18 days and despair

All of this is pointless.  I made a baby photo book for her, am making a video slideshow of her, my hand hurts from writing so many “thank yous” and “we are so comforted.”  But today I just feel its all pointless.  Nothing I do, nothing anyone says, will bring her back.  I feel like my life ended with hers.   I hoped this would draw me closer to my son, but I just feel farther away from him.  We have nothing in common, he relates to and likes his stepdad so much more.  At least he has someone he looks up to.  I have nothing – my arms are so empty, my heart is caving in.  So much preparation, so much devotion and effort, to waste, now just a painful reminder of the life that will never be.

For all the love and support we have, I still feel so alone.  This loss is unbearable, and I can’t see through to the other side sometimes.  Part of me wants to continue, wants to put forth the effort and extra effort just to have something to do, to have something to cling to.  I have all this useless, wasted energy.  Nothing has meaning – I go through motions either because they’re familiar and second hat or because its something to distract me for a short while.  At first I wanted to be this bright, shining example of love for my daughter.  Now I just have no ambition.  I may just stay in bed tomorrow, just say screw it completely.

               
Yesterday I found the printout of our baby registry (or maybe it was the day before – the days seem to blur together more, into one amalgamous blob of grief and crying).  I haven’t been in her room since her birth, but I could tell you exactly where every item is in her closet – which drawer her socks are in, where you could find the diaper ointment and what was packed in her TWO diaper bags.  So much time and effort – I just thought about all the trips to Babies R Us, when I was panicking about “not being ready” and not having enough stimulating toys for her.  I spent the better part of a day sanitizing and sterilizing bottles, arranging them neatly in a newly cleaned kitchen cabinet for easy accessibility.  I must have mentioned them to my mother because (since they had to go to our house to let the dog out) they had vanished when we got home.  I don’t know what would have bothered me more – seeing them, or the punch in the gut I got when I didn’t see them.

               
We went to a support group meeting last night – Matt thinks its helpful because it’s an opportunity to talk to other people who have been through the same thing and are still here years later.  But I feel myself starting to get bitter.  I don’t WANT to be here, at all.  I don’t WANT other people’s grief compounding my own, or start internalizing their recovery timelines as my own.  It’s helpful for him because he’s had no one to talk to – I’ve at least had my online forums, but its usually just me crying and venting to him, and he’s been so worried he’s held a lot of his own feelings back, in fear of hurting me more.