September 17, 2010

the abyss

I feel sometimes like I'm pushing my pain away with one hand, and grasping at it desperately with the other. So I'm afraid that, even when I allow myself to be sad, this ache I feel may be just the tippy top of my grief, just the fine edge of it. And one day I might be pregnant again, but I will be fully present this time, and then (especially if my baby is born alive), I'm afraid I might topple into all that grief over what I lost before, that I knew but didn't-quite-know was there. And I will drown. Or be impaled. Or suffocate. Whatever metaphor seems to fit best at the time. And... and what? And my brain stops there. Balks. Will go no further. Because if I did that, I would fail my child, my theoretical child who had -- finally -- lived, and who would need me more than ever to be a functioning person. And that thought is simply unbearable.


  1. That exact thing scares the CRAP out of me. I know I will not enjoy a pregnancy like a normal woman. Us baby loss mommas will have too much fear that whole 9 months. But even worse than that I worry about and I pray I can be a loving fully present mother. (((hugs))) to you!

  2. It's scary stuff. I suppose the fact that I cannot stand even the thought of totally falling apart on my kid means I probably won't actually do that, but it is still really overwhelming. I hope that someday I will attain some kind of cautious optimism. We just won't know until we get there, I guess.

    Hugs to you too. Thanks for sticking around with me. :)