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Tuesday, July 10, 2012

Who Am I?

July 3rd…who I am/was changed.

I found out that my baby no longer grew. It’s heart did not beat. I was pregnant, but I would not really give birth.

That Friday, I had a D and C. I was no longer pregnant. I never saw my child. Never held my child. Never kissed my child. Never said goodbye.

I am a Mommy…but only one child lives. Does it make me selfish to want two? To want my daughter to have a sibling close to her age? To nurse an infant again? To watch my children squabble and bicker? Is it selfish to want what I know others don’t or can’t have?

I read today that grief is selfish—I’m proof of that. I know others grieve, but I can’t bring myself to let them hug me and heal THEIR hearts. Mine is broken and bleeding—MINE is all I can think about it.

I was made to be a mother…to many children. My child is made to be a big sister—it’s written in the stars.

My wounds are fresh—they have yet to scar and numb. I haven’t even had the opportunity to try again. To bring another child into this world.

I used to look forward to being pregnant. Each doctor appointment was eagerly awaited. I used to have hopes and dreams. The future was something to anticipate.

Now, I fear. I fear everything. To dream and hope is to open your heart. Can I survive grief again? Another child is another pregnancy—one that may or may not come to fruition. I’m afraid. So very afraid. I’m afraid of who my tears have made me. I’m afraid to find myself.

My dreams for this very much wanted child were many. My first is my husband’s clone. This one—this angel baby was to have my dimples and my smile. Our angel would cuddle as his independent sister never did. The dreams of nursing past six months without a struggle from a baby wanting independence were strong. Those dreams could live on in another child—but I’ll always still want this angel.

I know I am not who I was. I was a happy person. I always made sure my smile reached my eyes. It was genuine and real. Now it’s not even fake…my lips barely crack. My dimples are in hiding. I have no desire to do anything. To go anywhere. Be anything.

I feel guilty for not wanting to play with my daughter. To not want to smile at her. Being happy hurts. But so does being sad.

I don’t know who I am…I know who I WAS…but that person is gone…

I need to know who the new me is…

These things take time they say—I don’t have patience. I need to be whole. I need to be happy. I need to be me…whoever that is.

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