Fried

I know, I know, the 10-month anniversary of our loss passed Monday and yesterday, and I didn't write about it. I thought about it, Lord knows, but I was incapable of forming coherent thoughts, let alone putting them in writing.

Our babies feel so far away, and I think that's what hurts my heart the most right now. So much time has passed, and yet so little. I know in my head that five years, ten years, twenty years down the road, this will still hurt. I know that in my head, but my heart is a different story. It's unfathomable. My counselor likes to say, from time to time, "Sometimes, this is more than we can bear." It's so true, and yet it must be born for the rest of our lives. It will not go away, this pain...it will lessen, but will always be there. That's a lot to take. A lot to bear.

I finally, silently, grabbed all the picture frame stuff I've had stored in a bag and decorated a frame for the babies' photos, one that we now see many times a day as it sits on my great-grandparents' antique curly maple dresser at the foot of our bed. Somehow, it doesn't seem right or finished, but still, it's there, on display, finally, the original photos are now double-safely ensconced in our fire safe inside the gun safe.  That part I feel good about...and the part where both Paul and I can look at our babies any time we want without having to unlock them and then put them back.

I shed tears both Monday and yesterday, but today I feel just discombobulated, dull, and weepy on occasion. Paul reported that he had a bad day, not for any particular reason, but when I asked if it was anniversary-related, he said, "Yeah, it probably is."

Tonight feels like one of those nights when I can't even fathom eating, let alone fixing anything to eat. That whole food thing is another post for another day...pregnancy and grief really ruined my relationship with food. I think what we both really want is to be kids again, happy to eat whatever our moms put on our plates in front of us...to be cared for and carefree.