Tomorrow I’m supposed to go see a counselor. This isn’t the first time I’ve made an appointment. I keep making them and then canceling them, because well I don’t really know why. I get scared of what they will tell me. I’m afraid they’ll tell me I’m crazy and need to be on some kind of medication (and I probably do, but I’m trying to stop the one I’m on, so I don’t need any more added to it).
But this time I’m going.
I’m forcing myself to take this much needed step. I need to learn how to cope with this grief, trauma, anxiety, stress, pain, everything. I need to learn how to move beyond the constant ache in my soul. I need to let go of the pain and find joy somewhere among the many blessings that I do have in my life.
Part of me doesn’t want to let go of the pain I feel, because it’s all I have left of him. I’m afraid of forgetting him, which is crazy, because I know I never will, but the details… I’m afraid of forgetting the sound of his tiny little cry. I’m afraid of forgetting the feel of his soft skin and the way it felt to run my hand over his perfect little head and feel his curly hair. I’m afraid of forgetting the way it felt when he would kick and move inside me. I’m afraid of forgetting the sound of his heartbeat. I’m afraid of forgetting all of the little details, so I go over them in my mind constantly, and they hurt, but they are all I have, so I continue the cycle of pain.
It’s the same reason I write all of this stuff here on this blog. I want to remember how everything felt. I want to remember him.
There’s this song by Craig Cardiff called Smallest Wingless. There’s this line that says “sadness is just love wasted with no little heart to place it inside.” As soon as I heard it I thought that is exactly what this feels like – love wasted.
We spent so much time preparing our hearts, our lives, our home for this tiny little person and now he’s not here for us to share any of it with. There is all this extra love that I have for him, and I have no place to put it. With Josh being our first child, it’s not like I can just hold our other children a little closer and a little longer and give them this extra love and attention that I want to give him. So instead I try to focus on my marriage. I focus all of this extra love and emotion on Patrick. I can’t sit close enough to him when we watch television together on the sofa. I feel like I constantly want to hold his hand and just be near him, touching him. It’s like I’m afraid that I’ll blink and he’ll be gone too (have I mentioned the irrational fears that run on a loop through my very tired brain?).
Lucky for me, Patrick doesn’t seem to mind the extra love and attention. I’ve heard of too many marriages that fall a part after a loss like this. And a part of me is scared of that. Our relationship still feels so new and raw at times and to have this huge of a blow to our spirits before we even celebrate our 2nd anniversary seems scary. But at the same time, I know the foundation that our marriage is built on is strong. There is no way I would get through a day without Patrick. I know that. He knows that. Instead of shutting down and running in opposite directions, we have leaned on each other. We talk through everything. We find moments to laugh and smile and we know that it’s going to be okay. Eventually everything will be okay. Right now we’re just missing Josh’s sweet little heartbeat, so we’ll just keep taking all of our love for him and giving it to each other, and I’m pretty sure that he would be okay with that.