I've always wanted a blog. I like home decor, or more specifically other people's home decor. I loved planning my wedding, and gave serious consideration to blogging about that a few years ago. You're told to write about what you know, and what you love. And sadly, loving and losing Jack is both of these things.
When I started writing, I did so because I wanted somewhere I could go to start just word-vomiting until I had nothing left to say. Because while my mind raced, my mouth couldn't keep up. Because it was hard for my husband to see his wife grieving so much, to keep rehashing about the one topic he couldn't bare to speak of. To attempt to console me while he was ripped open and his insides pouring out. He just couldn't do it.
I don't blame him at all.
I wasn't going to tell anyone about this blog when I started writing. It was going to be a journal of my trials and tribulations (and in many ways, it still is). The subject matter is so sad, and sometimes I worried people might think I was suicidal or depressed because of what I write, and how I write it. It hurt too much to keep bottled up inside, and I fear that if I had, I would have imploded.
In the end, I told some of my girlfriends, because I just couldn't sugarcoat it anymore. I didn't want to try to word it any other way than this:
Our baby died, we are shattered, and no matter what happens from here on out, we will always be that much worse off for having lost him.
This blog exists only because I don't have a little creature sitting beside me, demanding my time and all my attention all day/night long. I can afford to spend the time necessary to have written 100 posts in just slightly less than six months, because Jack's not here.
I wrote because I wanted to know I was normal. That my thoughts of Jack, of losing him, to think of where he was and why, oh GOD why, this happened to us- all normal. I needed to gather as much information as I possibly could, to make sense of it all. So, where does that leave my six months later?
He is still gone. We are still shattered, it's so very hard to be here. There is no making sense of any of this. There just isn't an equation where Jack's death + our survival = the happiest life.
As the 6 month points (of his birth, then his death) quickly approaches, I feel a little weird. I know people are reading this, and they're hoping for a happy ending. I know this, because I too am hoping. But I really don't know if that happy exists anymore.
I know there are people who are reading, who are waiting for me to announce I'm pregnant, so they can close this chapter and know that I will have a happy life. I want to tell those people to stop reading, because even when I am pregnant, it won't be the end. I know it's human nature to want people to succeed, to rally for the ugly duckling or wait for prince charming to save the princess. And in storybooks, happy endings do come- every time, without fail. But this ain't no storybook folks, and if you're waiting for the happily ever after, well, that ship has sailed. It isn't stopping here.
I was speaking with my dad today. He asked how I was doing, 6 months later, and how Scott was. I told him that Scott and I are broken, and that we're doing the best we can. But how exhausting it is, to pretend to be happy. To plaster a smile on our faces when we're walking around with our hearts ripped out. Dad told me that he knows one day soon we'll have another baby in our arms. That one day we will look back and have our own gaggle of kids and we'll always miss Jack, but one day we will wonder how we ever had any time for ourselves and our hearts will burst with love. And you know what, I get that. I get that one day, we will (hopefully) have our hands and hearts filled to the brim with love and babies. But Jack will always be gone, and that will never be okay. I don't think I'm quite able to see a life where my primary emotion is grief.
I realized the other day, I suppose as I reach the stage of grief where you begin bargaining, if I could have Jack back, I would never need another baby. Just him. I would give up all hope for all future babies for just him. I would take him, and run. Disappear forever- just Jack, Scott, and I. Crazy, right?
I struggle to find the words to stop writing this post. 100 posts too many, about a subject I loathe.