I sound like an uber bitch writing it, but I think it needs to be said. Those of you reading this who don't belong to the 'club' won't understand it. You will assume that it's been 5 months, I should be getting 'better', whatever the hell that means. I should be cheerful and thinking about future. Time heals everything.
When you lose a baby, all time does is remind you of what you don't have. My son should be 2 months old right now, grinning at us, cooing, getting into a pattern of finally sleeping more through the night. I go into malls, or restaurants and see little kids, and I think that it will be years before I get to see my husband lift a child on the back of his shoulders, or smile that patient daddy smile to them.
When my friends call, most of the time I don't want to talk to them. I don't want to tell them how work is, or how hot it is here, or how I am doing. I want to tell them that I am pissed that I was one of the chosen. The one in 9,000 who got zinged with a fatally mutated child. I'm angry that I have to go through this alone, and that I have to explain myself in order to help guide everyone's insecurities about seeing me this way. (And please don't tell me I am not alone. Feeling sad/bad for me is not the same as going through this with me, or understanding what it means to wake up everyday and see a box that holds what remains of your hopes and dreams).
I am tired of being normal for people. I am tired of people assuming that I am ok and that life is the same as it was before Ronan died. Oh, good, she's back to normal!
Normal don't come around here no more....