as my memory rests but never forgets what I lost wake me up when September ends ~Green Day, Wake Me Up When September Ends~
Tonight, I wish I could fall asleep and awake in October....or beyond.
In September, I fear that a groundswell of emotions will overtake me like a tsunami barrelling towards the peaceful shore. And with the anniversary of earth-shattering events on the horizon, I best brace myself for flashbacks, memories, and haunting visions. The most traumatic of which is the image of my son on the ultrasound happily kicking away and sucking his thumb just hours before he was taken from his home within me.
Moments from the past will bring me to tears over the next several weeks. And I hope that they will not bring me down back into the depths of depression I've known.
I have actually been doing better of late.
The hole in my heart is healing - but will never disappear. It's like the incision across my lower abdomen. It started out red and inflamed and has since subsided into a purple hue. Just like my scar, the hole in my heart will always be there.
But I can breathe, I can move, I can smile.
I can appreciate the time I spend with my live children (whom I love dearly).
I play with my dogs.
I go to work and get stuff done.
I am no longer overwhelmed with sadness - it lingers like a small cloud above my head, but the unsuspecting showers of tears are must less frequent.
I'm still working on sleeping more, drinking less, self care (makeup, clothes, etc.), and raising my energy level to something that would be conducive to physical activity.
But I've made progress.
I'm adjusting to the new normal.
The normal when I come to grips with the fact that I suffered a tremendous loss.
The normal when I realize my reproductive organs could never, ever support another pregnancy and that I will not be the mother to anymore children born from my womb.
A normal that says, a family of 4 is great (though a family of 5 would be better will always echo in the back of my head).
I want to protect this progress by skipping next month in its entirety. I have fought to come this far and I don't want to take any steps backwards.
So maybe I'll just up my Adivan for a few weeks to temper the emotion that's bound to seep into the fiber of my being.
It'll let my memory rest, but never forget what I lost.