The days I wander through…plod through…or downright dig my way through with my bare hands…feel like I’m existing half with the living and half with those who’ve passed. It feels like life, only like no life I remember and no life I’ve wanted.
Life just somehow miraculously goes ON. How, I have no clue. How God can allow the sun rise on a day when I feel everyone should be deep in the hole with me is beyond me. Everyone’s world should be turned upside down, right?? Mine is. Mike’s is. Our family’s are. Why not theirs? I suppose that is the simple and difficult thing about this all…we need to find a way to continue living.
The strange thing I’ve found in all of this is that life, does in fact keep going. My car still needed new wiper blades. Mike’s Jeep registration was due. Mortgages and credit cards still need to be paid. Laundry, errands, Target…those things all still have to happen.
All of them feel different, of course. Walking through Target is excruciating. It was a weekly errand Kate and I did together. EVERY. WEEKEND. I peek down the aisles of the cute art projects and crafts. Why? Because I have a 4 year old who loves those things. Don’t I? I bought unscented laundry detergent. Why? Because I have a 4 year old with sensitive skin. Don’t I?
Our days, like our life, are this big list of “to dos” just so we can check something off and feel accomplished for the day, even if for the day the list reads “pay this bill” or “shovel more snow.” Only now, they are peppered with reminders and things like “call grief therapist” and “find out what paperwork we need for X” or “who needs what blasted certificate so we can accomplish Y.” Today I had to call to make a doctor’s appointment. And had to ask the nurse to please have the doctor call me personally. Why? Because I had to tell the beautiful soul who delivered my perfect baby that my perfect baby had died.
Now, instead of reading a story in bed with my freshly washed and lotioned up girl, smelling delicious and angelic and beautiful, her door remains closed and I kiss it with each passing. I wake at 5:30 every blasted morning and like clockwork, check the not-even-turned-on baby monitor to see if she’s rousing or still peacefully sleeping. I haven’t left the house without Lovey Bear yet, and he sleeps with me every night. Same with her blanket. Same with her pillow. What about that…is a life?
We have plans. We have goals. We are working toward therapy. We are working toward returning to work in a few weeks. We have lunch dates, dinner dates, visitors and outings planned. Before we had Kate, it was still good. We were happy. We were excited about having a baby someday. THIS was our life.
But now. It is no life I remember. And no life I’ve wanted.