First day back to school after vacation. Brutal. I wasn’t 30 minutes in the door before someone else announced their pregnancy. I spent lunch crying in my classroom. All the people wishing me happy new year and asking how my break was. Acting surprised when I just say that I survived it. They’ve already forgotten.
I visited the grave site on the way home. It’s the first time I’ve been there since the Yas took me the day after the funeral. The fresh turned ground over his grave was sunken into the hole. It didn’t really look like that much dirt was covering him. I had the thought that I should dig him up and take him home so he could be where he belongs. With me.
I glad he’s buried with my grandparents but I really regret having him buried there now. It’s so difficult to get there on that steep hill. I nearly fell on the way down there. I know the logistics will keep me from going there as often as I want to or need to. And I’m having trouble with the drive to and from work. My usual route takes me right past the cemetery. So if I take my usual route, I want to stop and visit or get upset if I drive past, if I take an alternate route, I can only think about why I’m going a different way. Plus, I’m not sure where I’ll be buried and I should be with Greyson after I die. I wish I’d been capable of thinking about these things when I had to make this choice.
Now the drywall finishing guy is here and will be until 9 or 10. So I can’t really go to bed and cry.
I HATE MY LIFE.
Aunt L, who is a nurse, came by last night and read through all the autopsy and pathology reports with me and listened while I talked on and on about the doctor, the support group leader and what happened. She was very loving about it and I know she told me the truth. She said that the 6cm clot formed after the placenta tore away. It was my body’s way of trying to heal from the tearing. The clot was not on the ultrasound because it formed after the abruption.
I did not tell her the secret I’ve been keeping. I know what caused the abruption and my baby to die. It is something I did. I wish I hadn’t done it.
She was mad that the busybody support group leader said all that about Dr. H. She works in a pediatrician’s office and said they get alot of Dr. H’s babies and she’s never heard a complaint about him and that she’s never heard of a doctor spending an hour with a patient like that. My mind is my worst enemy. After she left, I thought, of course they haven’t heard a complaint at the pediatrician’s office, those people have living children.
Mom told me that she and Aunt L talked today and spoke of how well I’m doing and how much I’ve accomplished since the stillbirth. I don’t know. Sometimes I do think I’m functioning ok and getting over it awfully quickly. Shouldn’t I still be crying heart wrenching sobs like I did for most of the first week? My baby boy is dead! How can I get over that or even act like I am? Sometimes I start to cry and then stop myself, thinking oh well, it’s in the past, nothing I can do can change it now. Sometimes when I cry I realize it’s not about the baby but about me and feeling sorry for myself and wondering what’s going to become of me. Sometimes I have a thought about trying again, and I think, your baby is barely cold in the ground, stop thinking about that.
I’ve experienced this before on a much less traumatic scale. Getting over bad breakups, thinking I’m over them fairly quickly and then later it hits me full force and as a result it actually takes me much longer to move on. It’s like I fool myself into believing I’m ok and everything is fine.
I’m not really fine.
I’m not really strong.
On the topic of strength:
I’m NOT strong, or brave, or courageous. People have their opinion, of course, but I sort of wish they’d stop saying that. My body wasn’t strong enough to keep my baby safe and I’m still not sure my soul can survive life without him. Strong people don’t have crazy thoughts about digging up their dead babies or obsess the way I do about what happened. The only reason I’m still physically alive is because I’m half dead on the inside not because of any type of bravery.
Really fractured….am I getting over it too quickly or not strong enough to survive. I wish I could turn my brain off.