Tomorrow is a week after my D and C. Tuesday was a week from the day my world turned upside down. I’ve cried and bawled and then cried and bawled some more. Sometimes it helps me feel better.
Sometimes I just need to cry.
But today…when I’m feeling the need to have a good cry…it appears I’ve cried my tears dry. I’m still sad and miserable. But I can’t cry. And that makes me feel guilty. I can’t cry for my little Angel. I can’t even cry for me. Dammit I need a cry.
Maybe when I shower. I hate the shower. That when it’s most noticeable that my little belly has gone. The shower was when I’d caress and love on my little baby. And now I can’t. My little angel no longer is held there. I’d say in the protection of my womb, but I don’t really think it’s so safe. After all, it didn’t keep this little one safe. It turned from a place of life into a tomb.
Yesterday I went to a support group. It was nice. People understand. I don’t feel bad crying in front of them. They get it. And yet my guilt at being there. One woman’s child would be the same age as my living Sunshine. How that must hurt her to hear me talk about her. I have a little one. She has empty arms.
And yet…that cry I need…
It’s not coming.
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