crying

if the earth was perched properly on its axis, and my baby was alive, i'd be crying right now.

i'd be crying and not wanting to go back to work. i wouldnt want to leave her. i wouldnt want to bring germs home to her. i would be anticipating not remembering how to do my job, being out of practice for 12 weeks.

for all intents and purposes, it would be considered complaining. i would be giving my mother, her first babysitter, the same directions on how to care for her, a billion times. stop complaining! stop worrying! you will be fine! she will be fine!

instead, i am overcome with fear and despair. the silver lining, if the earth was on its axis, would be that i'd have an excited group of coworkers excitedly awaiting stories and photos of her. instead, i dont even know if it's appropriate to bring her photos with me. instead, many are afraid to see me, afraid they'll say the wrong thing (and honestly, most of them probably will, and i'll let it slide like i always do. bites to the tongue hurt less than your heart being ripped artery by artery from your chest). i heard that the hospital chaplain came and spoke to some of them. i feel like a big pink elephant. i feel like im on fire. i feel like shards of glass or eggshells. be careful with your steps around beth, you might hurt her, you might get hurt yourself.

my baby has died. i will cry over this every day for the rest of my life. i realized though, that most of my heavy sobbing lately has been done alone. but today, i did it in front of john. he did not take it well, seeing me like that. it seems that everyone tells me it's ok to scream and wail, except for john.

i have typed and erased so many sentences about all of that. it's not coming out right. there truly are no words to accurately describe the desperation and agony felt by two parents grieving so deeply yet so differently. we are exhausted. the actual colds we are suffering are certainly not helping. we left the house for tuesday night rock group with our heads held low. but those people love us, and we can always leave with our heads held a little higher. i know i have a whole crew praying for me to have a smooth transition back to work tomorrow. and something tells me that crew extends beyond the rock group.

i just wish the earth would tilt back onto its axis though. i wish i could relive july 29 and have it end differently, so that july 30 meant nothing to me, just another day. and that july 31 was my daughter's birthday, the day she screamed and wailed and i shed tears of joy and kissed those beautiful lips. and that right now i was pumping breastmilk for tomorrow and crying and my crew was telling me to stop complaining about going back to work.. that everything would be fine. and that same crew would say they'd pray for a smooth transition for me to go back to work but that it'd be so unimportant that they'd probably innocently forget to actually do it.

with a heavy heart.. a few arteries missing.. the remaining ones still wounded and bleeding... with my world forever tilted.. a beautiful angel face in the forefront of my mind, clouding my vision, i'm taking the next step, as i have no other choice. i hear the cries of the silent, still to be born, amongst all the little ponies, between the snow and the huge roses, tuesdays bring me hope and love reigns over me. happy sad mamas write letters to their baby butterflies, their water children, writing their names in the sand, too beautiful, a cool, relaxing breeze, a journey of love and faith to attempt surviving the storm. there is a secret garden meeting, a life line for parents, with mending hearts and busy hands, blooming where they are planted, living life after multiple losses, wondering if we'll ever feel safe in this house, in this space where the lost were lovedsomuch.. and still loved.