tremors

I look at the links I've gathered for the post below, and I know that on a good day I think they're sooo funny. I wish I could say they never fail to make me laugh, but it turns out that's not true. In all honesty, I am very overwhelmed today and don't know if I will be able to crack a smile for anyone. Or if I am able, I don't know that the smile won't dissolve swiftly into tears. I fear my behavior might be rather erratic today, that I might scare people, might scare myself. I feel so many dark emotions, rumbling right below the surface, looking for a faultline, creeping ever nearer to a weakened place that will crack me wide open. I have to go to work now. And I am afraid.

distillation of memory

Bathing in someone else's tub, an uncommon luxury
proffered graciously, accepted gratefully.

Hot water and bubbles that shimmer, piled high
above smooth white porcelain walls

and perched on one side, a blue soap
in the shape of a baby dinosaur, smiling.

gone baby gone

I read other women's stories and I can see how the shock of it, the unexpectedness of not getting what you thought you would get, could completely derail a person for quite some time. But when I think of myself, of my own story, the grace I feel is somehow less encompassing.

I was derailed too, at the very very beginning; but the feeling seemed to wear off pretty quickly each time. Perhaps too quickly; perhaps more quickly than is normal or right. Because in my life, very few things have gone how I thought they would go. Much has been stolen from me. I have suffered so many losses, in so many realms. It is almost old hat.

Is my pain somehow less, for being so familiar? Or do I simply hold it farther away from myself? Do I shrug it off, say: This is just how it is for me? Have I acknowledged, truly, in the deepest part of myself, that this loss is COMPLETELY unfair and there is no making it better? That it is NOT OKAY for me to be wounded this way; that it was never okay?

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If it weren't for this deeply rooted belief that I deserve to be alone, could I bear my lonliness? If I shed the false "comfort" that this is simply how I am meant to be (alone, forever) would I be able to get up every morning? I wonder. Because if I force the thought: "I did not deserve for my children to die," tears prick my eyes instantly. If I don't deserve it, that makes it so much worse. If I don't deserve it, it's all just tragically unfair. How can I live in a world where it is possible to be hurt this much?

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It's horrible and wrong and I wish it was different and yet, because I still seem to eventually lose everything that really matters to me (and only time will ever prove differently), to be honest I can hardly wrap my brain around the idea of a world where my babies don't die. To quote dear Angela: "I don't know what it's like to have a four month old. I only know what it is to miss you with every breath I take."

When (if) I actually have a living child -- an infant, a four month old, a toddler -- will I be able to look at him/her and ONLY see him/her? Or will the ghosts of my first two children manifest themselves around me, distract me from the present, make me prone to unexplainable bouts of tears? Will I suffer a little even as I celebrate each precious milestone? Every time I think to myself: Ah! So this is what it's like?

I think of all these things and in my mind's eye a long road of grief unfolds and stretches and stretches and stretches before me.

self preservation

a disturbing memory


I remember when my last cat died; I was 12 years old, and he was the third cat I'd had in as many years. I held him gently in my arms and cried hot tears onto his soft grey fur. His belly sagged unnaturally in my lap, flattened by my mother's minivan, and he cried pitifully and gripped my leg with his front paws. The claws hurt, digging deep into my bare thigh, but I didn't care. My hands fluttered helplessly over his body, hardly wanting to touch him anywhere for fear of causing him more pain. Eventually his eyes rolled back in his head, and he went still, and it was in that moment that I decided I would never love another cat. It just wasn't worthwhile; not anymore. This was the final lesson; I had discovered that I could not keep anything I loved. And I decided I would do what I could to protect myself. I would choose to not-love. I would not-love any more cats. I would not-love any more dogs. I would not-love my clothes. I would not-love my toys. I would not-love myself.

But I would love my parents. My scary, confusing parents. Maybe, if I loved them, someday someone would take them away.

quick

Tell me the first thing you think of when I ask you:
What is the truest thing that you know?