I think that I am starting to accept that I will be sad forever. It is my destiny to grieve. I mean shouldn’t I? I have a child who has died. Should I not be sad until the day that I die? And it is just starting to dawn on me, I should be sad. I should be sad every moment of every day. How peculiar would it be if I wasn’t sad for my Everlee? How cold and heartless would I be? Instead of worrying that I’m still sad, I should worry that some day I might not be sad…as much as I desperately want the sadness to go away, the sadness means that she was real, and that she mattered.
I know that at some point I have to allow myself to be happy, or at least that’s what my psychologist tells me. But I’m not there yet, and I’m not sure I ever will be. I have cried every day and I don’t know if the tears will ever stop.
So often I go around feeling like I am alone in my misery, with Darcy. I don’t know many people (and I know nobody my own age) who has gone through this kind of tragedy. I don’t often get to see people on the other side of this Everest of pain. It seems sometimes that no one remembers that I was pregnant, and that there was a living being here on this earth that looked just like me and Darcy.
People forget that every day, every minute, I pine for that tiny soul, my sweet Everlee.
People forget that shoving their big bellies in my face, or their newborns reminds me of how broken and lost I really am and what I’ve lost, and what I may never have again.
Its human nature to forget, maybe that’s a good thing. I don’t know.
Out of sight, out of mind, I guess.
I can’t begrudge them (even if secretly, occasionally, I want to poke them in their perfect world).
And just when I thought that every last soul on this earth (except Darcy) had forgotten that I had a precious baby once too, someone comes along with a nudge to tell me they remember.
Thank you Cathy, for giving me what many others could not.