I am just so sad today. So tired of doing this. I am tired of not having Sidney here, of having to get through each day without him. Yesterday, I volunteered with the art program I have been helping out at at a summer camp. Almost right away, I noticed that one of the counselors there had her baby boy with her–he looked to be about 9 months old, so older than Sidney would have been. But my arms started aching for him. I thought about how just four months ago, I would have confidently gone up to the mom, and known how to introduce myself, how to talk to her, proud of my growing belly with Sidney inside. And now my identity is baby loss mom, and I don’t want that identity. And thinking about how this is who I am now really upset me. I held it together for a while, but then towards the end of the day, when we were cleaning up, she brought him into the art room, and everyone started oohing and aahing. Then the baby started crying. And then I started crying. I asked the volunteer coordinator if I could leave, saying it was hard for me to be around the baby, and then ran out the door. On the way home, the air pressure light for my tires came on in my car, and I just fully lost it, crying hysterically until I got home. My husband put more air in my tires, but I probably should get them checked, to see if one has a slow leak. But it was too much. Today, I went back to the camp, prepared to see the baby, but still so so sad. And I feel old, surrounded by volunteers who are all in college or high school.
In a few minutes, our landlord is coming over with an appraiser because he wants to get his loan re-financed. The last time he was here, I was in early labor. My husband included him on the email saying what happened, and he never wrote back, never mentioned anything. We only heard from him because he wants to come by. And I don’t want to see him. To see someone I saw so close to Sidney’s death, when I was in pain from my contractions, excited, trying to lay down for a little while labor progressed. And angry that he never even said something as basic as ‘my condolences’ or ‘there are no words’. I may try to take a walk when he is here, but it hot, and he is never on time and I don’t like feeling like I have to hide. But I also don’t want to deal with him, to be visible. I don’t want to be visible at all. People who know what happened know we want another child. And they will wonder if I am pregnant, but really I am just fat. I don’t want people watching me. I don’t want people speculating about me. Even friends, judging, commenting on my progress through grief, telling me I seem to be doing better, or sometimes saying they are worried about my sadness. I don’t want to be watched. I want to be understood, embraced, and carried.
In the past, when I’ve been anxious or overwhelmed, the weekend can be a break from it, a time I don’t think about whatever it is I am worrying over, and just enjoy time with my family. But there is no break from this. Grieving happens 24 hours a day. I even wake-up sometimes with aching shoulders, neck and jaw (which is where I carry my tension), tensing up even in my sleep. Because Sidney is gone. There is no break from that. And it is absolute torture.