Distractions

Everything is just a distraction, and I'm starting to wonder from what?  What am I (and others) trying to distract myself from?

The fact that I have an empty womb, heart, and arms?  That never goes away.  The lack of a baby's crying echoing through the house?  The closed off room at the end of the hall?  Then endless nights when my brain won't shut off?  What exactly am I running from?  It's all still there, it never leaves.  She's the only thing that's gone for good - I'm left with the pain and anguish of not having my baby girl here with me.

I've dived into a new project - scanning all of Parker's pictures to try and put together some photo albums of him.  Since he's almost 10, it's about time.  Matt was sweet enough to take me out tonight to get a printer/scanner so I could start right away.  I don't know what I'd do if I didn't have him by my side.  I look at him and I see her.  I see her chin, her funny ears, her long delicate fingers and her long feet with big toes.  She would have been such a daddy's girl.  And I would have loved that.

I've always felt much older than I am, and I need to start "thinking" young.  Thirty-one isn't ancient - I'm still well within child-bearing age.  And after this, nothing should frighten me, right?  Wrong- I'm worried if we have another, Coraline's memory will fade in light of taking care of a new baby.  I look at Parker's baby pictures and they seem so foggy - is my memory going?  I think I'm so wrapped up in who he is now and who he will become that I've lost who he was.  Thank god for photographs.  I only wish I had more of our beautiful daughter.  I'm thankful for the ones we have, but it's never enough.

And I still haven't felt that soothing relief.  I pray nightly, even though its in my head.  I pray to God to make it stop, to give some relief, to just take a little of it and I can handle the rest.  I pray for answers - why her and not me?  Why her at all?  Why Matt's first baby?  Why Parker's first sibling?  I pray to Coraline to send me a sign - send me some signal that she is resting peacefully.  Send me some sign of encouragement so I can go on, so I can make it one more day without breaking.  Nothing comes.  No comfort, no words, not even dreams.  Even with Matt by my side, I feel so awfully alone.

I know people are trying to be protective.  At lunch today, the woman in front of us had a very young baby in a stroller.  My mom said "don't look" but it was too late.  And it didn't really bother me - it wasn't Coraline and I know that.  This loss is so personal I can't put her face on any other baby, or mine on any other mother's.  Though I know other people have gone through this, our situation is ours, and doesn't transcend.  Even Parker - he told me not to read the sign in the parking lot that said "Expectant Mother Parking".  Bless his heart, he just wants everyone happy and feeling good and not sad.  I explained that didn't make me sad, because people have babies everyday and life goes on.

My life feels stalled.  Just one distraction to another.  My eyes open in the morning, and I think of her, and my heart hurts.  Get up, use the bathroom - remember I no longer have to change a bloody pad and feel sad that I'm further away from the day I had her (I know, gross, but true).  Wander to the kitchen.  Don't eat, not hungry.  Remember I used to crave things, and smells used to bother me.  Wander down hallway.  Repeat several times.  Let the animals out.  See what Parker's doing.  Feel bad she's not here for him to love.  Wander back to my room.  Get dressed, noting that my body is a wreck and nothing fits right anymore.  Resolve to work out - forget or just plain don't, no energy or motivation.  Maybe I'll run errands - and think about her the entire time I'm driving.  Maybe I'll stay home and work on house projects - and think about how my time should be preoccupied caring for her instead.  Maybe I'll curl up in my pajamas and cry all day.  Matt gets home, I cook dinner, usually something more elaborate to take up more time.  Shower, maybe.  Sit on the computer for hours on end.  Watch Matt play Skyrim or watch some tv.  Think of her the entire time, forcing myself to kind of be distracted but knowing the whole time why I'm watching.  Try to sleep - fail miserably.  Wander the house - maybe I'll write more, maybe I'll just cry.  Matt will get up if he hears me crying, so I try to be quiet - he needs sleep to be able to work.  We talk, I cry, I cry some more, and then when I'm exhausted (but still unable to rest) I'll take an Ambien so it will knock me out.   Cry until I pass out. Rinse, repeat.