On difficult days everything hurts. On these days, I can’t stand the sound of my own voice. Simple everyday conversation feels wrong. One sentence out of my mouth can send me into hysterics.
I was driving a route I take home from work and very casually said to my sister “whoa it’s been awhile since I have taken this route”. Immediately, I wish I never thought or said those words. In an instant I was crying. The last time I took that route was January 24th, the Friday before I was induced. The rest of that car ride, which thankfully wasn’t that long, I tried so hard to remember what my baby was doing that Friday. Was he kicking me? Did I have one hand on my belly to feel him? I could guarantee I was singing or talking to him, I did that anytime I was alone in the car.
I should cherish the moments I was pregnant. I should be able to look back and laugh at how much he moved and how big I got, but instead looking back causes unbearable sadness. I want so badly to go back to January, I want to be pregnant with my little boy so I can tell him again how excited I was to become his mommy. I want to sing him his song and feel him kick. Why did I hate being pregnant so much when I got to spend every moment with him?
Give me back all the things that made me uncomfortable so I can be with him. Take away anything else and place my son in my arms. He should be home with us. We had so much love to give him.
There are a few seconds each morning, just after waking up, that things feel normal; then I get hit with knowing what I lost. Most days I would love to hide under the covers all day; I would love to avoid any and all conversation but that isn’t how this works.
I have to get up.
I have do the day to day.
I have to move forward; I have to move forward without my son.
Even though, every minute of every day I feel the pain of losing him.