I should have been 12 weeks’ pregnant today.
I should have been getting ready to share our good news.
I should have been starting to show a little.
I should have been celebrating instead of feeling so empty.
Should’ve-should’ve-should’ve!
Instead I see
t w e l v e w e e k s
the faint trace of vigorously erased words in today’s diary entry.
Instead I hear
t h e c r a c k i n g
of my heart breaking all over again.
Instead I feel
t h e c r u s h i n g s e n s e o f l o s s
that bends my bones
and the
l i t t l e r e d c l o u d
that creeps in my chest
and the
d e s p a i r o h t h e d e s p a i r
that is the new soundtrack to my life.
And instead
of getting to know my changing body
I am locked
in a blood-sucking embrace
with the two most disappointing words in the English language.
I don’t think I ever really have the right words when I read your blog posts. I just sit here and feel it—the helplessness you are cycling through. But I think I’ve now decided there are no right words.
I tried to leave this last week, but it seems it was eaten. So here it is, now.
I believe that counting the weeks won’t go on forever. I believe your bones will feel less and less like they’re constantly at breaking point. Your strength will eventually surprise you. But I think that for right now, it’s okay. It’s okay for you to be inside of this struggle. It’s okay to be living inside the loss. I suspect that there’s a lot of pressure right now—maybe both external and internal—to stop feeling the grief, to let go of the hopelessness. But letting yourself feel it wholly is important. And letting us in on it is really fucking brave.
So, thank you. For sharing with such courage and honesty. I believe in you.
Maybe there are no right words, but, damn, this comment comes pretty close to perfect. I cherish it.