After things had settled down a bit, I reached out to the woodworking studio and arranged for Nathan to finish up the lessons. That's what he's been doing yesterday and today, and this evening he brought home a lovely little box:
Last night, as we were getting ready for bed, I joked that I hadn't even bled out or anything- that's progress! And he admitted that he'd had paranoid thoughts of his own while he was in class. It's a weird thing- we're both really happy that he's finally getting to do this thing he's wanted to do for so long, but we're also... skittish.
Some of you know that I've been avoiding Facebook recently. There are a few reasons for this, but the main reason is that I sort of can't take any more photos of babies right now. It's just a little too painful- or (and this is honestly worse) I find myself feeling nothing about these babies that I'm supposed to love. Which makes me feel like an awful human being. I understand that I'm not, of course, but I also understand that I am a grown-ass woman, and if something is making me feel bad, then I need to remove myself from the situation rather than bitching and moaning about what "other people" are doing or expecting of me. Hence the Facebook hiatus.
I decided to pop back on last night, because I needed an address from the messaging portion of the site, and unfortunately the first thing I saw were pictures of a woman who is five months pregnant. A woman whom I love deeply. And I just... cringed. Which told me that yep, I've made the right decision to stay away for the time being.
(I've had to check old messages twice since then, and I've taken to covering the majority of the screen with my hand until I have nothing but text displayed. It's working quite well.)
Anyway, all of that was to sort of put a moment from this morning into context; I was out with Isis on her PT walk, and she was upset about not being allowed to chase a rabbit. This prompted me to say to her,
"Yeah, well, I was supposed to be six months pregnant and in Scotland right now, so suck it up."
I came across a beautiful quote this afternoon, by the poet Edward Hirsch:
"I don't like the whole language of healing, which seems to me so false. As soon as something happens to us in America, everyone begins talking about healing. But before you heal, you have to mourn. And I found that poetry doesn't shield you from grief, but it does give you an expression of that grief."
I feel like I'm definitely guilty of trying to heal first and then mourn. I've been in such a hurry just to fucking be okay, that I sort of forgot that still being sad three months after my miscarriage isn't exactly unexpected, and it doesn't mean I'm weak or pathetic or obsessive. It just means that I need to cut myself some fucking slack.
Anyway, in honor of Mr. Hirsch's words, here are two poems that do a good job of expression some of the things I've felt. The first is one I penned, the second is by Matsuo Bashō. I feel they go together quite well, although I did not come across the one by Bashō until about a month after I'd penned mine. I guess it just goes to show that certain aspects of grief are universal.
Even the sky
Cannot be silent
In her grief
All crying done
But the shell of a cicada