Grief is so weird. One minute, I’m fine. Happy. And the next, my chest hurts so badly, I fear I may implode. Walking the dogs in the park, I felt moments of pure joy and ease, only to find myself suddenly sobbing, willing myself not to fall on my knees, but to keep walking, one foot in front of the other.
Today, going on Facebook is not a pleasant distraction. It’s like nails on a chalkboard to see everyone’s smiling faces and ostensibly perfect lives. Imagine the posts if we told it like it is between the picture-perfect moments? Yes, there is gratitude and beauty, but we all also have moments when we feel like we’re wasting our lives, when we’re trying not to scream at our kids or we’ve just screamed and now we feel horribly guilty. But we don’t share those moments. And usually that feels okay.
But not today.
Not today when I am returning to work for the first time since losing my baby. Not today, just two days after burying his little body in the ground.
Today, I am grieving.
Today, I want to curl up and go to sleep.
I wrote this 10 days after my loss. I stopped posting my blog entries for complicated reasons I will explain, so I’m posting them now. Maybe that’s not the correct protocol in the blogging world, but I’m new to blogging, so if I’m breaking rules, oh well.