There are just some days where you need to get everything out.
It's one of those days. Today is Diagnosis Day, the day that I first felt my world shatter into pieces. The first time I screamed and raged against God for doing this to my baby, to my family. The first time I felt so completely broken that I couldn't see beyond the death of my child.
It's also Eleanor's six month birthday. My rainbow baby.
I remember the anguish. The feeling of my heart being ripped out from my chest.
This balance, between extreme happiness and extreme pain, is so difficult to walk sometimes. I sobbed this morning, after my babies left for daycare. Because while I'm celebrating my daughter's half-birthday, I'm also mourning the day we found out our little boy would die.
I hate this club. I wish I had a silly little two year old to chase around, who pokes at both of his sisters and whips off his diaper at a moment's notice.
It feels like reality shifted that day, it feels like the day that everything in life really started to go wrong. Our blessed life took the wrong path, and it led to disease and loss and heartbreak.
I'm just heartbroken still, I guess. I don't think I'll recover. I don't think that I'm meant to recover from this at all. I think that the joy that I feel exists in the whole pieces that are left - the cracks are there to remind me to embrace the joy and the love.
I'm still angry with God. I don't even know if He exists anymore. Sometimes, I feel like I can see his presense in life.. but then I feel that ache. The hoarseness in my throat from screaming in agony and denial, the ache in my pregnant knees as I knelt in a chapel and begged God to spare her life and just let her PLEASE WAKE UP, the betrayal that I felt when another diagnosis came on my son's birth/death date.
I feel like it's all connected, in a macabre fashion. I don't know - I'll never know. I just need to get it out. I need to cry and look at my life in the reflection of my tears and remember that, no matter what, we've been blessed.
