The weeks following the events of January 17 I continued to struggle physically with defeating headaches and fatigue I felt down to my bones. With the help of Dave, my sister who put her life on hold to fly to MN and the numerous friends who dropped off food, cleaned my house and passed along their supportive thoughts and well wishes I was able to rest and rebuild my strength. I have NEVER felt that awful before and I hope to NEVER again. It took a month to feel almost normal and even then my body gave me reminders that it was still healing.
As I continued my recovery, I found that the distraction of my physical repair had just postponed my emotional grief. My life had returned to "normal", everyday routine back in place but my spirit was broken; my soul fragile. Random and fleeting thoughts passed through my mind unwelcome. I awoke at night my heart racing distinctly hearing the sound of the baby's heartbeat that I listened to that night in the ER. I was experiencing a dreadful fear of departing this world with Cole too young to remember me. I was crying at things that typically wouldn't make me cry. I was just plain sad.
At five weeks post-surgery I was sick of being melancholy and frustrated at the state I was in. I wanted desperately to snap back to the Misse I had been, forgetting that I was now forever changed by a life that wasn't meant to be.
Seven weeks have nearly passed now and though I find myself weepy at times, I am now up on stage with my anger, duking it out with the rage I feel at times over the loss. I grasp at finding an answer to, "why me"? I know that passing through this phase is part of the process so I am attempting to embrace it and work with it but it takes a lot of energy to be angry. With time, I know the intensity of my fury will lessen.
It is about time I wrap up this series of posts. The importance of writing down my recollections was to provide me with a bit of control over those memories and to help give me closure on the whole tragic ordeal.
A woman that I have never met but who is close to my father; someone who has been through a similar maze read my mind and wanted to offer her words of solace by sending me the following poem. She too had felt the isolating and silent pain that only someone who encounters a loss to an unborn connection within can truly understand. Thank you Melissa!
Just Those Few Weeks
For just those few weeks I had you to myself.
And that seems too short a time to be changed so profoundly.
In those few weeks I came to know you and to love you.
You came to trust me with your life and oh what a life I had planned for you.
Just those few weeks, when I lost you...
I lost a lifetime of hopes, plans, dreams and aspirations
A slice of my future simply vanished overnight
Just those few weeks, it wasn't enough time to convince others how special and important you were.
How odd, a truly unique person has died and no one is mourning the passing.
Just a mere few weeks and no "normal" person would cry all night over a tiny unfinished baby, or get depressed and withdraw day after endless day.
No one would, so why am I?
You were just a few weeks, my little one...
You darted in and out of my life too quickly, but it seems that is all the time
you needed to make my life richer and to give me a small glimpse of eternity.
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