Stung

Grief is so weird. I thought I'd made it through our "big" anniversary weekend pretty much unscathed, save for a few errant tears. FAIL! I awoke this morning feeling off and with a headache, so I stayed home again. It's a good thing, too, because the waterworks started big time first thing. I got to the point in my sobbing where my head was throbbing worse and I felt that icky, sticky teary face thing...I actually had to get up and wash my face because it started to itch from all the tear streaks. Nice. Better I fall apart at home than at my desk on a new team where my supervisor is aware but has never seen me lose it, and I'm not sure yet my new co-worker even knows what's up with me (we haven't talked about it, although he was schooled in the chaplaincy, so perhaps I should open up?).

Sigh.

I guess two things hit me hard today. First, I checked my e-mail and saw I had an anonymous comment on this blog. I swiftly exercised the power of the Delete button in Blogger, and then changed my settings to no longer allow anonymous comments. I also removed this blog from Google's "Next" feed, where folks who no nothing about me or our loss can randomly land here, read and form an opinion. I'm hoping that's where this particular commenter came from, because if the opinion expressed was from someone I actually know in real life, they'd get booted OUT of my life faster than greased lighting. The actual comment was something to the effect that my blog is horribly negative, but apparently that's the "beauty" of free speech. I hate that this bothered me. Why should I care what some uncaring, incompassionate person thinks of my life and my writing? I shouldn't...but today, I did, I guess because I was already feeling fragile. I've actually been blogging for nearly 4 years now, with (what was, up until our loss) a very active farm blog. I have 75 regular followers there, most of whom I don't even know. Until today, I've never had a crappy comment. It really stings that I would get one on this very personal - and duh, not very positive - blog. So. Security is slightly tightened once again, in hopes of thwarting cowardly anonymous comments in the future. And, I hope this person decides not to come back here again. I don't need that kind of "support," the same kind I've gotten a bit of from a particular Facebook "friend" who is on the verge of being unfriended.

Anyway, back to the crying. (Just kidding! Keeping it light, ya'll.)  The second thing is that today is the six month anniversary of being discharged from the hospital and leaving our babies behind, of me being wheeled out with only our satin memory box, the babies' little handmade isolet mattress, and a green plastic bag of my things in my lap. That day was so, so terrible, and haunts me nearly as much as the day my water broke. I miss them so much. I miss old me so much, the me that had never known this type of pain, couldn't comprehend how badly something could hurt, that feeling, too, that perhaps I'll never really be ok. I'm trying not to let that latter thought wheedle its way into my subconscious too deeply. I don't want it to be true, but man, sometimes it sure feels like it is.

I did go out and buy a couple of things at Michael's today to make Paul and me a framed photo of our babies, the same thing I gifted to my mom for Christmas. It will consist of a copy of the black and white photo featuring our hands with our babies faces and hands visible beneath their blanket, with a light green ribbon stretched across the top of the frame, from which two sterling silver teddy bear charms will dangle. I colored the bow ties on Mom's bears with paint pens, pink for Aliya and blue for Bennett, and I'll do the same for ours. I can't bear to part with any of the original photos, and in fact, they're stashed safely in our fire-proof gun safe, where they'll stay, tucked in with our Calvin's Hats and my medical records. It's a bit of a pain to have to unlock the safe, pull out the envelope containing the folder holding the photos, and then opening the folder, just to look at my little darlings. (They really were so very pretty and precious, nothing sweeter in this world than those two little faces and tiny hands, perfect ears, little bodies, positioned so they touched.) There are equally precious things in our memory box - plus our two Molly Bears, which I'll post about later - that aren't under the protection of the gun safe. No, those have been out in our living room since the day we came home from the hospital. I'm not sure at what point I'll feel ok moving them somewhere else. I need them close so I can easily go through our things, and I know Paul unties the ribbons and goes through the box sometimes, too.

I'm really trying hard to find that sense of hope I had in the latter part of January, acquired after a great meeting with my hypnotherapist. Perhaps it was a fleeting feeling, one that couldn't have lasted long on its own. My next appointment is on February 20th, another day off for me, and I'm really looking forward to it. Meanwhile, the book "Spirit Babies" is finally waiting for me in the library, ready to pick up and devour tomorrow. It was suggested homework reading for me, and now that I've heard more about Spirit Babies and sensed my own (who I have actually sensed twice before), I want to know more. And I want to understand what it could mean that MY babies left me, because that is a gaping hole and a giant question in the pretty hypothetical package that is the concept of Spirit Babies. As I read and learn, I'll post about it. The whole concept seems to "woo woo" (to quote a friend) to get into quite yet.

And with that, this big anniversary passes, to give way to those other months in the future that aren't so "big" but still signal a lot of time between us and our babies.