and feel the fell of dark, not day.

there’s nothing left. just sadness and rage and grinding isolation.  it’s been one year, one month and five days since i said goodbye to the little boy i’d only just said hello to.  his loss and his absence are killing me. that eternally optimistic, hopelessly naive girl i once was is gone forever. she died in that same sci-fi hospital room where my son took his last breaths.  i know the score.  life owes me nothing…not a child who lives, not friends who stick around and weather the storm, not the even a tiny sliver of happiness.  hope feels like a word i once heard but no longer understand the meaning of. once a week, i have to pay someone to talk to me in my own language.  otherwise it’s just me, alone in my head fighting the despair, the anger, the desire to just give up.  friends, family…nearly everyone has disappeared from my life or simply forgotten.

but this happened:

little sun and mama

it really did.

and then so did a whole lot of other things.  terrible, heartcrushing, soulrending things. things that i haven’t forgotten.  even if no one speaks or writes his name, even if no one remembers his first birthday or the anniversary of his death, i remember him.  how could i ever forget that sweet little boy?  how could i ever get forget the wonderfully wriggling weight of him as he grew in my belly or the much heavier heft of his lifeless body in my arms.  how do i navigate these foreign waters of grief without any support system, without anything at all but Froggy…Froggy who’s also just trying to keep her head above the endless swells.

i think i may be permanently broken, permanently lost.  i don’t know how to be around people anymore, and the idea that i could ever make a new friend or find kindred spirits again seems absurd to me now.  and so i build walls and dig moats, and i hide inside my lonely tower watching and waiting for some small slivers of light to pierce the darkness.  waiting for a voice to call out in the night or for some small songbird to land on my lofty sill and sing me back to life.

i struggle with work, with the students’ attitudes and disrespect, and i fall apart after nearly every class.  we struggle to find a way to pay for the next step in trying to conceive….a procedure that will require trips to yet another country and ten times more money than a single IUI.  we struggle with the silence of my family and friends on the other side of the world and their reluctance to help us.  i struggle with the meaninglessness of my life. there is no one to talk to, nothing to look forward to, nothing that feels good.

my therapist calls it reactive depression.
i call it resignation.

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15 thoughts on “and feel the fell of dark, not day.

  1. marchisfordaffodils

    Oh what a beautiful beautiful baby boy he was. It is so hard to see that picture and know what happened next. It is such a terrible, terrible tragedy that that beautiful boy is not here in your arms. I wish there were something better to say: I’m mad and sad and devastated with you. And so so sorry. And here, always here, listening, and loving your little sun.

    Reply
    1. le petit soleil Post author

      thanks for being out there and reading along (and even commenting). though i wish neither of us knew this pain, it helps to know that there is someone out there who understands. daffodils will always make me think of A. and you.

      Reply
  2. Deborah

    I’m so sorry. That picture of the beautiful boy, the smile on your face… I’m glad you and Froggy are trying to take care of one another, and I hope you are being kind to yourself as well.

    Reply
    1. le petit soleil Post author

      i wonder if i’ll ever smile like that again. Froggy is a blessing, and i never forget how very lucky i am to have her. thanks for reading and for posting such sweet comments, Deborah

      Reply
  3. redbluebird

    I’m so sorry you lost your son. He’s beautiful. I can imagine the pain you must feel, but I know it must be even worse than I imagine. Life can be so cruel.
    I’m so sorry, too, that you feel so alone. Does it help to connect with other parents who have lost a baby? I know talking to people who really get it is what has helped me with things in the past. As supportive as some friends and family can be (and often, they aren’t), they can’t really understand without having gone through it. Hoping for peace and healing for you.

    Reply
  4. Kelly

    What a beautiful boy.

    Families can suck. Friends can suck. I too have felt very separate from other people, like “normal” people can’t understand who I am any more. It must be even more isolating to be in another country.

    But your beautiful boy is remembered, and the way you feel is understood.

    Reply
  5. suzanne

    A year, a month, and days and days and days. It’s unbelievable that people survive this loss. I am still working on it, but still feeling completely broken and lost.
    Your son is spectacularly sweet and beautiful. xoxoxo

    Reply
  6. Ruby

    I identify with much that you express here, lps, about sadness, rage and grinding isolation – each of those things is very real to me. And my son died at birth the same month as yours. I feel alone too, heartcrushed, soulrent, as you say, I too am struggling with the meaninglessness of my life and no-one left to talk to, no comfort to be found. I’m startled by recognising in my own experience just what you have written about here – it is so much the same. I think often of your little sun because what you blog is so evocative and because he is an exact-age peer of my son. Your photo captures such loveliness. I’ll light an extra candle tonight here in Wales for your little sun.

    Reply
    1. le petit soleil Post author

      oh, Ruby, i hate thinking that anyone else is going through this hell that is losing and then grieving a child. i wish that you didn’t understand this unending pain, that you didn’t feel alone and abandoned, too. if only there were teleporters so that we could easily meet and share stories of our boys and help one get through. i am so very touched that you lit a candle for my little boy and i will do the same for yours here in Paris tonight. so much love to you.

      Reply
  7. Burning Eye

    Yes, it did happen. Little Sun happened. And no, you are not forgotten, nor is he, and you are not alone. I’m sorry you feel so isolated. Sending love your way…

    Reply
    1. le petit soleil Post author

      thank you, my dear friend. thank you for remembering and for existing and for being there for me even when i can’t be there for you. you and A. and Joseph are remembered and spoken of with great love in our home and you always will be.

      Reply

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