Today was so hard. This was the last day Tim will be taking Evan to playschool, as he goes back to work next week. I went with him so I could ease back into the whole thing. As soon as I saw the teachers, I started to cry. They both hugged me. It's so hard to see people for the first time, who last saw me pregnant. I don't know why this is, but somehow I know they know what happened, they feel awful for me, and I just lose it. So that was hard. I worked at the daycare right across the hall as well, and dodged a few staff walking back and forth. That was really hard. I don't want to talk to them, I don't want to have to put on a smile, feel their pity, I don't know how to explain it. Anyway, After that, I had coffee with a friend, a mom from the playschool, also whom I hadn't seen since summer. She cried with me, I brought pictures of Isla, she let me talk, vent, and show her Isla's album. It was emotionally draining, but didn't feel bad to do. It's nice to talk about her. She's always on my mind anyway, may as well say some of it out loud. After that, we had some errands to run, and at the dollar store, there was a woman in the parking lot who I knew from playschool and I dared not make eye contact, though I'm sure she saw me. Probably wondered where the baby was, but I walked quickly away, into the dollar store... where another playschool family was shopping. Oh the joys of a small town. I hid in the back section until they left, or I thought they had. I managed to slip past the mum, who I'd seen shortly before going into the hospital. I know it must sound so odd to be freaked out about seeing people. I mean, the "worst" that could happen, is they'll say "I'm so sorry".. no biggie.. it's the whole ordeal, really. The "Oh! You must have had your baby..." And I have to say "Yes.. [awkward silence] ...and she died"... And then I have to deal with the reaction, and almost console them. It's just an interaction I'd rather avoid, indefinitely.
Tonight, Evan and I were in the bath. We brought the Potato Heads in to switch it up from dinosaurs. We realized the small potato heads fit perfectly into the storage back ends of the big potato heads, and so we started talking about having babies, and pretended the little potato heads were being 'born'... Evan said "Now, this potato head is going to have a new child, a new baby will be born..." and then he said "and it's not going to be a dead one, it's not going to be a dead child"... I reeled inside. Not in a sad way, really, just more of a "holy shit, I can't believe he said that" kind of way. I mean, I'm glad he feels he can talk about it, because I don't want Isla to be a taboo topic for him, which he initially thought it was, I think. He asked where she was once, early on, and immediately put his hands over his ears, which he does when he feels scared/threatened/in big trouble... I realized then that we had to talk, and get her 'out in the open'... so, I'm glad he felt comfortable enough to bring it up, and I guess I'm glad he realizes that most babies aren't born dead, or die, and that babies can be born healthy. He wanted to name the baby potato Thomas, which was our boys name, and when later, a girl was born, I asked him if her name should be Isla, and he said "no, we already have an Isla". I agreed, and we moved on. I'm glad he recognizes too, that we "have" an Isla. Even just in spirit, he recognizes her as a part of our family, and that makes me happy. She is, and always will be his baby sister, and he will know all that we can share with him about her as he grows up. Evan would have been an amazing big brother to Isla. I picture the two of them all the time, in the car, in the bath, at the dinner table etc etc... I think it's part of the grieving process, that I fantasize these scenarios, and they're not always horribly sad. Sometimes, I imagine Evan complaining about Isla taking his toys, chewing on things or whatever, and I hear him in my mind, and I laugh at the thought. It gives me hope that one day, Evan will have a baby brother or sister to complain to us about. Hope is a hard thing to come by these days, but I know it's out there somewhere.
I love you my baby girl, miss you and wish you were here every single second.