This Is Where My Airplane Crashed.

voltee ♦ May 12, 2015 ♦ 16 Comments

Right now, I’m wondering if this will be as difficult for you to read as it has been for me to write.  For weeks now, all I can do is come and stare at the words, add one or two, and then hit “Save Draft”.  Every morning, I get up, and think, “Today is the day.  I will talk about it.  I want to.  I’m ready!”  And I plan to hit “Publish” at night.  But then darkness comes, and I don’t feel brave anymore.  And I say, “Well, maybe tomorrow.”

So I’m wondering if this is just for me, something I need to do, a cobblestone that I need to place as I forge the path to whatever my new normal will be. Or if I need these words to be read, if I need our story to be known.  If that will bring me a start to some sort of closure.

Do I need you to know?

I guess, if you’re reading this, I have decided the answer is yes.

So let me start by telling you that it’s going to be sad.  If sadness is not on your menu today, maybe don’t read this one.  Maybe don’t visit this site for a while.

Because all I am right now, all I have been for more than a month, and all I can see myself being, is sadness.

The reason is that I was going to have a baby in October of 2015, and my baby died.

I didn’t know what that sentence would look like until I just typed it.  And now I can’t stop staring at it.

Well, now you know.  Now what do you do?  What do you say to me?

It’s hard.  I understand that it’s hard.  I don’t blame anyone for not knowing what to say.

It seems very easy to say the wrong thing. I know that you don’t want to say something that will make me cry.

I know that I might not speak for others in this situation, but I want you to know that no one who has tried to say words to comfort me has said anything “wrong.” I appreciate the acknowledgment that you realize that I am wounded, and in pain.
If you do acknowledge it, is there a chance that I will cry?

Yes. Absolutely.  Of course, there is.  And a very, very high chance, even after six weeks.

But there is also a chance that I will cry when I tie my shoelaces or when I open the refrigerator. Right now, and for the foreseeable future, tears are just a part of my life. It’s a daily, maybe even hourly, occurrence. I can neither change nor control it, so if you are around me right now, be prepared to see me cry. It’s not from something you said. It would have happened anyway.

So, yes. I know it’s hard to find the right words to say. What I want to hear more than anything, though, is just “I love you.”

After living for almost three months with another tiny person inside me, the loneliness I feel now, each and every day, is like nothing I’ve ever known. It’s just consuming.  I have never in my life felt, or imagined, such loneliness.

And I’m not alone, either. Nate is being so supportive and comforting even though he is in pain, too, and we are literally clinging to each other. It’s not that I am alone. I just feel such loneliness and I just want to be enveloped in love. That’s all, really.
“You’re in my prayers” or “I’m thinking of you” are both really nice, also.

What I don’t want, and what, I realize now, is another reason I am writing this, is to pretend like nothing happened.  That is what hurts the most.  To pretend that nothing happened is to pretend that our baby never existed.

She did.  She did, and we loved her so much.  We will always love her so very much, with every part of our beings.

So now I know that there are somethings you just don’t ever get over.  We will never be the same, but we will be ok.  And that is enough for now.

It has to be.