Yesterday…..yesterday was not a good day.
Yesterday I had to embark out into the real world. There was nothing special
or really anything super important to do. I just had to make a run to the bank, pick up a few things
from Wal-Mart and I made a tiny side track to Barnes and Noble in hopes of finding inspirational readings.
It had already been decided that I would be the one to go out and do all of this. I knew Torry was going to make me
do it alone too. So when I decided I’d stop hanging in my PJ’s, I went upstairs to throw some
normal clothes on. Some things fit ok, but not like how they used to. For the first time in my life
I just quite frankly don’t give a damn what I look like. I don’t care that you can see the bags under my eyes.
I don’t care that my gut hangs over my jeans to a point where I can’t suck it in anymore. I don’t care
about anyone’s judgement because the fear of being judged doesn’t scare me anymore. I’ve experienced the
worst pain and suffering any human could endure. Everything after this is trivial.
I threw my hair up in a ponytail and made my way back downstairs to get ready to leave. I asked Torry
if he’d go with me in hopes that he’d say yes, even though I already knew the answer. And that
was made even more clear when he answered “Nope”. Disappointed, I threw on my brave face and walked out the door.
It was snowing and the roads were crappy.
I drove feeling completely numb. Numb all over. I felt like I had no true thought process.
I didn’t think of anything, really, except of my little boy and how he wasn’t with me to
run these errands. His car seat anchor is still locked in the back seat. Another reminder that we had him.
We had a baby. We did take him home in our car. Now it just sits back there, still attached, no longer
I did my bank and Wal-mart runs successfully. I was mostly afraid
of the bank more than anything. The last few weeks prior to Brecken’s birth I had made a lot
of cash deposits being a waitress and all. It was always the same girls who saw me and they’d
always ask how much longer I had. I couldn’t ever leave without them reminding me
to make sure I bring him in so they could meet him. I braced myself ahead of time
in preparation to their questions. I already felt the tears build up. All they needed was that one question to
be asked: “So where’s your baby?” and the tears would just cascade down my cheeks. But, to my luck,
I ended up with a teller who I rarely saw and the other teller’s were too busy to notice I was there, so I got
out of the bank tear-free. I literally took a deep inhale and exhale before I turned to leave. I was relieved.
At least it could be avoided, for now.
Barnes and Noble was a bust. I was hoping to find some readings of how to cope. I wandered
aimlessly around the store searching in sections I thought I’d find them in: Spirituality, self-help, fiction and even the
christian section. I was too lazy to dig at a lot of books. I was mostly scanning to see if something caught my eye
but nothing did. I was disappointed. I wanted to ask for help, but didn’t want to come out and say
“I lost my baby and need books to help heal” to an employee. I didn’t want sympathy or condolences or even
that ‘I feel bad for you’ look. Just did not want to deal with it. So I left empty-handed.
Later that night, I was really wanting some Dunkin’ Donuts.
I convinced Torry to come along for it. They ended up being closed so we stopped at Festival Foods
to grab some sweets. The whole time I just felt like a zombie. Mindless. No sense of direction.
My walk, I’ve noticed, is still slow even though I’m 30lbs lighter now and no longer have a waddle. I got my
doughnuts and then Torry asked if we should make a round through the store to see if there is anything else
we want/need. I shook my head “yes”. I followed him around and watched him grab a few things. Each
thing asking if it was something I liked. I was neither in agreement or much of disagreement. I felt irritated
at some of the things he wanted to grab. I felt like most things he was thinking of grabbing were of only
for his taste. Of course I was overreacting a bit about this, but ever since we brought Brecken home, and now
especially after his death, my fuse
has been extremely short. I find I get very upset very easily at some of the smallest things. I pitch a fit sometimes.
It just feels good to do it. It just feels good to be angry. It’s not good
to hold that anger against Torry. It’s not his fault our little boy isn’t with us anymore. But I find that
I can’t quite control this fuse. It just goes off over the littlest of things.
On our way back home, sadness started to sink in. I hardly shed a tear the night before
and hadn’t cried all day yesterday so I’m not that surprised I started having a really down moment.
We make it home and I didn’t budge to take my seatbelt off or get out of the car. Torry noticed and asked what was wrong.
I told him that I was sad that we no longer have our baby. I told him how running
the errands was hard for me. It was too much. I can’t function in public. I’m sure I look like
and unfriendly, depressed, soul-less being wandering around. I told him how I just don’t want to be social.
I don’t want to smile and use my manners. It’s incredibly hard to crack a small smile at the cashier
when she smiles and asks how I am. I told him how it’s not fair, out of all people, not that anyone deserves
to go through this pain, that I was one to lose a child. I’ve wanted kids more than anything in this world.
I nearly quit college because I hated that it was taking away from my best reproduction years. I should
have been out finding “Mr. Right” and having his babies, not sticking my nose in a book and having exams.
I started to cry in the middle of these confessions to him. The tears finally rolled their way down.
Torry said that we’re going to have our good days and our bad days. I told him that I feel like
it’s a punishment we’re forced to live with the rest of our lives. We’re forced to feel this pain, everyday, for the
rest of our lives. This is one thing, besides death itself, that we will never be able to escape or run from. That
is the worst realization. A part of us will always be in pain. There is no cure for this.
Time will only lessen this pain, it will never be covered up or healed.
There’s just no way.
So for right now, I’m back to remaining in my safe-zone: the living room, surrounded by