Throughout the last two weeks I’ve found myself with explosions of tears and headaches and repeating the words “I know it’s stupid, but…”
I attribute all of those things to the war between the two brains I picture battling in my head: The rational brain and the grieving brain.
The Grieving brain is the one responsible for the thoughts:
“I want my baby back”
“I should be showing and wearing maternity clothes.”
“I need to be pregnant now”
“Maybe if I had/hadn’t done…, my baby would still be alive.”
AND famously (infamously?) present in my world of grief
“I’m failing as a mother and a wife, maybe they’d be better if I left for a while.”
When retelling my husband why I’m crying (grieving brain responsible for the explosions of waterworks), I often preface the statements with “I know it’s stupid, but…” that phrase is necessarily inserted by the rational brain. The one that knows:
“It’s not my fault.”
“I’m not pregnant.”
“I can’t get pregnant for at least a month, and my body needs some time to heal.”
“I can’t have my baby back.”
“I most likely can get pregnant again.”
“I’m capable of caring for my daughter and being a wife.”
But as I told a friend, “what I know and what I know are two different things.” Knowing doesn’t make this grieving process any easier—often it makes it harder.
My grieving brain tells me that this baby was going to look like ME. This baby was going to cuddle. I was going to nurse longer. This was going to be my little boy. My Sunshine and this baby were going to be the best of friends. Our family of four was going to be so happy.
My rational brain tells me that this baby might have been another clone of my husband. This baby could have been as independent as his sister. This baby might not have nursed at all. This baby may have been a girl. My Sunshine and this baby may have fought tooth and nail all the time. Our family of four may have been overwhelming.
But in this instance the grieving brain wins out. I will stick with the picture of perfection. And I grieve for my mommy’s boy—I’m convinced it was a boy although we’ll never know. And it hurts where it never did before to hear how my daughter looks so much like her dad. Because my clone will never be born. My rational brain butts in to say that I would have been so happy with another daddy’s clone—and I would have. But my dreams grew wings when my baby did.
And the battle of the two brains continues…and my head joins my heart in the pain of grief.
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