trying to reframe the day
I I went to bed early last night and unfortunately, I woke up early too. It's hard to see the numbers on the clock this morning.
"0655. babe expired"
Expired. Like she was a jug of milk or something. It's hard to think of her death for obvious reasons, but it's also hard because it still makes me angry that we were kept from Abby for so many hours of her short life, that they didn't just let us keep her with us until her little heart finally stopped, and that she died in a plastic bassinet in the back of an ambulance instead of in our arms. How many years of my own life would I give to get those hours back...
And down the rabbit hole I go. I try to stay out it but it's been raining here and the ground is slippery ;-) Here's me, smiling through tears, sitting in the dark at my desk.
I don't want to spend the day feeling angry so before I got out of bed this morning I thought about what I'd like to do today. Normally we release a helium balloon and do something as a family. This year, there is no balloon since the only store that carries helium is closed today and we didn't remember to get one yesterday. And I've had enough of crowds and travel for a while so I don't want to go anywhere. Instead, I'm going to scrapbook in Abby's album, do a few more things to plan for Charlotte's party, make something warm and hearty for supper and maybe venture out to choose bedding plants for Abby's planter. When Jack gets up, I'll enlist him and Kimberly to make eggs and toast for breakfast while I have a shower.
After we had Abby's cake last night Jack and I made our bed, shoo'd Charlotte out of the room, shut the door and stretched out on the bed. We talked quietly about Abby's birthday and I was reminded of how different it is for Jack and the girls, from what I feel. Jack has always admitted that while he 'has his moments', he didn't have the physical or emotional connection to Abby like I did. I told Jack, "I know that so many people are remembering Abby this weekend and they're sad for us that she died, but it feels like I'm grieving alone. Like it doesn't actually hurt anyone but me, and I'm the oddity for still grieving so deeply. It's a really lonely feeling."
Every other day of the year I am able to talk about Abby without falling apart because the pain isn't a deep or as constant as it used to be. When I do feel it deeply, I shut down or distance myself enough from it to carry on with whatever needs my attention at the moment. These two days of the year I don't push away the memories or the pain when they come but it's kind of a lonely, crazy feeling to be the only one wiping away tears through dessert.
Now, I'm going to gladly clear my desk and get to work on Abby's scrapbook :-)
"0655. babe expired"
Expired. Like she was a jug of milk or something. It's hard to think of her death for obvious reasons, but it's also hard because it still makes me angry that we were kept from Abby for so many hours of her short life, that they didn't just let us keep her with us until her little heart finally stopped, and that she died in a plastic bassinet in the back of an ambulance instead of in our arms. How many years of my own life would I give to get those hours back...
And down the rabbit hole I go. I try to stay out it but it's been raining here and the ground is slippery ;-) Here's me, smiling through tears, sitting in the dark at my desk.
I don't want to spend the day feeling angry so before I got out of bed this morning I thought about what I'd like to do today. Normally we release a helium balloon and do something as a family. This year, there is no balloon since the only store that carries helium is closed today and we didn't remember to get one yesterday. And I've had enough of crowds and travel for a while so I don't want to go anywhere. Instead, I'm going to scrapbook in Abby's album, do a few more things to plan for Charlotte's party, make something warm and hearty for supper and maybe venture out to choose bedding plants for Abby's planter. When Jack gets up, I'll enlist him and Kimberly to make eggs and toast for breakfast while I have a shower.
After we had Abby's cake last night Jack and I made our bed, shoo'd Charlotte out of the room, shut the door and stretched out on the bed. We talked quietly about Abby's birthday and I was reminded of how different it is for Jack and the girls, from what I feel. Jack has always admitted that while he 'has his moments', he didn't have the physical or emotional connection to Abby like I did. I told Jack, "I know that so many people are remembering Abby this weekend and they're sad for us that she died, but it feels like I'm grieving alone. Like it doesn't actually hurt anyone but me, and I'm the oddity for still grieving so deeply. It's a really lonely feeling."
Every other day of the year I am able to talk about Abby without falling apart because the pain isn't a deep or as constant as it used to be. When I do feel it deeply, I shut down or distance myself enough from it to carry on with whatever needs my attention at the moment. These two days of the year I don't push away the memories or the pain when they come but it's kind of a lonely, crazy feeling to be the only one wiping away tears through dessert.
Now, I'm going to gladly clear my desk and get to work on Abby's scrapbook :-)