Monday, February 11, 2013

I fear...

I flipped the ricotta cheese over to see the expiration date.  Right there in the market my breath caught.  May 2013.

May.  May.  May?  How is that possible?  How am I approaching the anniversary of my water breaking?  Of my hospitalization.  Of my mother's day spent in room CWN854.  Of Ethan's birthday.  Of my sepsis & complicated c-section.  Of that terrifying night Dr. Van Marter told us our son would likely die and my moaning that followed.  Of Ethan's miraculous recovery.  Of Ethan's sepsis, 3 pneumothoraxes, and devastating brain bleed.  Of the come to Jesus conversation at that conference table with the doctors.  Of holding my sweet boy as he returned to our maker.  How?  How?  How?  

Tears well as I write this.  As I contemplate this.  Another bittersweet moment of this grief & healing process.  

How far away is this all?  Just 3 months now.  That means it's been 9 months since it all went down.  How?  How have I survived that long with so much pain in my chest?  I'm surprised I haven't drowned in an ocean of my own tears.  How have I numbly moved through the shock?  Felt happy again for the first time.  Experienced genuine joy occasionally.  I don't know how, but it has happened.  Time has moved forward - Thank God - truly, Thank God.  

I am in a different place, a softer place than 9 months ago.  I reread that sentence and want to take it back.  I am still as fucked up by all of it - and I am pretty sure big chunks of me will remain that way. And I am OK with that.  I guess.  Yes, I am - largely.  My grief is disjointed, confusing, exhausting, beautiful, terrifying and more.  That's why this journal is all over the place.  I write as I experience it - usually.

I fear May.  I fear that I will forever be jealous of people who birth healthy baby boys in May.  Fear that I will be too sad on May 19th to celebrate my son's first birthday.  Fear that if I plan that informal cookout on that day, as I had planned, with close family/friends that I will wake up that morning and want to cancel it.  Or that I will want to run away into the woods instead of sing him happy birthday.  Well, I am pretty sure I will sing him happy birthday - I just might sob through it.

I fear my husband's birthday, May 9th, will always be tainted.  That was the day Josh & the kids became sick with a terrible virus, that I then caught on the morning of May 10th - and 12 hours later my water broke.  I want to celebrate Josh's birthday - though know it will, for now at least, trigger thoughts of the tragedy that followed.  (This post is already disjointed so here's another thought - my good friend, via email, delivered her only child, sweet Jack, stillborn on her own birthday last May.  Sweet, beautiful, full-term Jack.  How about that for shitty?  That for being inescapable?  Another reason I fear May - for her and my 3 other friends' whose babies died last May.  Babies just shouldn't die.  Life becomes impossible when they do.)

I fear Mother's Day.  In and of itself that is a trigger for my grief, right?  Well, let's just add that it occurs in May - and last Mother's Day I gloriously (I am not being facetious) spent it on my left side bedridden in the hospital - 7 days before Ethan was born.

I fear May 23rd, 5:55pm - Time of Death.  Will I stare at the clock that day?  Likely.  Do I fear it?  Partly.  Partly not.  And both of those thoughts scare me.  It's impossible - this grieving business.  A full time job - whose tiring waves lap away at me.

I fear May 24th, 2013.  Being more than a year away from Ethan's life.  What's that going to be like?  More of the same, probably.  Shitty days/hours/moments.  Some good times thrown in too, with lots (hopefully) of decent days as well.

When I began this post I titled it "Already?" in reference to May approaching.  It morphed into what looms ahead for me with May.  So I changed the title.  I fear a lot.  Though not really.  For I know, I know, Ethan and Jesus walk with me.

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