Pieces

The day of our final ultrasound we sat in the car outside our house for such a long time after driving home. I couldn't go back in, couldn't just be Mom and pretend that everything was normal. The kids were so excited for this baby, how could I tell them it was gone? My beautiful visiting teacher hustled my boys away so we could have time alone. Jonathan had been up late with me (remember: works nights, sleeps days) so he immediately crawled into bed. I curled up with him, drained and directionless, and slept most of the day. The previous week had been so intensely spiritual, I'd been absolutely sure something survived. I'd even daydreamed scenarios of telling people about my miracle baby--"I had a miscarriage, but this little one pulled through." No dice. I dragged myself to school to pick up Elena, but I was quiet, subdued, wrapped in sun hat and sunglasses so she couldn't see my red eyes.

It's so easy to hide, to not let others see our pain because we don't want to explain or make excuses. It's especially easy for me, already turned inward by nature. I pull a cloak of solitude around me, unwilling to share because I don't want to hurt any more. This one is too big, though. I need to probe and lay bare this splinter in my soul. If I leave it to its own devices it'll just fester and poison all around it.

Despite how lonely I feel--or perhaps because of it--I crave the society of other people. I need someone to talk to, or just stand next to. After a while, though, it's starts to feel a little... forced. Do they understand? Do I want them to? I don't want to explain it again, but if I don't, well, maybe I should just find somewhere else to be. The spiral downward and crash when I'm alone at night hits me the worst. I don't sleep well, I'm always tired. I've started falling asleep at odd moments, the last few days.

That's not to say that there aren't bright spots. We really have been blessed. This could have been so soul-shattering, but wasn't. Even so, while we may not be broken, there's a lot of bruises. Some of them refuse to come to the surface, too. There's still so far to go.