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:
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.