Part 16: Existing
It's definitely hard to stomach that you had an integral part in the death of your daughter... it's easier to blame someone or something else. No, there's not 100% proof that Addison contracted the virus from me. There's not 100% proof that the lesions on my breasts were in fact cold sores.
It's all speculation. You choose what you wish to believe. I've made my choice, and no amount of reasoning from anyone, medical or not, will change that.
So NOW what? How do you move on from here? What's next?
We have two children. Do we want more? Should we try again? Dare we go through it all again?
Should we pursue a lawsuit? Against who? Whom? What? How?
When people ask how many children I have, how do I answer? Do I say two? Three? Two living with me? All versions that include my angel daughter lead to more questions and heartache. Do I just forget she existed? Do we put away the pictures? Do we pretend it never happened?
Life was incredibly lonely. My husband was coaching football and not home very much. I hated the walls of the house - it seemed they were closing in. I even started bringing the kids to the Monday night JV games so I wouldn't have to sit at home alone.
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| They were so super cute.... |
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| Hubby brought them matching jackets from his Ecuador mission trip. Nice and warm! |
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| Me and Abby - thankful for her sweetness! |
So I didn't become a recluse... no hermit here. I just existed.
Do you know how hard it is to just EXIST? Breathe? Not feel? Carry on as if nothing happened?
I didn't know what I was supposed to do/think/feel. I wasn't sure how to pick up the pieces. Shoot, I wasn't even sure if there WERE pieces. I didn't feel "broken"... but then again I didn't feel "complete" either. I just simply existed.
People didn't know what to say. I'm sure they offered to help, but what did I need help with? I still had a job to do, teenagers to teach, and children to care for. I couldn't just quit life.
One person told me she was so sorry and "knew how I felt", because she had a miscarriage at 10 weeks.
Really? Seriously?
You know how it feels to hold a live baby, a baby that's perfect and healthy one day, then watch her DIE in your arms? Really?
You bled. Come on. Do not even REMOTELY put us in the same boat.
Did I say that? Of course not. I smiled and said I was sorry for her loss and kept on walking, steaming inside. Sure, she probably had hopes and dreams for her baby too, dreams that were shattered and torn apart. That, yes that I could relate to. Here's a first day of school that will never be, a sweet 16 that will never come, a wedding that will never exist.
Good grief. Kill me now. This sucks.
Was I holding it together by a thread? I've heard people say that, but was that me? Did I seem like I just watched my baby take her last breath? Did I have death written on my face? Did I walk around looking like someone died? Was I even more sarcastic that my normal sarcasm? Did I seem angry? Sad? Happy? Fake?
Or was I just there?
Existing?
I was so completely devastated that really, exist is the only word I can come up with that makes sense.
Going through the motions.
Numb.
We made it through the holidays thanks to family and friends. My stepmother and I took the kids to have Christmas pictures made....
Yes, I included her. Yes, it was sad. I went back and forth with whether or not to include the picture at all. In the end, I'm glad I did. I knew people would be sad when they saw the card, but when someone is a part of you, you don't just simply "delete" them out. She would have been in the picture.... so she still was.
"Living" was confusing for me. I would catch myself in a laugh and stop... not really sure why. I guess I figured people might be upset because I wasn't upset... sheesh...I know, I know.... here I am existing and trying to figure out how to live again, but then I catch myself living and feel ashamed. I remember reading Cold Sassy Tree back in high school. The grandfather announces a new marriage just three weeks after the death of his wife, Mattie Lou. Apparently, this was WAY too soon and definitely taboo. While I might have to agree with three weeks being a little quick, I do understand his desire to move on and not care what others thought. How soon is too soon? Do I wear black and mourn for a year?
When is it OK to smile and really mean it?
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