Every time I open a closet, a drawer, or any other random closet around the house, I see something that reminds me of how it should have been. Tiny baby socks, pregnancy clothes, a pacifier with “My daddy is the best” written on it, pregnancy supplements, … I should still be pregnant, and approaching 30 weeks about now…
So I decided to clean everything up. I took a big suit case and gathered everything in it. Every piece that I put into it broke my heart all over again. I think of the alternative present we should be living. The alternative present where she would still be in my belly, moving, kicking, and growing every day… I miss it. I grieve that alternative present that I am not living. I miss her. I miss Sahar. And I break down. Everything turns black again.
Swollen fluffy eyes. Tears coming down my cheeks and nothing I can do to stop them. The world comes crashing down on me. When I feel this way, it’s hard to see the good things I do have in life. I can only think of her loss, and how it hurts not to have her with me anymore. How she deserved a healthy, happy life. It aches, physically… How can an emotional tragedy hurt physically? Well, it does. It does hurt physically. It takes my breath away at times. It crushes my chest. It gives me headaches. It gives me insomnia.
I want to get myself together. For me. For her. For my husband. But at the moment, I can’t. I feel bad and I need to feel bad. I need this time to be sad, to cry, to mourn. I know I’ll get back up on my feet and see the beauty in the things that I do have. Now is just not that time. This is hard, and sadly, it’s not only hard on me. It’s hard on my husband, on my family and on those people around me. And I’m sorry for that… Because I can’t help it… I do know one thing: It will take me a few days, but it will get better again.
I know because this is how it’s been. It’s been ups and downs all the way, for more than a month. Sometimes I feel a bit more peaceful, a bit more at ease with everything. Not as if it stops hurting. It’s more that I can bear the pain and sadness. That I can be happy for what I do have, for the time we did have together. That I can laugh at jokes and enjoy the sunshine on my skin. That I can talk about what’s happened without breaking down completely. That I can think of my girl and think of those great moments we had together. Sometimes I can even think of the future and be hopeful. And then it creeps up on me. It takes over again. And that’s the phase I’m going through now.
So, to everyone around me, I say: Hold on, it will get better again, but for now, let me grieve… Grieve the ugly way. It’s part of the grieving process too.