I am grateful that so many of my co-workers have asked me what happened with the baby, and expressed their sympathy, and been open to talking about it with me, even though it’s hard. They are ICU nurses, after all, we don’t shy away from hard conversations as much as other people do. A lot of it, too, has been my willingness to talk about “my daughter” or “my pregnancy” when it’s appropriate to the conversation. It feels good to let what is so very much my reality on the inside be a part of my reality on the outside, too.
And yet, maybe it’s how much I’ve been talking about it, or maybe because I’ve been working so much and I’m exhausted, I’ve been so, so sad. How can this be real? How can this have happened? Where is my daughter??? Nothing makes sense to me. Why isn’t my belly bigger? Why isn’t everyone asking me when I’m due? Where did the real world go, and how can it just disappear?
I’m a bitch today. I’m tired, I’m overwhelmed, I’m so exhausted by grief.
“I’m so hard to handle, I’m selfish and I’m sad…” –Joni Mitchell, “River”