Monday, November 10, 2008

No title...

Why do I need to be here?

Really, I have nothing to give, nothing to share.

I can listen, but only for so long. I can read, but my mind wanders. Where? I don’t know. To the lump in my throat. To the panicky heart. Everything comes back to me. I am selfish.

I don’t want to die. But I don’t want to live. Not like this.

I am petulant. If I can’t have what I want, I don’t want anything. No, that’s not true. Maybe it’s fear that since it seems I can’t have this, I won’t be able to have anything.

When Mom died, I was there. It was just quiet, her rasp getting quieter, our silent weeping, our hands on her, our words, “it’s okay to go now.” I learned what it was to physically let go, to physically grieve. A huge hole in my chest, the longing to have her arms around me.

I wasn’t there when my boys died. I carried one, unaware. With no sacred thought. One day he was just gone, gone for days.

When I let go of the other, there was only pain. Sensations. Like a dream. I didn’t know what was his body, what the doctors or nurses said or did. Or how long his little heart beat outside my womb, briefly. With me, unaware.

There was no peace. No dignity. For any of us.

My chest empty and black. A huge hole. My uterus empty and sore.

Afterward, at the hospital they gave us stuffed teddy bears. One big, one small. We wondered if it was because our boys, one bigger and one smaller, or if it was supposed to be mother child.

I absently held the larger. Toyed with its ear, rubbed the ribbon between my fingers. It sits now, in C's office, in the bag we took home from the hospital, with their hats and blankets. I can’t bear to get it out. Though my arms long for my baby, my babies, to hold.

I can’t live like this. I eat, out of habit. I work, because I am paid to. After half an hour TV, DVD, I just don't connect.

I play games on the computer. Puzzle games. Sometimes I win. Sometimes I don’t. I don’t really care. I read blogs. They make me laugh, they make me smile. They make me remember. They give me hope that there is life after this. That the pain that courses through me, fades, just enough to keep going. To find another life after this.


Irish Diplomacy said...

I found your blog through L&F...I feel like I'm intruding as a total stranger, but felt drawn to post to you. There is not much I can say that will help nor do I truly understand how you are feeling, but I do know depression and it is a long hard road. The medications I took helped so much, I needed them to even be able to hope to see a future outside the box I was in. I could not make it through a conversation wit anyone without crying, my dispair was insurmountable and I just wanted to leave. Get on the highway and just drive. The day I finally called for help, I remember driving and driving, just sobbing. When I made the appt it was for 2 weeks in the future and I had no clue how I was going to make it that far without losing my mind. Slowly, I began to set time for me aside, if it was an extra long, hot shower a day, painting my toenails, actually putting my makeup on, cleaning that kitchen counter that became a freaking disaster, etc. Eventually all the small steps added to a big one where I felt a touch better each day.

You will get there too, but don't deny yourself and your body and mind its time to heal and work through this. But don't forget about you along the journey either. I'm so very sorry for your loss and I send you many hugs from my own Midwestern town.

k@lakly said...

I wish there was somehting I could offer, some help, some magic potion to make it all just go away. Just know that I, like so many others, am here, sitting quietly by your side and always will be.

c. said...

Sue...I don't know what to say that I haven't already said. But I wanted you to know that I'm still here, reading, feeling your pain and wishing that you could get some reprieve from its intensity.

Amy said...

Thinking of you. Truly, I think of you everyday...I have a list in my head, it rings out in the morning. Those people I need to check on, the ones I care about, the ones in my computer.

I do hope somehow you are able to find the life you are looking for. I know you will one day. When that day comes I will still be here, reading, hoping, and sending you my love!


luna said...

sue, I'm so sorry there are no good words of comfort for that ache in your heart. coming into the holidays has to be really hard, I'm sure.

I really hope you have the energy and can find some intention to do something kind for yourself. even if it's just a walk, or a massage. something.

also, maybe ask your doc about adjusting the meds to help with attention span? I know some combos work better than others for that. maybe they haven't found your right mix yet.

breathe, my friend. I know it doesn't feel like it, but you are finding your way every day.