I've been a terrible blog friend lately. I've been reading sporadically at best and posting comments even less.
I don't know why I feel the need to explain and apologize (my therapist, after just three sessions, feels comfortable enough to make fun of my need to apologize constantly. I don't know if I should be amused or perturbed by this, quite frankly). Nonetheless, explain and apologize I shall do.
In a nutshell, it's safer just to stay here, inside this little box.
When I first stumbled across this community of mourning bloggers a month or so after Thomas died, my experience was very similar to those of the grieving mothers I found here. Not exactly, of course. The circumstances that brought us to a place of such deep grief were different, but we were all more or less in the same place, dealing with the same sorrows and the same struggles. It was a refuge. A home filled with people who understood in a way no one in my "real" world did.
Fast forward nearly three years, and I feel like I'm treading water in a great big ocean all by myself. So many of those mourning mothers that I once felt such a connection to have, thankfully, gone on to bear healthy, living children. Others are pregnant now. Others, having made the leap from mourning mother to mourning mother of a living child, are now considering taking the TTC plunge yet again.
And I haven't moved. I've gone backwards with losses four and five, combined.
I'm not fishing for sympathy here. It is what it is.
I'm glad so many people - so many wonderful friends - have found the peace and joy that a new pregnancy and/or healthy child have brought. I just sometimes can't read about it.
The ugly truth. There it is. I sometimes can't read about it.
I'm tormented by the thought that I may never have that extra dose of healing peace a new, healthy pregnancy reportedly brings mourning mothers. They say it doesn't fill the holes, but they say it helps. More than they ever imagined.
What if I never get that help? Where do I find it then? Where is my help? My peace?
So I slink back to my safe little box where everything stays the same and pretend that it doesn't feel like the world is moving on without me.
For now that's my peace.
And I'm sorry. Just don't tell my therapist I said so.