Sometimes, even the things which seem to be ‘easy’, take so much from you that you’re left barely awake. Perhaps it’s because I woke up at 5.40 this morning, or perhaps it’s because I’ve been doing different things recently, but I’m very, very tired again.
Friday was actually a lovely day overall. We went to the grave and placed some flowers, and now that I know that the ground has settled we can go back and plant the bulbs and seeds I have.
At first I was confused, as I was looking for the end plot, but then I realised that four more babies had been buried since we buried Freddie, and that made me feel even more sad. If you don’t know, in the grave yard there is a separate plot for small babies – most of whom are stillborn. So it added to the sadness to imagine the four other babies who had died in the last 3-4 months, and their families who had buried them.
It poured with rain, and as we stood in a stooped embrace, the rain pelted the back of my legs, and I remembered vividly the day we buried Freddie; it seemed as if the rain would never stop, and as if it were as angry as we were, as it snapped at our skin and soaked interminably through our clothes.
Later that day, we saw a whole rainbow, which neither of us had ever seen before. We’re not in the least bit religious, but there was something about that broad, dazzling bow of colour which moved us both a little, and made us smile.
I’ve done a couple of days back at school, which has actually been really nice, as I’ve mostly been sorting and chatting to people; the teaching comes next week. It was nice to see colleagues and what surprised me most was that so few people wore the face that I expected to see; I expected to see faces full of pity and concern and whilst some people expressed those things briefly, the majority of people just seemed genuinely happy to see me back with them. Which was nice.
When I talk to other people who don’t know what I’ve been through though, I have a voice in my head which is completely different to the normal one that comes out of my mouth. It says things like, ‘you have no idea what I’ve been through’, and ‘I had a baby boy 3 and a half months ago (or however long ago it was when said conversation takes place), well, I had a stillborn baby’, or ‘I’m actually feeling really awful right now, because of the baby boy that I lost’ and ‘I don’t really care what you’re talking about’. It’s so confusing because at the same time as I don’t want people to look at me with pity, I want people to know what I’m going through and I want them to acknowledge it.
It’s probably clear by now that me being really tired does not help my writing – I can’t seem to focus on one thought long enough to write about it so I end up with lots of paragraphs about different things…
Grief makes the littlest things more difficult to deal with. Things that before I would have thought nothing of, now send me to the floor. I get my head around something and then it changes and I find myself obsessing about it. I’m so conscious of not getting stressed out about things, like I did last time, and I’m so concerned with looking after myself, that I’m probably causing myself more stress than if I just got on with things – I’m causing myself stress by worrying about getting stressed…
I think that when the time comes, I’ll manage to put my work hat on and keep it there. I just hope that I can find my ‘being at home/wife’ hat when I need to as well, and that it isn’t lost through the effort of keeping the other hat on.