the other 10%
All I was looking for was a manilla envelope.
I needed to bring our marriage license to the car dealership. They were attempting to finish up our paperwork, but the vehicle we traded in was in my maiden name. So, they needed my marriage license.
Not wanting to bring the license to the dealership all unprotected and exposed, I decided it should go into an envelope.
I knew we only had one in the house, and it was currently being used. But that's the only thing I could think of to house this document.
So, I removed the two ultrasound photos that were living in the folder. Put them in a filing cabinet with sweet cards that Buster has given me over the years.
And all of the sudden, I broke down. Buster comes in, asks what's wrong. I tell him. I expected him to be exasperated. Exhausted from my mood swings. To sigh, roll his eyes, or walk away. Or all three.
But instead, he just held me close. And I cried, for the first time that day. Maybe for the first time in a couple of days.
You know how people say they feel like they were punched in the gut? It is so fitting to describe the wave of sadness that hits you every so often. Sometimes it's triggered by what someone says, what you've looked at online, the date, a pregnant belly. Sometimes the catalyst is your own mind, racing too fast and thinking too many things.
If you've suffered a loss, you know all of this already. I know I'm not the first to feel this way, and I won't be the last.
I feel like this isn't me, and not my life. Sure, I feel practically normal most of the time. Probably 90% of the time. Buster and I have really been enjoying each other and our life together.
But when that punch in the gut happens, it knocks me into some strange nightmare. Where nothing is right and good, and never will be.
I hate that nightmare.
I needed to bring our marriage license to the car dealership. They were attempting to finish up our paperwork, but the vehicle we traded in was in my maiden name. So, they needed my marriage license.
Not wanting to bring the license to the dealership all unprotected and exposed, I decided it should go into an envelope.
I knew we only had one in the house, and it was currently being used. But that's the only thing I could think of to house this document.
So, I removed the two ultrasound photos that were living in the folder. Put them in a filing cabinet with sweet cards that Buster has given me over the years.
And all of the sudden, I broke down. Buster comes in, asks what's wrong. I tell him. I expected him to be exasperated. Exhausted from my mood swings. To sigh, roll his eyes, or walk away. Or all three.
But instead, he just held me close. And I cried, for the first time that day. Maybe for the first time in a couple of days.
You know how people say they feel like they were punched in the gut? It is so fitting to describe the wave of sadness that hits you every so often. Sometimes it's triggered by what someone says, what you've looked at online, the date, a pregnant belly. Sometimes the catalyst is your own mind, racing too fast and thinking too many things.
If you've suffered a loss, you know all of this already. I know I'm not the first to feel this way, and I won't be the last.
I feel like this isn't me, and not my life. Sure, I feel practically normal most of the time. Probably 90% of the time. Buster and I have really been enjoying each other and our life together.
But when that punch in the gut happens, it knocks me into some strange nightmare. Where nothing is right and good, and never will be.
I hate that nightmare.
I was cleaning the closet the other day and came upon the "Coming in November 2010" onesie we had used to tell our families before we found out our first pregnancy was ectopic. It brought me to tears even now having our 8 month old daughter. Even when life is good, hurt still hurts. ((hugs))
ReplyDeleteI often think "this isn't me, this isn't my life." You're not alone. In a way the thought that I'm not alone both sucks and gives me comfort. Grief is just a horrible thing to go through. But it gets better. I think.
ReplyDeleteOh hun, I remember this feeling. Just keep going back to the feeling of DH's hug whenever you are feeling that sadness. I would give you one myself if I could.
ReplyDeleteI threw everything in a drawer, including my ultrasound photo and JUST opened it this week, some 4 months later, when I thought hmm...maybe it's time for the Bella Band again. Feeling sad for you, your posts always bring everything back to the surface and I remember how shitty it was. I'm glad you're feeling like yourself 90% of the time, honestly I don't know if it gets much better...I still break down in tears sometimes for the one we lost.
ReplyDeleteIf 90% of the time you are okay, you are doing amazingly well and that makes me so happy. It took my sister a long time to diminish the 10% nightmare down to something more manageable. She made a memory box where the ultrasounds, paperwork, and all her journaling through the pregnancy and miscarriage are stored. Perhaps something like that might be therapeutic for you, too? I will continue to keep you in my prayers.
ReplyDeleteGreat post. The feelings you describe are so familiar. I'm glad to hear that you are healing and feeling more yourself. A loss is something that sticks with you the rest of your life, I think. It gets much, much better, but it leaves behind a scar that gets you every once in a while. It's been almost a year and a half since my loss and I still cry about it every once in a great while and imagine that I always will. I'll forever miss what could have been. Hugs to you, friend.
ReplyDeleteI'm sad to see you're having one of those 10% days. I had one yesterday. Keep hanging in there. I keep hoping that those 10% moments will stop coming, but I'm still having them with annoying frequency no matter how positive I try to feel or what I do to distract myself. Still, 90% is pretty good :)
ReplyDeleteSqueeeeze. Hugs for shitty days. I'll make sure to virtually hug you on a good day next time. :)
ReplyDeleteI too have those 10% sometimes, and it is the most random thing that bring it on.
ReplyDelete*hugs* Those days are tough but made a little easier with great hugs. Hope tomorrow is a better one for you.
ReplyDeleteI had a definate moment today myself. Many days now, I get through just thinking of the loss and avoiding the crying...other days, not so much.
ReplyDeleteI always wonder how my life went from something wonderful to a nightmare. I wish I had words of wisdom, but after only 3 months myself, I don't know what I am doing.
Hopefully the 10% becomes 5% soon enough.
MissConception
Oh gosh, those kinds of things make it really hard. But you are grieving and doing the right things. I'm glad DH is there for you. Hugs.
ReplyDelete(((Hugs))) and tears.
ReplyDeleteBeen thinking of you. I hope your better days outweigh your bad. Sending hugs.
ReplyDeleteAlso thinking of you. Hugs.
ReplyDeleteI'm so glad Buster knew what you needed was a hug. Thinking of you as always and hoping the 90% helps to deal with the 10% some. I wish I could give you a hug in real life!
ReplyDeleteHope your days get better Kara. Hugs!
ReplyDeleteI find the sadness comes in waves. I cannot believe it's been four months since my m/c. Couldn't agree more when you said it's like a punch in the stomach when you come across reminders. Sometimes at the oddest moment something is said and it just hits me where it hurts. All I can say is that it does get better over time. Lots of hugs.
ReplyDeleteJust started following your blog. ((hugs))
ReplyDelete