Please stop telling me how much better I seem

Since the beginning of the year, at least five people have said how much better I seem now.

Strange as it may seem, I actually hate hearing this. I think it's because it makes me think, "you're relieved that I seem better because now you can hope that dead-baby thing will just go away."

Even with friends who have been very supportive, I don't get a chance to talk about Moksha and my feelings any more. They just don't ask. I talk to DH and when I go see my doctor I usually manage to have an intensive crying session. That's it. I feel like people have just lost interest. "Oh, yeah, that dead-baby thing, it's a bit old now. Can we move on now? Let's talk about something else, then I won't have to think about it or talk to you about it."

I suppose it is normal, every person has their own life and their own projects. I can't expect them to live my life. And I do seem better. I smile in meetings and even make the occasional joke. But it is because I am adapting to life with my son who died. My little defenceless baby whom I should have been looking after with more attention. I'm adapting to carrying the guilt and sadness and regret around, it is becoming part of me. But it has not gone away. It is never ever going away. If I go on to have ten children, Moksha will always be missing and missed.

Maybe I also hate it as pain is still my link to Moksha. I want people to see the pain so that they know the link is there, that he is a part of me. But I need to work that out as I don't want Moksha's legacy to be one of pain, I want it to be one of love.

I went to another town yesterday for business - it was a day trip. I was feeling quite low and below is a post I wrote in a Word document. When I got home and logged in, I discovered Delphi's happy news and it lifted me up, so I didn't post it. But it is truly how I felt when I was on the train.

"I have been doing okay on my regrets in recent weeks. But today I am awash with them again. How I regret not cuddling Moksha and holding his little head close to my chest! How I regret not rubbing his soft soft cheek against mine!

I’m sorry V. I let you down. I didn’t protect you as I should have. In my heart and my head, I know it’s true. I am so sorry."

(I have been thinking about starting to refer to Moksha as V., his real initial. Since here is where I talk about him the most, I started thinking about him in real life as Moksha which isn't his name. We'll see).

In addition I started crying when I was writing it and tried to hide the tears by looking out of the train window and looking for my packet of tissues at the same time. I found them, blew my nose, only to discover a nosebleed. Blood dripped out of my nose and soaked the tissue. I was trying not to get blood drips on my sweater as I fumbled around one-handedly for more tissues. Eventually the bleeding stopped enough for me to get up and walk to the train toilets, yes at the other end of the wagon just so everyone could see me clutching a blood stained tissue to my nose. So all that ended up being really subtle, eh? Maybe people thought I had been sniffing cocaine or something. And then I started worrying that it was the baby aspirin I am taking that caused it, which must mean I'm too anti-coagulated and if by some chance I'm pregnant, all my lining is just going to liquefy on the spot and come gushing out and the embryo won't have a chance and... and... and... well you get the train of thought.