Saturday, December 24, 2011


Judging from the numb, detached feelings I felt earlier in the week about this impending holiday (or, I guess *current* holiday, whatever), I really thought I might be able to get through it quickly and move the Hell on.

I was so, so wrong...because in reality, once I got all the other important, non-grief-related crap off my plate (two sets of supplemental questions due this past Monday for my layoff process, the stress of two IUIs, a twice-rescheduled informational interview, then 8 hours to complete another set of supplemental questions yesterday), all my ugly, bitter, hateful feelings about this Christmas came roaring in.

I am NOT ok. I could not be further from ok. Peaceful? Piss off. Merry? Yeah, whatever, bite me. All week I've been wishing a Merry Christmas to others somewhat blindly...wanting to mean it, and probably actually meaning it at some level, but rushing through, wanting it to all go away.

Two nights ago I told Paul I felt like this weekend was yet another thing to be gotten through since our loss. The past 4.5 months have been filled with them. He totally disagreed. To him, this two-day holiday extravaganza (I say that with much bitterness) is just another weekend.

This Christmas is nothing it's supposed to be. We shouldn't have to do any of this at all. It's all wrong. It will forever be all wrong. I just want my babies. I want our joy back. I want everything that feels impossible - and some of which actually is.

I hope someday I feel a tiny bit of joy and excitement at Christmas, at least for the babies we hope to add to our family one day. This is a holiday for children, and this year that fact hurts us both to the center of our beings. We both had uncomfortable newborn baby experiences last night, mine at Michael's and his at Things Remembered. I was stuck in line, checking out, with a bitchy new mom with a week-old baby girl behind me, and was *this close* to whipping out a photo of my beautiful dead babies and letting her know she has no right to be angry about ANYTHING. (She must be running on post-pregnancy hormones, for what kind of idiot new mother brings a newborn shopping - to a craft store, for God's sake - the day before Christmas weekend?!) Paul, fortunately, was able to turn and flee the store and the baby.

I do want to wish all of my darling fellow BLMs a peaceful, loving Christmas. So many of you have been where we are now, have survived that first post-loss Christmas. Right now I don't know how to survive this. I wish for you everthing I just can't imagine for myself.

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