~~~ Flashback Post ~~~
Happy 11th Anniversary (March 13, 2015)
Today was Friday the 13th. I’ve never been superstitious, I’ve never thought too much about Friday the 13th, and truth be told, 13 is what I’ve always considered my lucky number. Yet for some reason, I struggled more that day than I had for several days.
We had agreed we weren’t really going to celebrate anything this year, and surely we were not going to get any gifts for each other. I had gotten my cake work done, posted a fun photo from our wedding with online anniversary wishes to the man I love “through sickness and in health… for richer for poorer… I will love you forever…”
I bought a card for him and penned a little note about having fallen in love more and more with him lately and so thankful for all he is and does. The previous night we decided to go out to eat somewhere nice.
I started getting ready the next afternoon. I showered and had no idea what to wear. I started trying on clothes… and nothing fit… and nothing that I could get on looked good. I had been hiding in jeans and hoodies for weeks. I changed multiple times, and finally decided to try hide behind a sparkly scarf and pull-over sweater. Everything was quite snug, and I was very self-conscious.
My husband got home from work and I burst into tears before he had even reached the kitchen from the back door. He gave me a funny look and I had mumbled something about not having anything to wear through my tears. He assured me I looked just fine and went to get ready himself. Our six year old was left looking at my streaked make-up asking me what was wrong. I took in a few deeps breaths and assured him nothing was wrong…
I wasn't sure where we would end up eating because we had our son with us, and he is a wild card at best when it comes to eating at restaurants, but my husband packed us in the van and we headed south, and I was pretty sure I knew where he was taking us… He took the right exit and I smiled loving just how predictable this man I love was.
When we arrived it was filled with people we knew, and I became even more self conscious. We splurged and ordered two appetizers and our entrees. The food was fabulous, and overall our son did pretty well. And as if we hadn't already eaten enough, we decided next to go out for ice cream at a specialty ice cream parlor in town.
We left and headed across town to get our ice cream
As we sat at the table talking and eating the ice cream, I looked over and saw a women come in… and she was for sure in her eighth month of pregnancy, if not closer to her ninth… She was of similar height and build to myself… and as big as I’m sure I’d get this time if we got that far. I was again blindly struck with emotion and couldn’t hold back the tears. The unfairness of the whole situation was so large and so hard and so… real.
My husband of course looked on with the confused male look that usually happens whenever there are unexplained female tears. I did think he’d put the puzzle pieces together as she had walked by, but he never did. I tried really hard to stop, to stop the crying, to stop the pity party inside, to stop the reality of the whole sucky situation.
We walked around the ice cream parlor and got a smashed penny souvenir, and headed back home. I was overcome yet again with the tears and the sorrow and the unfairness of it all. And again my husband was left looking confused, with borderline anger showing on his edges, and asking what was wrong.
What’s wrong?!? Inside I screamed - I’m sad! I’m hormonal! I’m reeling in a sick reality of total unfairness! I’m sick of having to be strong! I’m sick of having to hold it all together, and hold it all inside! I’m sick of having to act like everything is fine and put on a happy smiling face while facing the world and the public at large while hiding behind my hoodies!
But I said nothing. I wiped the tears that continued to leak down my cheeks, and made sure our son didn’t hear or know I was again crying. I'd held it together and not really cried or had any emotional breakdowns for nearly a week… Wasn't I surely due? Was someone in my condition surely not entitled to these tears and emotions?
I am forty, pregnant after sixteen years of infertility, and carrying a baby that isn’t going to live to or beyond birth. I surely can cry if I want to, dammit!
But as I looked over at my husband, I knew I needed to somehow figure out how to get it together so I wouldn’t put any more burden on him… he didn't need any more stress, or another layer of emotional baggage on him. I’d already seen him suffer and cry over all this already far too much.
I needed to remain strong and together, but I didn’t want to.
Granted, it’s probably easier to get through each day trying to ignore, or deny the feelings and reality, but it also frustrated me. I want to feel, to mourn, to live authentically… but all of that just makes it all that much harder… and as the general public still walks around unaware, it’s even that much harder to suffer alone in silence. Not that I’m looking for sympathy or looking forward to when this whole things goes public, don’t get me wrong. I live in utter fear of the day this all comes out. I pray it doesn’t go social media viral… and I also pray we can just make it to that day before people start to whisper and wonder as I walk by… And perhaps they already are, I’m just grateful it hasn’t been anything I’ve been privy to hear or be asked just yet.
We finally got home and we put our leftovers in the fridge. I quickly changed into my safe and comfy clothes, took a sleeping pill, and climbed into bed with heartburn, heartache, and eyes that burned and continued to leak tiny tears of sadness whenever I closed them.
Click HERE for our next journal entry.
No comments:
Post a Comment