Some days are just so hard, and others seem to just pass, but then there are the days that are a strange mix of horrible and great. That was today. I had a lot of ups today, but my downs were unfortunately deep.
Triggers today included an innocent discussion with someone and riding in a big truck.
This morning as I was walking to my office I ran into a guy that I have known for several years. We aren't friends or anything, but we are friendly. I know he knows about my situation, because my chain of command put out an email to everyone in the department to let them know... it is a blessing because a lot of people aren't asking me how my baby is. If people don't ask I don't have to see their faces when I say "He is dead." The rough part of it is... no one knows how to talk to me. I ranted previously about the people directly in my office, but when I speak to people in my Navy community it is different. Some don't recall straight away that I am the one who has the dead baby.
So this guy says "Hey! How are you?" which is a very general and innocuous greeting... under most circumstances. To the lady with the dead baby this is not so. At least, everyone thinks that. I know when you ask me how I am that you are not looking to hear me tell you that I am hurting, that every day I am pained and empty, that while I can walk around and talk and perform daily tasks marginally well, I am a wreck. I know you don't want to hear that I am drinking too much, eating too much, and trying to lust away my pain, and I know you don't want to know that none of it really works. So when you say it, when you ask "How are you?" and then realize that you have just invited a tidal wave of emotion, that you have just made some social faux pas because I cannot answer with "Great!" or even "Good," and that it is even forced for me to say "Ok," please just take my casual "Fine, thank you," as a normal courteous response, and maybe as a sign of forgiveness for asking. The stricken look I get after someone asks that, when they realize as it is coming out of their mouths, before I can answer casually... is almost comical. I can't promise that I won't get weepy, because I can't promise that these days. I can only promise that I will not hold it against you. It's just a greeting.
So, this guy asks how I am, then immediately tries to back pedal. He tries to add words to his question, so there is no pause. "Hey! How are... you? Gosh it sure is cold, I just started wearing my winter coat, and even still I am still chilly." And I say "I am ok, thank you. How are you?"
And what does he say? "Oh, well enough. I'm alive."
And my heart screams at that answer. Yeah. You are alive. That is well enough. Not everyone is so lucky.
Maybe it was something on my face, because he tries to pedal out of this, too, but he was spinning his wheels. "Yeah, I mean, it's good to be alive. I have been busy, and stuff. Ya know, not great, but alive. At least I am still breathing."
And my heart screams and screams and screams.
This oaf is alive. And breathing. Some of my last memories of my son are me finding him not. Not alive. Not breathing. So fuck you, buddy. All of this, my heart is screaming, and I want to scream, and I want to cry, and I want to run from the building.
Instead I say "Well, nice to see you. Take care," and I walk to my desk.
Such a simple encounter... how could it feel so horrible?
The other time I had a total break down today was around 10:00. A friend gave us some sofas, so I went to rent a flatbed truck from Home Depot. As I was driving the truck down the highway, I hit a bridge, and at the seam where the bridge and the road met, the truck bounced and jostled. I flashed back to that night, riding in the front of the ambulance that came to take Rhys to the hospital. I sat in the passenger seat in the front. There was a window, and I could have looked back, but I didn't. I rode all the way to the hospital without looking in the back. I knew he was gone. I knew nothing could be done, and I did not want to see what they were doing, or not doing, or any of that. Instead I just sat in the front seat, and whenever we went over a bump the ambulance bounced and jostled.
These were the lows... the horribly low lows of my day. I cried while I washed dishes and cut broccoli for dinner, but that was just sadness, not horrific heart-rending pain.
The high parts of my day were getting the new sofas, and rearranging the downstairs to fit them with Todd. I love my husband. He works in fascinating ways. He is so particular about placement of things, and he gets so frustrated. We have a lot of things, and a not so big house. So when we try to make everything fit, it is not necessarily aesthetically ideal... at least for him. He doesn't like having the movie shelf by the TV. Its too busy, and too distracting. He doesn't like it when the room doesn't flow. When there is something wrong with the way something looks to him, he can tell you exactly what he doesn't like. I, on the other hand, can't. If it doesn't feel right, I have to move and adjust and switch things until it DOES feel right. So we got to do our fun redecorating dance today. It always makes me happy to see his mind at work.
And our house feels clean. And we have ample seating. And my sofas are SOOOOO comfortable.
Not the best day, but not the worst.
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