At 8 AM I remember my child is in heaven. At 4 AM I wonder where she is. I wonder where Innocent is. I worry about them crying and not being held. My heart aches. My useless, empty arms ache.
I fell asleep reading last night at 8:00. Father stayed awake as long as he could, afraid I would wake up alone. When I woke up, I wasn’t sleepy. I said the Jesus prayer. I remembered the wonderful woman in Tasmania who promised to keep a candle burning all day every day there until I delivered my baby, because it’s nighttime here when it’s daytime there. That way, if I woke up in the middle of the night I would feel someone praying. It’s true. It was comforting.
At 4:30 I hunted around and found my book light and tried to read. Horrible grief sat at my shoulder, tapping insistently as I read frantically. There’s only so long you can push it away as it gnaws into your spine.
Before 5:00 I gave up and cried. Father woke up.
Thank you, God, for my husband, who held me while I cried, who didn’t offer idle rationalizations, who said, “I know,” when I cried, “It isn’t fair!” Who assured me my babies were happy, had never known one moment of fear, pain, hunger, sadness. I know that, I just need to hear it. A mother’s heart is hard to comfort.
I cried myself out by dawn. Father went back to sleep. I read about children freezing on the prairie in 1888 in one of the worst blizzards in history. Pickles got me up to get him breakfast after 8:00.
My eyes are burning. They haven’t felt right in 2 days. Someone changed the calendar from November to December in the kitchen. I feel like I fell through a time-warp. I read the emails accumulated from last night. I have so many to respond to. I’m grateful for the time each person spent sending them and leaving comments. I remind myself when I note that I’ve lost blog subscribers since Thursday that some people don’t have any more room for pain in their life. I can understand that. I don’t feel like I have room myself.
The day stretches out like eternity. Will I eat today? I don’t know. Father will probably spoon something in if I refuse. He was alarmed when he realized how little I had to drink yesterday and the day before. The knowledge that I could have caffeine out the wazoo is so depressing.
I will probably make the blankets today. I made the gown and bonnet yesterday, can make the blankets today and then…a casket? What am I going to do for the next 9 days? I can’t make diapers, I can’t crochet a layette. I can’t get a bassinet ready.
Waiting is so hard. But I would have cheerfully waited for a different outcome, not this.