Thursday, August 28, 2008

6 weeks

Thursday was my last follow-up doctors appointment.

I woke up all emotional (then I realized it would have been Will's 6 week birthday). It was my last appointment. A sign that things were moving on...time passing.
As I was leaving the hospital afterwards, I saw someone who I didn't expect to see at all. The Neo doctor that was with us for Will's last day. I caught up with him to tell him thank you and how much I appreciated everything he tried to do. He got tears in his eyes and I honestly don't know how I kept it together. Sometimes I feel numb. Like my brain goes on auto...and I must look so unemotional.

But that is so far from the truth.
I wanted to go home and throw something to see it shatter into a million pieces...
so I could see something as broken as I felt.
I am so glad I got to see him. But it was really hard...and I have been super sad ever since.

I left there to meet some of my nurse friends for lunch. They helped to cheer me up as always. As I left there I was still sad but not like before. I went home and grabbed the mail and saw we had missed the delivery of a certified letter.

From the Marine Corp Mobilization Command.

My heart skipped a beat and I felt like I could melt into a puddle on the ground. That good feeling I had when I left from having lunch instantly disappeared. There are moments like these when I just want to scream, "Seriously?!?!? Leave me alone...go pick on someone else!!" I don't know if I am talking to God or just the world and life in general. All I know is that this was the last thing in the world I needed. Sometimes I just don't get it.

How utterly crappy would that be? To have Tim recalled back into the Marines and have him leave? I couldn't stop thinking about it and decided to go get the letter myself. Got to the post office and saw the letter. Took it out to the car and just held it praying that it wasn't what I thought it was.

It was an update letter for Tim, either to stay in the inactive reserves or resign his commission.
Nothing like a good scare tactic from the government.

So now its Friday and I am still mad at the world. Have been ever since yesterday and my frustration has seemed to intensify. Picked up some article on bereavement the hospital gave me and found that anger is a justifiable symptom of this whole thing.

Well good. Because I am pissed.
Thank goodness we're off to Chicago today...
I'll fit right in with all the angry city people.

Wednesday, August 27, 2008


Wednesday already...and I am so behind on writing. Can't seem to get my thoughts straight or in one place long enough to write about all the stuff that has happened.

This week started with me thinking about school. For the last 3 years I have been getting a classroom ready. One more reason I feel different and out-of-place. My thoughts have been on missing that routine, the fresh start of a new school year...and all the distractions back to school brings.

I miss it.
Along with so much more.

So it was good that there was also Support Group on Monday. I needed to talk. It was the first one at the hospital where I was for so many weeks. Where all the drama happened. And there was a special person there at group that brought such a flood of memories.

The nurse who was with us that entire Saturday night.

The nurse that witnessed the hardest thing Tim and I have ever had to do. We had to hand our beautiful baby over to her at the end of that night. She was the last person I saw holding him. And giving Will to her and knowing that we would never see him again was...I honestly have no words.

How do you actually make yourself do that? And then walk away? Getting myself to do it was nearly impossible. And then there was Tim. He was not ready to let go of his son. I couldn't watch it. It was just too painful.

But seeing her again was not painful. In fact, when we hugged I felt like she was an old friend, and I felt closer to Will...and that was such a blessing.

Because she knew him...and met him,
and not many people got that chance.

So even though I didn't get to talk much, or say what I needed to say at group, seeing her again was worth the trip there. Because there were moments when I wanted to scream at a particular person something I use to tell my students, "God gave us two ears and one mouth for a reason...You are supposed to listen at LEAST twice as much as you should talk."
Then I found out she was a teacher. Seriously? Go figure :) Anyways, I go to group to be able to talk and get stuff out, not be interrupted a million times.

So to keep from leaving on a frustrated note, I stopped upstairs to my old stomping grounds. It was so nice to see some of the nurses that took such good care of us and laugh at some of the odd and goofy stuff that happened while we waited for Will.

And then I heard the comment again: "You should write a book."

Okay. So this is an easy thing to laugh off...even when tons of people have said something of the sorts to me. I never seriously considered putting this whole journey, all the funny and tragic moments, into a story. Then my thoughts go to, okay I actually write this book and then what? I don't have a clue about how to even begin searching on how to publish it. And then today I walked past a little sign that had hung in my classroom all last year, but this morning it just struck me:

When I stand before God at the end of my life I would hope that I would have not a single bit of talent left and could say, "I used everything you gave me." Erma Bombeck

It made me feel guilty. Then even more pushing. I feel as if God is saying, "Still not convinced, Julie?" Just now I take a break from writing this blog to check my email and find an email from and what is the only thing it is advertising to me?

The Writer Magazine.
And on the cover?
Self Publishing and everything you need to know.

I couldn't make this stuff up. Seriously... I'm not that creative.

Sunday, August 24, 2008

Weekend #5

First weekend since Will died with no plans. We didn't know what to do with ourselves.

The only thing about our house that has been driving me crazy is the upstairs room that had all of Will's things in it. Perfect weekend to fix that.
The nursery that will never be. I couldn't stare at the empty room anymore.
So we moved the desk and computer stuff up from the basement.
Now it is an office. Talk about crap timing.

When we moved, we talked about how we would leave the crib and changing table box in the garage...and put it all together in time for the long weekend. Then Labor Day weekend we would put together all the finishing touches.
I would have never guessed it would end up an office...and just in time for Labor Day weekend.
Instead of excitedly getting ready for baby we will be running off to Chicago instead.

And I say running because that is what I am doing.
Running away from all this sadness and pain. All of our plans...and dreams.
I need to get out of here for awhile and staying home for that weekend would be the worst possible thing. So off we go.

We are hoping that a weekend away will do us some good. Both of us are wondering just what will become of us...and this really sad existence we feel.
Only one word to describe it: Empty.

Friday, August 22, 2008


A rainy, cloudy, crappy day.
No sunshine in sight. Only the rumble of distant thunder.
And I am thankful for it.

I don't know why I take comfort in days like this (In January I'm sure I'll be whistling a different tune). Maybe because I won't feel guilty staying in my pajamas all day, picking up the house, and just generally doing nothing. 
Except thinking about Will.

The last day it stormed here was the night before he was born...if only we would have known what exactly was to come. It was such a beautiful storm front that the picture above I took from my hospital room. Our friends were visiting from CA, but of course they were up at Mackinac Island this night, and were so disappointed they missed the storm. Hmm.

What is that saying?
"The calm before the storm"
Yeah, well, those 8 weeks in the hospital were anything but calm. 
Physically, yes, because I was a prisoner in a tiny room and leaving it meant I was in a wheelchair.
But emotionally and spiritually, the storm was already raging (just ask my nurses).
Now its just been a hurricane since. Full force.

But at least yesterday was calm. I could function and think without feeling an anxiety attack coming on. I have moments when I think of Will and my throat feels like its closing and my chest hurts and my nose and eyes sting with tears. Those are my least favorite times...

Yesterday was different though. 
I woke up and read my devotional and started a new routine. Every morning I write to Will in a journal. I don't care if that sounds crazy or helps. And I have found that I have a lot to say to him...and I realized that I have been beating myself up with a lot of regrets and feeling of guilt about so many things. 
When I write it out to him, it eases those feelings.

And by letting myself get it all out, first thing, means the volcano won't blow later in the day.
I'm not fighting it any more. I know I will cry. So I let it come. No more stuffing it deep down and hoping I can make it through one day without shedding a tear. 

By doing this, I found the last two days I have actually felt okay...
I was able to meet a new friend and talk about Will and her loses, all without completely breaking down.
And I was able to sign up for a yoga class that is going to start on Will's due date...and not get a deep bitter feeling.
And I was able to set some personal work goals for myself and actually feel a twinge of motivation when I thought about what I could achieve...and not get that feeling of not caring at all.

Through it all, life and everything else has to continue. Even if I don't want it to without Will here. So I can either fight it or take a deep breath and learn how to adapt to this new life I've been given.

Small steps. Steps of faith...that I have to trust there is a purpose. 
A plan. 
A reason...

Tuesday, August 19, 2008

Aug. 19

These last few days have been intense. Its so hard to believe and recall what happened a month ago today. It seems unfathomable. But they said dates would be hard...anniversaries too.
At times it seems to hurt more now.
Because I am no longer in shock...and as each day goes on, reality sets in just a little more than the day before.
So it will get worse before it gets better.

Grief is strange. One would think that each day would get easier since Will's passing. That as time goes on, everything would start falling into place and become bearable.
It just doesn't work that way.
There are no rules.
No stages of sadness.
No timelines.

It just starts each day with putting one foot in front of the other...and finding something, anything, that matters. Even if its only for that day...and sometimes I have to start even smaller than that~ I have to find something that matters for only that moment.
Something that my energy can be put into that would make a person feel productive again.
Will was my purpose.
Now I don't have one.
And I have to find one.
And I am not going to read Rick Warren's "Purpose Driven Life" again. Because it won't help.
And that is my problem. I'm beginning to resent this emotional roller coaster.
Up and down...but seriously...its been heading down for such a long time, I'm ready for it to go up.
The only thing that will time...and for now, sharing the few memories and pictures I have of Will.

And so I cling to my faith that things HAVE to get better...they just have to...
Every day I write, talk to Will, pray, read a devotional...and then repeat that numerous times. Some days are okay. Then I have moments where I completely panic.

My brain keeps playing over our last day with Will. All the "what ifs" and remembering different little details...
Like when the doctor was standing beside Will's bed telling us he was going to die and didn't have a chance of survival...I was sitting there filling out his "Humble Bumble Baby Book" that the A.V.C.S. staff had given me before we left. I was literally writing his birth date on the front cover page...and I remember looking at it and thinking in my head if I should write it like this:
    July 17, 2008-July 19, 2008
I didn't panic then. Not yet.
That panic was pushed aside by shock that this wasn't really happening.
And now that panic has found its way to the surface.

What gets me the most is the thought of his little heart. It was perfect and it was strong. Every day in the hospital I would listen to it on the monitor for 20 minutes first thing in the morning and 20 minutes at night. Many people who visited were able to listen with me.
I just got use to hearing it. And after he died and I was going through a box of things the NICU had sent home with us...I found it.
His last heartbeat strip.
His steady heartbeat shown in a perfect pattern on a long strip of paper. His name at the beginning...July 19, 2008 under it...and then the time 5:08 p.m....the last moments before they removed him from all the equipment.
It was only then that I realized it was no longer beating...

When that little heart began to beat...I don't know exactly when.
And when that little heart stopped beating...we don't know exactly when.
All that matters is we were together from the beginning to the end.

In these moments when sadness is literally suffocating, I know eventually the pain will dull.
But I am convinced that the rest of my life will consist of being... almost happy.

Sunday, August 17, 2008

One Month

Sweet would have been 1 month old today...

We loved him from the moment we saw him (goofy hat and all).
That day at 1:59 p.m. our lives were forever changed.
Will fought from the moment he entered this world,
And as his parents, we fight to continue on and live each day without him.

Friday, August 15, 2008

The sky...

There are so many errands to do...the store, bank, post office...
But I can't bring myself to leave this house. And I really don't care about any of it.

This morning started out fine. But then I look at his picture and I just can't believe this is happening...and nothing I say or do or pray will ever bring him back. 
And I just miss him so much.

A strange thing has happened here. Every single day since Will's birth has been sunny. Sure, it has rained some but then the sky clears and its big and blue and has fluffy white clouds...and all I can think about is Will, laying there in his little blue kimono. 
The blue is the same as the outfit. The blue sky is the same as his eyes.

In Michigan it is never this sunny and perfect for so many days in a row, and then I question if I will ever be able to look at the sky again and not be sad...maybe someday...but not for a really long time.

And so it goes. 
Last night was our first support group at the hospital. It was nice to meet other parents. Someone who understands this unique loss...but all at such different stages. 
Some have lost recently, for others it has been many years. 
All I know is we have such a long journey ahead of us. 
A journey where we will never reach a destination. Because this will never go away, never get better. Not unless I wake up and it was all a bad dream.
I consider this a walk that we will be traveling until our very last moments.

I just wish I could get another moment from those few short hours we had with Will...
one more moment just to hold him. 
To touch his face and pull him close and whisper how much I love him. 
Even just a moment when I was laying pregnant in that hospital bed, just him and me...
and I would touch where is head was and talk to him.
He was such a huge part of me before he was even born.

Instead, all I can do now is look up to that blue sky and hope that he can hear me wherever he is.

Thursday, August 14, 2008


I'm back home in G.R.
Sophie and I had a good Midwestern road trip. The openness somewhat cleared my mind and let me have some classic, pre-Will Julie thoughts...such as:

     "Why are the roads called freeways in CA and highways in Michigan? It seems totally backwards to me...because in Michigan they really are freeways with the wide open spaces and the ability to actually use cruise control allows your mind to be free. And then in CA you literally have to be high to have any desire to travel along the "freeways" and not freak out because of all the traffic and rudeness."

Yes. Part of me is coming back to life. Scary.

Getting out of here is just what I needed. Especially after my reunion this weekend (which had a very poor turnout by the way, literally 15 people out my class of 300. Although it was nice to see 2 old friends and then hang out all night with another). 
It was great to see family and be in a different environment in Ohio. I'm also pressing the idea that my Opa, dad, and I should travel to Germany (I want to see just where my family is from) sometime in the near future. Plus, I met some other really great people and...I found the one and only Trader Joe's on my side of the state in Ann Arbor.
I loaded up on the way home. Very exciting. So overall, a successful trip for numerous reasons.

Being back in the house is hard though (even though I was only gone 2 nights it feels like a lot more). Its still and quiet. I walk by what was to be Will's room and get that sick feeling back. Tonight we have our first support/counseling group at the hospital. We'll see how that goes.

Bottom line is I need to get ready to work again. I have to do something for myself and that is to get up, brush off, and begin to do something so I feel useful. I'm not done being sad by any means, but thinking about subbing in a few weeks and doing some other work is going to have to be what gets me out of bed each day.
I'm not avoiding grieving with Will, but I can't sit around all day holding his picture and crying either.

He would want me not only to live, but to enjoy life like he never got the chance to do.
That much I owe him.

Monday, August 11, 2008


Laying in bed last night, Tim and I were about to watch the last episode on our Entourage DVD...

The last of the steri-strips covering my incision were coming off, so I just removed them and we stared at the scar on my stomach. Its the only scar on my body and its a lot bigger than I had expected. Tim asked me, "Is it worth it?" and then he answered..."of course it is."

I was thinking it but just couldn't say anything. 
Instant sadness. Instant tears.
And at moments like that it gets so overwhelming. Waking up this morning it still is. 
Mornings are overwhelming. I want to pull the sheets over my head and go back to sleep...because when I am sleeping, I don't have to think about reality.

They say that starting a new job is as stressful as someone dying. So what does that do to your mind and body when you really do have the stress of a new job (Tim), and your first child dies, and you have just moved 2000 miles across the country?

I am finding myself in a very strange position. So glad we moved home, yet missing the routine...the familiarity.... of our lives in California. I have no sense of normal here yet. 
Nothing to do with my time, nothing to go back to as far as a job.
This also makes me grieve the life I thought I was beginning here...
Grieve the loss of Will and the hope we had in him.

School is right around the corner. I am left with only one option right now...Substitute teach.
Not thrilling.
Literally, even more depressing.

Like I said. Monday and Tuesday morning are really hard. A brand new week, that I don't want to start...So today I am heading down to Toledo for a few days to get out of here. Tim works insane hours anyways, so I might as well see some family...and yet its still hard to leave this house. 
Lonely as it is.

This feeling is so surreal. It is like a dream, that this can't really be it...this can't be my life wasn't supposed to be like this.
I tried to explain it to Tim. Its like the saying, "Home is where your heart is..."
This feeling is literally like being so, so homesick that I can't even function.
Because my heart is with Will.

And I always find myself thinking the same question...
What am I supposed to do now?

Saturday, August 9, 2008


Waking up today wasn't as painful as its been lately. I actually felt a sense of peace and didn't want to start crying the moment my eyes fell upon Will's picture. Very surprised by this for a number of reasons:
1. Its another Saturday (number 3 to be exact)
2. Tim was heading off to work all day
3. mornings are the worst
4. Tonight is my 10 year high school reunion

Not exactly how I pictured myself going to this thing, in fact, I really don't want to go. Not just for the obvious reasons of being sad and depressed (so much so that both Tim & I are vowing not to drink whatsoever tonight). I know that I am looking rough...or fabulous if people actually knew that I only gave birth by c-section a mere 3 weeks ago.

But without an explanation or baby in sight, most people just think I got a little fat.
So since I am going to be a good sport for some friends, I also gave my best friend permission to talk about me behind my back and tell people so I don't get asked all the uncomfortable questions. 

In our house we call this "damage control."

And then I started thinking about how I really don't have good answers to anything someone might ask me...
"What do you do?" ... uh, nothing. I don't have a job...
"Do you have any kids?"    ...Yes, but...
"Are you still in California?", we moved to Rockford (a FAR cry from the OC)...
"So what have you been up to?"   ...where do I begin?...
"What do you plan on doing now?"    ...I have no darn idea...

And the funny thing is...I really don't care. 
I'm indifferent about just about everything. 
Truth be told: I would rather be sitting at home or in the NICU staring at my baby. 
Is that the moment when you know you are a parent...or you want to be and can't?

So now, do I really feel at peace or am I just numb? 
Because this week I have had moments where I swear I am having a mid-life crisis...only way to early.
I pray for some direction...and some purpose.
And also that tonight isn't painful. That I can keep it together.
I'm sure the next post will be interesting regardless...
hopefully it'll be funny. I could use a good laugh.

Thursday, August 7, 2008

3 weeks

Oh, how things have changed since 3 weeks ago today...

Tim and I have been doing a good job this week of making sure only 1 of us is a complete wreck while the other is having a decent day. My insane days were Monday and Tuesday, while Tim followed with yesterday and today...the day we both completely lose it...well, then we'll really be in trouble.

My eagerly-anticipated charm arrived yesterday...something that I had found while searching on the internet months ago in the hospital. Two of my best girlfriends made sure that this handmade charm found its way to me (they are awesome). It simply has Will engraved on the front and 7.17.08 on the back. I tried to take pictures to post, but my camera wouldn't focus on the tiny letters. Regardless, if you see me, you'll see the necklace because it will be around my neck every single day.

Anyways, I needed a chain for it. So I went to the mall. Was doing fine, trying on different things...and then the old women helping me asked,

"Is Will the name of a person?...Or a desire?"

I know I looked down as tears filled my eyes and I said,


Crap. It was the way she asked that made me cry...who uses the word desire anyway? Nothing left to do but explain. Explain how he was born 3 weeks ago today and then died two days later...and how much I desired for him to be here with me now. Her eyes filled with tears, and I knew she felt terrible...time for me to get out of there. I thanked her and decided I'd had enough of the mall for today.

What is up with making so many people cry all the time? 
My nurses, sales people, my family, and I even made Tim cry at work the other day.
So not cool. I'm use to making people laugh at what I say...not cry.

And I'm also not use to asking so many questions in my head. Trying to make sense of Will's death and why it happened is like trying to fit a round peg in a square hole, it just isn't going to happen. Its made me do a lot of searching. And, ask a lot of questions.
Both of which made me question myself and if I was lacking faith.
But now I see that my faith has increased through these questions and this hardship. And while cleaning out some boxes this week I came across a book I had bought years ago and wasn't ready to read.
Until today.

Velvet Elvis by Rob Bell...

I won't say much about it, other than it has made me feel that asking these sorts of questions was, scratch that-IS, okay...

There are many things I don't put on this blog but they still roll around in my head.
Like how I cry in the shower and swear aloud to no one in particular because this sucks.
And ask why when I see teenagers smoking while toting around a baby carrier.
And why do decent, good people always seem to have bad things happen to them.
How come Will only lived 52 hours, most of which I spent sleeping...if only I would have known...why didn't I know? Where was my "mother's intuition"?
And wonder why my baby was taken after we already suffered so much after the loss in September.
And why all the drug addicts I saw in the hospital take home babies and I went home empty handed...

And then I also ask myself,
"Is it worse to stare at a shadow box containing your husband's military medals and the folded flag that covered the coffin, or a shadow box with pictures of your newborn and the tiny bracelet and knit cap he wore for mere hours?"

Too many questions.

I don't have any of the answers. And I won't understand in this life. 
But I do know that my life could be so very different right now...
at least I have an amazing husband who is here to go through this with me...
and so I have to take comfort in knowing that God is so much bigger than any of us can ever begin to imagine.

Wednesday, August 6, 2008

Favorite thing.

This morning I felt compelled to read back over some of my earlier postings and realized how grateful I am that I began to write. This blog wasn't started for anyone in particular, but it grew into a daily account of the journey we have traveled with Will. 

Someday soon, I will print off each posting and put it in his memory box, because I know with time, many of my memories will grow hazy. 
Details may be forgotten.

And due to the emotional trauma of this event, some details have already been pushed aside...
I pray that as time passes some may come back to me.

So, I want to write about him while it is still painful as that can be, maybe it will help if I write down and record all the details about him. Before these days slowly fade into the past, and eventually become years. I want to remember as much about Will as I possibly can.
Every little detail...actually there are many...
Even in a life that only lasted 52 hours outside the womb.

I'll start with my most favorite thing: his left foot.

During my stay in the hospital, I got to have an ultrasound nearly every week. Without water Will never moved around. He was breach and his position was really strange.
He was looking to my left side, his back to my right...
Hands in a praying position near his face...
One leg down...and then his left leg up by his head.
My baby was doing the splits.

As the weeks wore on, I asked the doctors if this would hurt him. They had warned me that without fluid some babies came out kind of crunched or certain body parts appeared to be deformed...for lack of a better word. This was due to the uterus enclosed around them.

The day of his birth, I was scared out of my mind. Ready to finally meet him, but not ready for all the uncertainty that lay ahead.
All I remember: Tim says, "He's out..." and he has tears in his eyes. A flurry of doctors begin working on him and I can't see a thing.

Then I catch my first glimpse and catch my breath. His whole left side is crunched up...his hand is bent back and his left leg looks like it is dangling. His foot is in some weird position.
My stomach sank...

But oh, his face...he looked like a little, angry old man. His little hat looked like it was something from a Dr. Seuss book. And we both fell in love with this baby, crunched body and all.

As the hours after his birth passed, we were able to finally go see him. That is when we noticed it...the toes on his left foot had a large gap between them. It looked so goofy and I couldn't help but laugh.

The time passed, and each time we went down to the NICU his body had slowly begun relaxing into its normal shape. His hand was no longer bent, his left leg stretched out and looked no different that his right. But that foot, while the foot itself began to look better, his toes still had that gap. 
It became his trademark.

I scoffed when the doctors asked if this was a family thing. No one in either of our families had toes that looked like Dr. Spock's famous hand gesture. Seriously.
To me, it made perfect sense...that little foot had been the pain I felt pressed up by my ribs. Obviously, he had positioned the foot perfectly so that something allowed his toes to be moved and separated just so.

The one thing that had totally freaked me out, soon became his most famous characteristic...all of his footprints will forever have this pattern. 
And it became one of our most beloved things about him. 
Because it was just him...just Will.
No one else.

I know, with time, they would have straightened out. The rest of him did.
But what a cute blessing to have for such a short time. 
Because whether I am having a good or bad day, laughing or crying, 
I can look at a picture of his left foot and smile...and not help but giggle.

Tuesday, August 5, 2008


I can't stop crying.

Yesterday was bad, today is even worse...

About 5 different blogs have been written, but I just can't bring myself to post words are a mix of grief, anger, and rambling. Its safe to say that this mourning process has gone from the stage of shock & anger. Not where I want to be, but here I am non-the-less.

This morning I attempted to leave the house and do some stuff. Got about a mile down the road and turned around, went home, put on my bathrobe (over my clothes), laid in bed and cried...a lot. 

Looking through Will's scrap book, I just can't believe he's gone. I think about how hard I worked to make his little body. All the nasty hospital food I literally choked down just to help him gain weight, the pills, the months of bed rest, the shots, not drinking any caffeine for nearly 6 months...
I tried so, so hard. And now all those things seem so trivial.

And now that little body is gone. I can never see or hold him again in this lifetime. 
It is now ashes that sit on top of the armoire in a heart-shaped urn next to his pictures...
It is no bigger than a paperweight.
All I can keep doing is asking myself...
"what am I supposed to do now?"

The only answer I get is...grieve...
I have no distractions, no excuses, no way to put this off. So now the only thing I am supposed to do, all that I can do, is grieve the loss of Will.
And it is a tremendous loss.

Saturday, August 2, 2008

Saturday nights

Two weeks ago right now we were holding him. 
For both the first and the last time...

And now I have to wonder, am I going to stop whatever I am doing every Saturday night at 6:00 and think back to that moment? 

Last week I his memorial celebration.
Tonight we we walked among hundreds of people at Grand Haven. 
But tonight was different somehow, we had some distractions, and for that I am grateful. 
Finally, a decent day. I cried some, but not like yesterday. 

We'll see what tomorrow brings...

Friday, August 1, 2008

Losing it.

Today is by far the hardest day I've had since Will's death.
I don't know why or how this day is any different than those that came before, it just is.

Maybe its just that I can't help but thinking we were so close to the end of the pregnancy, or that today I would have been 34 weeks, or that now it is August and I would have been due next month.

That is what makes the death of Will so painful, all the crushed hopes and dreams of our future. As Tim and I lay talking last night I told him for the first time in my life I couldn't picture anything for our future. He described it best...

When we left California (and even before) we had a whole picture in our minds drawn out on a page, things and dreams that we were looking forward to...plans for our new family.
Two weeks ago that page in our book was torn out, leaving only a view of a new page. Completely blank and stark white. Waiting to be filled up again...but we aren't ready.

So today I didn't want to, but I had to get out of the house. During this time I realized just how foggy my mind has gotten. I stopped to get gas and pulled the car up on the wrong side where there is no gas tank. Ugh. Honest mistake...well, I pulled around and then did the same thing on the other side of the pump. And then again. It just wasn't clicking in my head. The people at the gas station must have thought I was completely insane. I was so disgusted with myself that I just gave up and drove home (without getting the gas). Why am I actually admitting to this embarrassment? I have no idea...maybe because I don't know whether to laugh or cry at how stupid that is.

All I know is that losing Will is making me lose my mind.