What's Next?

Last Wednesday, February 5, was my due date. Technically I would have been induced two weeks prior because of how sick I was, but that's the date I was given when we found out I was expecting. I stayed in bed all day. My alarm went off that morning, but I turned it off. How was I suppose to sit in a classroom listening to a lecture that would just evade me?  My mom and sister called, but I couldn't talk long. My heart was hurting too bad.

I just don't understand my life anymore. I thought I could bottle up my emotions and force myself to keep going, but it's days like this that I realize I can't do that. Every time I get knocked on my back, I loose my breath, and the aching starts all over again. That night when my husband got home, all I could do was loom at him. I don't know if anyone is reading this, but sometimes I just look at my life and I just feel like a failure. The one thing that I was so looking forward to was raising a child with the love of my life, and now we have heartache and grief. It's very hard to accept. It's not possible to understand. 

I see all the pictures and posts of people getting pregnant and having babies, and all I feel Is complete sadness. How can I possible be happy for them?  What if they have to go through this?  Please God don't let their story end up like ours. Then there is the jealousy. The huge monumental loathing of their happiness. Why me? Why not them? Then I stop and look at myself. Who am I?  What kind of monster wishes this on anyone?  I am not that person. The grief that is consuming me makes me question everything. I hate it. I hate that I no longer have that innocence that was once there. I hate that I did not get to keep holding my baby boy in my arms. I hate that his story never really began. I hate that I will never hear his cries, see his smile. I hate not knowing if his eyes would be dark brown like mine or stay that blue. I hate all of this, but this is my life now. I m trying to make the best of it. I am trying to keep going. I am trying to not let the depression take over but it's always rearing its ugly head, pulling me deeper into the blackness that so easily consumes me. 

People keep telling me thy the hurt never goes away, just dims slightly. I believe it. Four months have passed. It seems like forever ago, like a figment of my imagination, but I know Elijah was very real. I held me son in my arms. He was there. I am a mother. I have a son. He was real. This is real. So now what happens?  What's next?  

Dear Elijah,

I miss you so much. I want you here with me. It's funny my little boy how we picked out your little animal. My little Ez bunny. Every since then, your dad and I have had nightly visits from this bunny. Your dad said he let him get within a foot and would never move. I hope that is you coming to tell us that you are ok. That's all we have of you my sweet boy. No pictures, no videos, just sonograms, and memories of your kicks and punches. I love you always. I'll miss you forever.  I won't forget you my sweet boy, and please visit me in my dreams. 

All my love,

Mommy