I’ve had friends (too many friends) have miscarriages. I was just a wreck for them. So sad, so devastated. I hate thinking about them being heartbroken. I’ve cried for them and their families and their babies.
But now that it’s happened to me, I have…no emotion. No crying, no sorrow. Just emptiness.
Everyone has been so friendly, looking at me with sadness and sympathy, and I just want to shut my eyes to it all. I don’t want any more of these looks. I don’t want to be the one everyone feels sorry for…again. I was going over my medical history with a pre-op nurse, and when I told her I’d had two previous c-sections, she asked me how old my children where. I replied, “My daughter is two,” and then said nothing else. She asked about my other child, so I told her about Maddie. She looked at me with a sad clown face and said, “It’s too much.”
And I know it’s too much. I know it is. I would say the same, if I were talking about someone else. But I don’t feel it. Maybe it’s because I won’t let myself. I don’t want to go down this path again. Maybe I’m keeping it at arm’s length, the poisonous bite of pain and pity.
Or maybe it’s because I can’t. My grief for Madeline is so huge and consuming…maybe too consuming…there’s nothing left. I want there to be something. There should be something…right? I hope I’m just in shock, but I’m afraid I’m broken inside. Afraid I can’t grieve anymore. Just…afraid.