I had a bit of a meltdown yesterday. I spent the whole day on my own, nobody called, nobody emailed. (I didn't call or email anyone either). I felt like crying the whole day, but the tears were not breaking through for some reason.
Finally when DH came home the dam burst. I sobbed in despair that Moksha isn't here. I long to feel his weight in my arms, to stroke his soft soft hair and skin, to hold his little head close, to smile at him and have him smile back. To be able to see his eyes - what colour would they have ended up? I cried to DH that I was supposed to be busy and exhausted now, with no time to do anything. Instead I have so much time and nothing to do. I'm crying again as I write this.
And silly things - what did his ears look like? I never saw his back. I have nothing that he touched or that was his - a lock of hair, a footprint, the pyjama suit he wore.
He was so beautiful. We were meant to be mother and son. He was 50% Mummy, 50% Daddy. He looked just like the part - perfect. Why him? Why me? Why us? What did we do to deserve this?
Several people have said to me - you know he maybe just didn't want to come. I don't find that comforting. What did I do to make him think that this world was going to be so terrible? Didn't he know we loved him? Didn't he know that if I could choose I would rather be dead so that he could have a chance at life?
I do sometimes wish I was dead. I haven't wished that for a while but I did again yesterday.It isn't the same as wanting to kill myself. I'm not going to do that. I love my husband and he would be destroyed. I just wish that I could go to sleep and be with Moksha. Get out of this wrong scenario I'm in and get back into the one I'm supposed to be in, with him. Go back to the point where some idiot changed the wrong switch on the time track and shunted us brutally into the wrong future.
Will I ever have another baby? I'm already terrified. I've read too much about what can go wrong. I'm listening to a serialised book of letters this week on the radio. The letters are written by a father to his 13 year-old daughter who died after being hit by a train. Yesterday I read a blog entry from a woman whose 1 month old baby died of SIDS eight years ago when she was right there in the room with him. Every day so many children die in so many ways. Can I handle it? Why do I have to take the decision to have children with so much knowledge of death when others don't give it a second thought?
I vacillate between wanting time to stop - each second is taking me further away from Moksha - and wanting it to speed forward to the time when I will have another baby safe in my arms already. Even this paragraph is completely at odds with the one before. There is no such thing as "safe in my arms".
6 years ago
5 comments:
I am sorry that you are hurting so deeply right now. Perhaps something that someone told me will be of value to you, too.
I don't know what culture (I don't remember), but a certain culture believes that, in those moments when the pain cuts the deepest, that the soul of your missing loved one is nearest to you. I try to imagine when I feel that pain that the C. is standing right next to me, holding my hand. And that it hurts because the enormity of his love for me and my love for him is cutting through space and time to flow between us. And cutting through space and time hurts, but is worth it.
I also think it is ridiculous to think that Moksha didn't want to come. Perhaps is is believable that he *couldn't* come, for some meta-physical reason that is beyond our understanding. But not want to? Impossible. He is too loved, and I believe that he would understand love beyond anything else.
I also really understand where you are coming from about wanting to be dead. It *is* so different than wanting to kill yourself. I remember driving in the weeks after C. died and I had to drive under a train bridge. I thought to myself "what if the bridge collapsed while I was under it?" Then I thought, "you know, that wouldn't be so bad. I would be with C. and I wouldn't hurt anymore. But I guess I don't want that for the people who love me. But to not have to live with this pain would be nice." For me, it was less of a wish for death, and more of an feeling of affinity for death. Like death would be okay for me. Does that make sense?
As for another baby? Some people do and some people don't. Give yourself time and space. If you can, set that thought aside. Tell yourself that you will come back to it when you are ready, but that you aren't ready now.
Much love to you.
I still can not understand why people say the things they do to a grieving parent. To tell you he just did not won't to come is just ridiculous. I wish that people would just be quite when they don't know what to say.
I am so sorry that you are hurting so bad right now. I wish you peace.
*several* people said that to you? Huh....maybe it is a cultural thing. I have not heard that one but yes, it is a very a painful thing to hear. I wonder why someone would think that would be helpful?
I understand wanting to die -- also wanting to kill myself. I have been there too. Now usually i don't feel either of those things, but i do feel what delphi was talking about -- that there is no real fear of death anymore, because then i would be with Nicolas. Still, i have many things to do here yet! So i hope to stay around quite a while longer, and i hope you do too ;)
I think Moksha would want to be with you, growing strong in body and spirit by your mothering and filling your arms with love. Bad things happen to good people, it was not anyone's fault that this happened.
I think Moksha is somewhere now waiting for you and he wants you to be happy again. He realizes that right now you need to cry and that you will never forget him but he wouldn't want grief to overcome you to the extent that it brings despair to you or your husband.
In some cultures they grieve deeply for a time and then honour the dead by putting the grief aside and moving on.
How fortunate your child was to be so loved, so wanted, so special. How many children are none of those things to anyone.
I hope you find some peace soon.
oh darlin' ouch, ouch, ouch. i can't fathom how you are holding it together at all.
i wish i could help you. all i can do i guess is to offer support and let you know that you are not alone. just because we don't know you IRL doesn't mean we aren't real.
((a moment's peace))
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