I took measurements of the yard and photos for the gardener today. Instead of traveling somewhere, I’m making this garden. I’m glad I’m making it, but I don’t want it. Will it give me my baby back? My pregnancy? Will it allow her to live as a human on this earth, happy, sad, awed, discouraged…? Will it make me a mother? Will it do anything? No.
I’m also starting piano lessons on Tuesday. I have played piano for a long time, but for nearly 10 years now I’ve barely played at all. So strange, when the 10 years before that I played hard, nearly every day of my life. When my baby died, I heard a whisper telling me to play again. That won’t bring my daughter back, either, but like her name, I’ve learned to listen to those whispers. My daughter had a lot to say before she left me. Now she’s gone, and I remember every one, the way a mother remembers her child’s every tear, every hurt, and every first. I have none of those, so I cling to what I do have.
I had my first therapist appointment on Thursday, first since the very beginning of my pregnancy. Then I was too sick, then I was too happy. My therapist thinks I’m grieving in healthy ways, and not doing anything unhealthy. Yay for me, I get a gold star for grieving. It doesn’t make it any better, though.
I had a freak out when a guest stayed overnight in the baby’s room. She never stayed in there, even Moose hardly ever slept in there (mostly he was in the livingroom or my bedroom in his bassinet), but still, it’s the baby’s room. It’s our only unused room, in a very small house, I get it. But I still can’t bear it. I just can’t.