Love Wasted

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.


3 thoughts on “Love Wasted”

  1. Reading this makes me feel like I’m not the only “crazy person”. At least that it was I call myself. The fear that my husband is next, keeps me awake at night. The fear of losing the only other person that I love more than myself puts me in a constant fight or flight response, as they call it. And unfortunately, after my husband taking me to the ER 3 times for what turned out to be panic attacks, I’ve realized that therapy alone isn’t helping. What I told me therapist is, after 1-2 months of consistently seeing her, if there is absolutely no change once so ever, I will talk to someone about meds. Do what feels right. No one can push you to go on meds. State that right away. and that you don’t want to talk about it once so ever until a certain time. I know you don’t know me, but I don’t think you are crazy. I think that you are more sane than most people I know.


  2. It does. And I wish everyday that what people see from me, that strong person who is “okay” and “dealing with it well” was really how I was. That I wasn’t on the verge of giving up all the time. But the way I look at, which is more of just me repeating the phrase trying to get myself to believe it, is that my children wouldn’t want me to give up. Because no one else loved them the way my husband and I did. And they need someone to be able to think about them everyday and smile at their thought. Because if we didn’t, who would? Hang in there, and if you want someone who has also lost a child to listen to you about your irrational fears, I will gladly listen. I will not judge them, because I probably have some extremely irrational fears as well.


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