On Sunday afternoon during a quiet moment I realized, with both relief and horror, that I was feeling good. I was actually feeling good.
It's a combination of things, I think. I'm no longer worried that I'm going to unexpectedly bleed to death, I picked up some freelance work that's hopefully going to keep me busy for the next few months, and I made it through the first 5 days of Weight Watchers (a little hungry but otherwise relatively unscathed).
I think it's the combination of those three things that has made me feel so much better. And yet so guilty too.
With healing comes the recognition that the sorrow - the only thing you knew of your lost children - is getting easier to bear.
And while that's great from a "pick yourself up, dust yourself off and carry on with your life" perspective, it's also agonizing to know that the one thing that connects you to those children is the one thing you need to try to get past.
Except for the brief moments of strangled hope we had that the twins would be okay - that we'd find two little heartbeats in there eventually - all I know of them is sorrow. In a strange and horrible way it feels like healing from the sorrow means healing from them.
It's unbearable to have all your children so inextricably linked to such agonizing pain.
When I think about Thomas I do remember all the joy he brought while I was pregnant - the hope for his future and the dreams for his life and ours. And when I look at his pictures I'm flooded with a love that overwhelms me.
But in the end, I still know he died. I can't think about Thomas without ultimately thinking that he's not here. That no matter how much my body aches to be able to hold him just one more time, I never, ever will.
I've been thinking so much about him lately. Playing his birth over in my mind and remembering those horrible moments I try not to think about.
He is the face of all my sorrow. The only child I ever saw or held or really "knew" in any tangible way.
And then I feel guilty again. Turning my attention to Thomas when I should be thinking about the two little tigers who only just left me.
Grief is a monster I'm not sure I'll ever truly understand. And at the same time, one I know all too well.