Familiar scenes

Last night I went back to work after being out for 6 weeks. It was nothing like going back after missing 12 for maternity leave... my badge hadnt yet been reactivated, so I had trouble getting through some of the secure doors, but I hadnt forgotten all my passwords and codes like I did last time. It didn't feel like I had been gone for a lifetime... (you know, quite literally, my daughter's lifetime.) I jumped right back into the familiarity of the job without missing a beat. It was almost as if I'd never left.

Then again.. it was quite an unfamiliar scene. I had really forgotten what it was like to feel this way.. not only at work, but in all aspects of life. I walked around for so long with my head down, I was memorizing floors and forgetting what the world looked like directly in front of me. Everywhere I go, people say I'm a new woman.. it's nice to see my eyes, my hair out of my face, my smile, and even (gasp) a laugh here and there. People comment that my notes and entries here are lighter and farther between.

I cant help that I'm still carrying a fear of abandonment. I'm not afraid anyone will forget Kathlyn.. I think her little body has made quite a 7 pound impact on every 7 pound adult heart who knows her, or even just "of her." But now that I'm "feeling better", an observation that everyone I come across likes to point out, I wonder if that means people will stop coming around. Oh, ok. Beth's ok now. We can move along and not worry about her anymore. I know it's irrational, but it's not coming from my rational mind, it's coming from my heart. Hearts are responsible for the love, hope, faith, and fear emotions. My mind has nothing to do with it.

Please don't abandon me. I'm making my needs known here. Remind me, every day if you can. I'm afraid of the familiar scene of the first two weeks of January where my body fell apart in more ways than one, and then my mind followed suit. I hope I will never have to go back to feeling that way.. but I know there are triggers that could easily send me sailing.

I've read many times about mothers who wished they could just fast forward after the death of a newborn, straight through their next pregnancy to the glory of a new baby, saying "oh this? this baby? oh this is just something I've been working on behind the scenes. isn't she cute?!" I know that isn't very realistic, but I was hoping to suddenly swoop in with some fantastic news that I'm pregnant again when the time came. But I've become SO obsessed with talking about it to everyone who understands English and even some who don't, that I really dont think it will come as a surprise to anyone, considering my discussions ovulation tests and carefully scheduled intimacy. Modesty.. what's that?

So there's not much reason for discretion. What I'm getting at: another negative pregnancy test could quite possibly erase all the progress I've made in the past few weeks. I will relive the loss of motherhood all over again. Falling off the tree of grief and hitting every branch on the way down.

Crap.

I'm trying not to panic. No one will abandon me. You've all been there by my side from the beginning. And that's one of the things they tried to teach me.. how not to panic. Supposedly I'm well equipped with coping skills to get me through.

Everything's ok now, right? Nevermind the dead baby. Please check all negative emotions at the door. Beth smiles again. It's cool. The sun is out. Spring always comes after winter. Tears endure for the night, relief comes in the morning.

Nevermind death waiting in his Russian greatcoat outside, prepared to slam open the door with an unpardonable bang, sitting at the head of the table, answering the phone from now on, slipping between us in bead, waiting for me to write about him and only him again. More frequent entries, despair, hopeless, faithless, angry. Way too familiar a scene. (K. Bonanno)

Shake it off.. rub a little dirt in the wound and use that remaining thread get back up.. enter the uplifting paragraphs again.

Tonight was a familiar scene as well.. we had dinner in a large group of friends followed by dessert at the local coffee shop. We met at this same place, with the same group of people, after I was hospitalized on Januray 8, my personal day of infamy. My friends were offering their ever-tireless support, hopeful for the newly prescribed partial hospitalization therapy. Tireless as the support had been, it had reached its limit and it was time for the professionals to step in. And what a difference it made. I didn't believe it would, and everyone else did. And they were right.

This time, we were appropriately at the exact opposite end of the coffee shop.

My dear friend who was pregnant last time we were there, instead had her 1 month old late term preemie in tow... a little princess who shares a middle name with my baby girl. She has been to the doctor for a check up and now weighs only ounces more than my Katie did at death.

I held her for only the 3rd time ever. Dear God, she is so beautiful. I was reminded at work last night, and again tonight, every baby is nothing short of a miracle.

I embraced sweet baby MJ and anticipated it would be a familiar hold, at the same weight and length of my darling KJ. I spent those 4 hours of my life carefully breathing in and memorizing every nanosecond. The feel of 7 pounds on my chest.. at the risk of being morbid (it honestly wasn't like that at all), I was slightly disappointed when MJ lifted her head, shifted her weight, opened her eyes, or made a sweet little baby noise. My poor, precious girl never did any of that.. she was just a silent, still, beautiful little sleeping princess. I told her mother how I was feeling and she smiled bittersweetly with me. That family was with us as we held our daughter.. newly pregnant with this little bundle at the time. I am so glad we shared those moments with that family so they can remember with us. MJ won't be that size very long.. probably not even for another week. How often will I get the chance to hold a 7 pound child.. even at work, we don't always get them that small, and when we do, their parents are busy holding them for themselves.

Oh my dear sweet Kathlyn.. the human heart weighs 7 lbs.. I carry your 7 lbs next to mine always. Still my baby, my little angel baby forever. I'm sorry you couldn't stay and come to the coffee shop with our friends. Four little baby girls in our group, but the thirdborn little friend forever missing.. you would now be the second youngest. But little MJ has passed you in both age and size.. my little angel, my 7 pound newborn baby forever.