As an update on Shrimp... she woke us up last night scratching again.. May let her in there again. I have to go in her room in phases.. I'm fearful that the more I open and close the door, the less I will be able to smell her sweet smell.
And now just something that's been bothering me. Another one of those things that just kind of makes me feel like I'm going crazy.. or over-thinking. I tend to do that... think things up and concoct whole scenarios in my mind only to find they are just that--concoctions. But maybe I'm not.. who knows??
Growing up, I always tried to get along with everyone. I have always been a people pleaser and always wanted to make sure everyone was happy, even if it was at the expense of making myself feel uncomfortable or sacrificing my own happiness. I was always in search of acceptance from everyone.. family, friend, complete strangers--EVERYONE. I hated confrontations and couldn't stand the thought of someone mad at me. Being this person got me in precarious predicaments and not always did they have the best outcomes for myself. But in the end, as long as everyone else was happy.. than I could manage. Well because of this person that i was, in school I got along with everyone. I had friends from all social groupings.. I wasn't perfect and I'm sure I had my share of bitch moments--but for the most part I would like to think that I tried to get along with everyone.
I had few enemies, many acquaintances, a handful of friends, and a small group of 'besties.' As I got older, and more comfortable with me, and less worried about others.. it became even easier to make friends. I could talk to anyone, make conversations with complete strangers. Than Savanna was born and I could talk to people in the mall passing by and as my confidence in myself grew, the better and more successful my relationships became. She made me proud.. It never failed, when we went to the store, we would always get stopped by at least one person. All admiring her cute little curls and sweet contagious smile, her brilliant blue eyes and sweet perfection. I was proud to call her mine, and wanted to brag to the world. Having a daughter also brought me into a new 'category.' The mommy category. I had something else in common with people, I could see future play dates and mommy shopping days in my future.
And than Savanna died. And my existence as I had known it seemed to shrivel up and die. A part of my confidence, a part of who I had become, this better new me, became a distant thought. I curled up inside of myself and got lost in the darkness. This person that I had become, the more confidant, emotionally healthy, smart, loved Tabatha vanished with Savanna's last breath and beat of her heart. The color faded from eyes and dark greys and blacks were all I could see. Friends have tried to get me to go out, meet new people. In all reality it would probably be good for me, therapeutic even. But than I think about the anticipation of that question. You know the question..
"Do you have any kids?"
"Yes I have a daughter"
"Aww, how old?"
"She would have been 10 1/2 months, but she passed away in November"
"I'm so sorry. I can't imagine.. what happen?"
Insert the worst day of my life movie replay here
silence. tears. awkwardness
"that's terrible. I'm so sorry"
And now I have become the debbie downer of the party with the dead daughter. FANTASTIC! Oh, and forget about mentioning her name when they talk about their kids. Her name is mentioned and the tension begins to thicken and almost becomes suffocating. I'm not afraid to say her name, or talk about her.. but others are afraid to listen or hear it. It's like I want people to know, but than I don't. Because all they remember is that she died and not that she lived. She lived for 7 1/2 beautiful months. Months that gave me a new kind of breath, a life that I was proud of. A pure joy in my heart and a healing that can never be described. Those 7 1/2 months gave me memories, laughter, smiles. That little life in 7 1/2 months gave me unconditional love. How can I hide that? How can I make them understand? But they only remember that she died...
I have found my only solace, my only comfort, to be in the company of others who share my heartache. Who know how painful this road can be. With others that can laugh with me one minute and cry the next as we talk about our babies now our angels. This is the place I feel normal. I don't feel like I have to put a smile on my face for fear of upsetting someone else just by speaking her name. I can be the me that I am now becoming. The new me. The reformed me. The mommy with the angel in heaven.
J and I met another couple who has experienced our heartache, our loss. The mama FB'd me the day after precious Savanna passed away.. and after emailing and chatting back and forth over these last few months, we were finally able to match up our schedules and meet. We met them for dinner just last weekend. I laughed and I laughed and I laughed. I talked about S they talked about K. Nothing was forced or uncomfortable. There was no awkward silence to wade through, no thickened tension to cut. I could be me and be normal. And it felt good. It wasn't exhausting or tiresome. If I had a moment I didn't want to say anything, that was OK. I could joke and say her name and it was OK. It was so refreshing. A breath of fresh air. For once I didn't feel like I was being suffocated, there were no looks to steer away from.
But others? Those that haven't walked this road? I just don't have the energy to do it. It's too exhausting to put on a fake smile and pretend that my life is just dandy. i don't think it's fair to myself.. too often am i apologizing for my reactions or the way I'm feeling. My daughter died, and I should be allowed to make choices without feeling bad or guilty. But at the end of the day, I do. I feel like sometimes I'm making this huge deal out of something that society as a whole doesn't seem to really recognize as a 'big deal.' It's been almost 4 months.. I should be over it by now, right? YEA RIGHT! I wonder who those 'experts' talked to.......
So I'm not a social butterfly anymore. I'm just not in that place right now. Maybe one day I will be again. I look forward to that day, but right now in this time in this moment, I'm OK with my little box. This little box is comfortable to me right now, being out of it suffocates me. So I'll just stay here for now. And if you're true to me, respect my grief, respect my loss, you'll be there to help me out of it when I'm ready.
|She had the greatest faces|
|And loved her bath time|