Time does not heal.

It’s been just over 4 months since Freddie was born asleep.  I still can’t bear to see a pregnant woman.  I still can’t bear to look at most babies – some are more difficult to acknowledge than others.  I still feel broken.  In fact I feel more broken as time goes on; the more time there is which fills the space between Freddie coming into this world too soon, and the present, the more difficult it is to understand.  The more difficult it is not to question, not to be angry, not to lose hope.  I think that a little piece of me breaks when I hear someone talk about someone’s baby or someone’s pregnancy or anything related to any of those things.  And I know that a lot of me has been lost to what’s happened over the last 18 months.  And I worry whether I’ll ever get it back.  I worry that I won’t have enough of me left to fight any more if all of this doesn’t end in some happiness sometime relatively soon.  And I know that the chance of this same thing happening to us again, is high.  Which is more frightening than I can really contemplate right now – to know that we might have another baby – maybe more than one – who will meet the same fate as Freddie and my baby girl, is terrifying, and it almost makes me want to stop trying; stop trying for another baby, stop trying for anything.