It seems to me that, in the past, my perception of how other people must be grieving was way off. Not that I didn't feel sorrow for other's who lost loved ones, but I just assumed that time healed all wounds. I figured you lose a person and as time passes, it gets easier. My grandparents were very easy to lose-not in a harsh or mean way but it was natural and they had lived long full lives. With Wyatt I have discovered that things will never be the same.
My husband and I have managed to play a few boardgames with the kids and we've had a good time. But our laughs aren't the same as they were. Our enjoyable moments are not without a deep sorrow in our guts that never goes away. One moment we are talking to the children and in the next moment we are opening the mail with our son's birth and death certificates and crying like it just happened all over again. It's always right there, I'm always right on the edge of the greatest sorrow and pain I've ever known. I don't have to try and feel it or reach hard to find. It's there waiting for a small trigger to set it off. It can be a quite moment where my mind wonders back to handing Wyatt to the nurses in the hospital for the last time, or a quick glance at his picture, my daughter (whose face looks just like Wyatt), or a sharp pain from the c-section wound that reminds me I should be holding a baby. There are reminders everywhere, it's constant. And people don't realize it. I tried a postnatal workout tape, but the instructor kept talking about strengthening exercises to help hold our new baby. I ordered a wrap for my c-section incision and the lady on the other end of the phone offered me congratulations on my new baby and asked what gender it was. Someone in the store today was hollaring "Wyatt!". The man at Walgreens pharmacy asked if I was pregnant before handing me a prescription. I should be. I want to say yes. I'd be 33 weeks right now. But I have to say "no" and I don't want to. I keep getting emails from my husbands coworkers announcing the new babies every time they are born. I swear there's one almost every day. The other day it was twins, who had a much higher chance or mortality than Wyatt. I still don't know what to do with his baby clothes. They're just hanging there in the closet. I looked at them today and cried at the irony of a onesie I bought from my University. It says "I'm an answered prayer" across the front. I thought it was true at the time. When we first thought we might miscarry Wyatt and then didn't we thought God had heard us and answered our prayers. Now I don't know what to think. There's a lump in my throat every time I have to answer how many children I have or how many "live births" I've had from doctors. I couldn't even get my OB to take me seriously about some of the c-section problems until I lied and told her I was taking antidepressents. She just kept telling me that I was so depressed it was causing the pain. After I told her I was taking them she announced how "great I looked!" She told me they were working and to stay on them. I'm sure I'm severely depressed but I'd like a doctor to listen to me without thinking I'm crazy. I had packed up all of my maternity clothes but now find I still have to wear the pants. Either my body was badly hacked up in that c-section or it's still swollen. Wearing maternity clothes post pregnancy is something I've never had to experience, it's insult to injury. No baby to show for all of this pain and yet I have to wear maternity clothes. My skin is ragged and looks like an old woman's. Never had that happen before either. All of these things would be worth it if Wyatt were here. But since he isn't I despise my body even more, trying desperately to get it back to the way it was. I couldn't even nurse, which was always my best way to lose the baby fat. I should've pumped, I guess, but I didn't think of it at the time. I was too consumed by it all.
I wondered today what I would've put Wyatt in for halloween. It's the perfect time of year to be born, infant costumes are the sweetest. I wondered what Wyatt's favorite food would have been or what he would have named his kids. There's always a new thought that brings more sorrow, like 'I'll never have grandkids from Wyatt'. There's so many missed chances, missed opportunities to have loved him or to have spent with him. It'll never be the same. Our laughs aren't as happy. Our quiet moments are much quieter. Every family activity is missing a person. There'll always be a hole. I told my husband the worst thing about death is that it's so final. I can't change it. I can't go back and get another chance to do things differently during the pregnancy. I can't make different decisions about giving birth or having a c-section. I can't go back and try different doctors or a different state. I can't make him live. I can't do it. And it drives me insane.
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