At least I'm not counting weeks, right?
Sixteen minutes from now would be Matthew's two-month birthday. It feels like it was just hours ago.
I have so many, many things going on in my head...as always. I admit that even though yesterday was such a roller coaster day, overall, I ended it being hopeful.
Today, I got up, got out...saw some of my sweet children of years past (and always in my heart) and ran errands. I found myself thinking, "Maybe I am turning a corner."
Then I found myself feeling TREMENDOUS guilt and apprehension about even making that statement. I remember Dr. Polko telling me a few days after Matthew died that I *would* laugh and feel happy again and it was OK. I shouldn't beat myself up for it and it was nothing I should feel guilty about.
When she said that, I remember thinking, "Of course I won't feel guilty. Of course we are not meant to be miserable every day of our lives. Me smiling or laughing doesn't mean I love or miss Matthew any less."
Easy to say when I didn't feel even close to smiling or laughing. In fact, during the days after Matthew died and after his funeral, I was SO, SO, SO grateful for the dear family we had around us because we LAUGHED! We told stories, we remembered the funny things about our family, and we LAUGHED. I didn't feel the least bit guilty then because we *needed* to have levity and laughter in such a horrible and dark time. I know had we not, we may well have just fallen into a deep hole and not come out.
I think, also, I felt more permission to laugh--people were PURPOSELY trying to cheer me up because they were so worried about me and I, ever the eager-beaver-people-pleaser wanted to oblige to make them feel better too.
Now, though...two months later, I can't believe that I actually *do* feel guilty. Though I know two months have passed, as I said, it still feels like hours ago to me. The pain still feels that raw. And yet, yesterday after the doctor appointment, I found myself almost a little bouncy. Of course, that bounce was stopped dead in its tracks when we got to the cemetery, but...there was bounce before. The guilt in that comes from how easily I bounced at the prospect of being pregnant again. Though I KNOW that joy has nothing to do with my missing Matthew, today, it seems almost disrespectful. How can I be so desperately pained and bouncy at the same time?Here is where I can see the validity in Dr. Polko telling me NOT to be guilty about being happy again. Well--having happy moments, I guess is more what I have been experiencing. She was right though. I would and I do.
How in THE WORLD can I even contemplate happy when I don't have my son with me? How does one even reconcile that concept? Here's where the enemy gets you--"You can't love him *that* much if you are already able to laugh." "So what? He's so disposable that another possible pregnancy fixes it?" "Told you...after a bit it will feel like he was never here at all..." And it goes on...
So, I wrestle with that.
Ever since Matthew died, I have been sleeping even more poorly than before. Duh. However, I've found that when I wake up through the night, as I constantly do, things pop in and stick in my head, over and over, and over and over. At first, the song for his slide show, Visitor From Heaven by Twila Paris was what I would hear every time I woke up, or even had a blank thought in the shower or car or anywhere else. Once that faded, When We All Get To Heaven was the constant repetitive song. It is Well With My Soul lasted several days and Above All was another one. It's not just songs, either. When John and I went to Philadelphia two weeks ago, throughout the night, every time I woke up as I tossed, I heard in my head, "PRAY!" "PRAY!" "PRAY!" It was strong and it was fervent, over and over.
Last night was another night where I had the same, constant and repetitive words going through my head. Great is Thy Faithfulness...over and over, Great is Thy faithfulness...morning by morning, new mercies I see. All I have needed, Thy Hand has provided...Great is Thy faithfulness, Lord, unto me...
And so they have continued throughout the day.
The worst thing (and every day, I find a new one) I am now encountering is that as the time passes, my feelings of connection to Matthew sort of change. They don't disappear, but change. Even though he would be two months old today, in my head, he is still my wiggle-worm, in utero monkey. He's still that precious, soft-skinned little angel I stroked in his isolette, the little angel I hardly got to see or touch. I don't really have a concept of him at two months, and that breaks my heart. And as time goes on, I fear this won't get any better. It hurts too much to imagine what he would be like at certain stages, yet...to keep him as I remember him seems so small to me. I don't know how to describe it.
I know. I'm rambling. I warned of that at the beginning.
How I'd love to know how my life with Matthew would be different if he'd survived. I know how it is now...and it brings me such heartache.
Oh, how I love my precious baby boy.