Writing and stuff

I think if I could stand the sadness, and I didn't have to be a some-what functioning adult on occasion, I would sit at my computer all day reading loss blogs and saying "Yeah that."

Some experiences, thoughts and feelings seem to be completely universal.
Or, at least I've experienced it and if someone else wrote about it clearly they did too. That's why I started blogging, even though for the most part I feel like a total blog failure because I never can find the right words, or what I want to write most about (totally non-supportive, hurtful, crappy people) might offend someone. I started blogging because I thought that maybe if I wrote about what I was feeling, and someone else came along and was feeling the same thing then we both might not feel so completely isolated and weird.

That's what it's like to experience the grief of losing a baby, isolated and weird.
Oh and shameful.
Shame that I didn't birth a living baby. Shame that I am still sad about it. Shame that I can't be happy for pregnant women and new mothers.
So much shame.

10 months passed over the weekend. I thought about it a lot, but I didn't talk about it. I didn't even really cry.
Yesterday was the first day of summer break for my big kids.
When the air started feeling heavy and impossible to breath and my head started spinning while I was watching the kids play in the back yard it occurred to me that it was the first day like that since that day. It was the first day I was alone with all 3 kids that wasn't a holiday, since August 4. It was painfully similar. A warm but not unbearably hot summer day. The kids happily running around the yard playing, me sitting in the shade of the patio watching and thinking.
Identical.
Except that day I was begging Lucy to move and fearing the worst, but hoping for the best. Back then I still had my ignorance, I still stupidly believed everything would be just fine, because they always have been and they always are, right?
Wrong.
A few hours later I would find out Lucy was dead and the world would stop spinning.

I don't do anything without thinking about what Lucy should be doing. Me, sitting on the front lawn planting flowers. Lucy would be playing on a quilt right here next to me. She might be crawling.