry, lost.
C has taken care of me, more than I him, I think. He has not had the time he's needed to grieve. We need to figure out how to balance it more. I have to trust that it will come, otherwise, we are doomed. I had put on my Hope necklace for a while, but took it off yesterday, or the day before when I came down off the meds high. I have never liked roller coasters.
Thanks for sticking by me, especially now, when I'm having trouble even reading blogs, let alone commenting. You are in my heart and you all have kept me going when I thought I couldn't. When I didn't think anyone could understand, you have. When no one could make anything better, you have abided with me. Held my hand. And that means the world to me.