I feel myself retreating...from the world, from my emotions. All those feelings are still there with the same intensity...anxiety, fear, sadness, sorrow...tucked alongside everything else I do. And yet I don't feel up to writing in this space with the same frequency, the desparate need to have everyone else understand the depths of my despair has dulled. In fact except for other babylost parents, I assume most people don't understand, can't understand or won't allow themselves to understand...I don't care which anymore.
This change became apparent at an appointment with a new doctor this week...the nurse had taken a full medical history (preeclampsia, placental abruption, stillbirth now etched forever into THAT story) and the doctor was reviewing it with me. "So you had a delivery in August, and that was uncomplicated?" his voice said, singsong. "No, it was very complicated. My baby died. He was born still" I said solidly, as I could see him reading the next lines on the page and realizing his mistake. "Oh that's tough" came the reply and he moved onto a new topic. There were no tears. There wasn't even rage. I expect this kind of insensitivity. I expect that people will say something stupid, or stupidly not say something.
There's something to my recurrent fantasy lately, the one where I live in a village of only babylost parents. I'm tired of explaining myself, don't feel like I should have to anymore. Actually I'm just tired. I feel like I've been sad forever.
We've been watching a lot of movies lately and I've been reading a lot more than before. It's the escape into a different narrative that's comforting, of forgetting about this grief journey, even if just for an hour or two.
This retreat is not necessarily apparent - I'm taking on more than ever at work, volunteering in the community. I smile, I chat, even go out for a beer once in awhile. But I don't want to talk about how I'm feeling, not most of the time.
And still, nothing brings more joy to my heart than when someone mentions my son's name, my Ezra. I miss him more than ever, I just don't want to talk about it right now.
the Stirrup Queen's Completely Anal List of Blogs That Proves That She Really Missed Her Calling as a Personal Organizer
Scotland, Part Two
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