Healed.

I wanted to shake out the demons on the last 8 months of life for those of you here today.  This is not an epiphany, I was not just struck down with the goodness of the Lord and granted peace and serenity.  I am not healed, I'm pretty sure I'll never be healed, but I have developed a few tasks that I attempt in my daily life.

I cry.  Yes, still.  Get over it.  I got to be a Mom, to a dead baby.  That puts me in some type of limbo place that nobody talks about.  There are plenty of manuals and books out there for parents of living children, but what about us baby-lost mamas?  There is no fucking manual for us.  So, deal with it.  I don't know what the hell I am doing, I don't know what is right, and I really don't care what you think of me.  I relate almost every single situation that I'm faced with now to the arrival of our dead son.  Is this situation going to be worse than February 19th?  Nope, and I made it through that day with a shred of dignity and hope, so this task can be accomplished today. 

I eat.  Duh.  We all do.  I'm not talking about food, I'm talking about eating up all the pleasant people around me.  Not the infected disease-y people that I hope disappear off this Earth forever.  I don't need your shit or your drama.  I'm talking about the people that still do give a shit about me, about Frank, and about us.  How are we doing?  Not great, we lost our only child.  But we still have each other.  There are too many people that I know that can't look Frank or us in the eye still.  And don't think that we can't hear the whispers when we enter a room:  "That's Frank and MaryBeth, ya know the one I told you about.  The ones who's baby died.  I wonder what she did wrong in her pregnancy so I don't do the same."  I would also like to confront the people that still tell me about how they lost their baby too, and lost 6 more after it, and are now infertile, and that I should give up hope.  Keep your shitty story to yourself, I AM NOT YOU.  So, I eat up those people, those close family and friends that still talk about my son as if he was actually here, and who don't tell me I should get over it already.  Stay close (you know who you are) because I appreciate you always listening to my rants and tears. And ask Frank how he is once in a while - he lost a baby too.  I'll eat you people up all day long.  And, by the way, I did absolutely nothing wrong during pregnancy to cause this to happen to me, I'll have you know.  I followed the list of shit I shouldn't eat or do, I exercised lightly, I took my prenatal vitamins.  Things I didn't do:  smoke crack, drink alcohol, and throw myself down the stairs.  Yet, there are plenty of women out there that do those, and still have healthy children.  WTF.


I let it all go.  This perfect little life that Frank and I created in the last 5 years went up in flames.  Who envies us now?  Didn't think so.  Our plans for parenthood are stuffed into a memory box.  Isn't that just awesome?  I  try to let go of all my preggy friends, their baby showers, their eventual healthy kids, and the inevitable growing up of their kids.  Something mine will never ever do.  So it genuinely pisses me off when one of them complains that their living child kept them up all night, or is teething and whiny, or how uncomfortable the last month of their pregnancy is making them.  Bitch, I never got any of that.  Please be courteous enough, compassionate enough even, to realize that I am the one standing in front of you when you say this, not one of your other friends that hasn't lost a baby.  So...you can see that I haven't quite mastered the 'letting go' stage, but I'm a work-in-progress just like anyone else.