A day doesn’t go by that i don’t cry at least once. Mostly it’s at night, in bed, because i can’t sleep. I can’t sleep because it’s usually too late to take a sleeping tablet, even half a one.
I cry at nappy ads on YouTube – even though Emma was fully potty trained long before the accident. I cry at sad movies. If the show’s story line is about a dead child, a drowning, or any post mortem – i just switch it off. Seeing pregnant women makes me cringe and scuttle off in search of the comfort and recluse of my car…like no one can see me draped over the steering wheel sobbing. Shopping is the worst. Any child around 2 bricks high, with blonde’ish curly hair… I have left my trolleys in isles and dashed to the car. I have run out of pharmacies without paying because the pressure in my chest becomes too much. ( I have sent handy hubby back in to settle outstanding monies when this happens). I can’t answer people over the phone when they ask ‘But how are you REALLY doing.’
Family events are the worst. Christmas was torture. But we got through it, i’m still not sure how. I was drugged up for most of it. I dread birthdays. We didn’t celebrate Valentine’s day. I would like to cancel Easter too.
And i still haven’t had the courage to visit my baby’s grave. I can’t. I just can’t. I had a panic attack the first time a visit was mentioned. I ended up at home alone, unable to sleep, curled up under her memory troos blanket shouting plot holes at the tv. I might have put on a brave face in a floral dress at her funeral, but i am in a worse place mentally now than ever. I’ve made it as far as the farm, but not the family cemetery.
I just want my baby back.