So, it's been a while since I wrote, and I can feel that I'm running a bit from it all. We've moved provinces, which has been an experience and continues to be, daily. We haven't unpacked Isla's things onto her cabinet yet, I'm not sure why. I think I'm 'waiting' for something, I don't know what.. for the house to be 'ready', or something... Either way, I'm feeling fidgety, angry, anxious, depressed, angry, sad, hopeful, lost and did I mention angry? It's been difficult. Evan's been a nightmare. I feel horrible saying that, beacause I should be grateful etc etc.. but he's been just awful. Disagreeable, antagonistic, argumentative, all of it. Almost all of the time. I think it's a combination of boredom, adjustment issues, possibly grief, though I don't really think so, except in a possible reaction to our grief. I feel wiped, spent and just Done. Capital D. I want very much to be grateful, for this opportunity to start our new life here in the Kootenays, which holds so many amazing memories for me, and feels like home no matter how long I've been away. I want to feel hopeful, that our future holds many good things, in spite of the awful blow we've been dealt. I believe these things are possible, yet every time I feel like I've progressed on this stupid grief journey, and that I'm healing, I seem to fall 2 steps back. I know this is the jagged reality of grief, and on paper and in studies, it makes perfect sense, but to be the actual person on the roller coaster, experiencing it, without knowing what's around each bend is so emotionally draining. It makes it so hard to enjoy a good day when it comes, because you just *know* that something awful could be lurking beyond... I realize this is all very pessimistic, and I don't care. It is what it is. I *am* in fact very grateful for what I do have. I touch Evan often, cuddle him constantly, and enjoy most of our time together. But it doesn't ease the pain I feel for Isla's loss. And it's been a wretched week there. We've just passed the 5 month mark on the 15th. We don't have our support group anymore to help us through these difficult milestones. Five months. Starting solids. Maybe having a bottle now and then.... hair bows and barrettes in what I'm sure would have been wavy brown hair. Cute Easter dresses, tights, and little shoes. How long will I go on recognizing these missed moments? Will it be forever that I think of Isla, and what she'd be doing? How old she'd be? What her voice would sound like? Probably. I'm supposed to believe that this is the way that I remember, and keep her memory alive; by imagining these things, etc.. and in fact, I think I even stated that myself once. But, really, what it really does is remind me of the enormity of my loss. The fact that an entire life of joy, love and potential has been washed away. We are left to forever wonder what 'would have been'. And that's awful. That's where the dreadful loneliness sets in. Where everyone has acknowledged what a tremendous loss we've endured, appreciated what they have, and moved on to ponder what to make for dinner, we are stuck. We don't get to just shake our heads and say the profoundly ignorant things people say, like "you're so strong, I couldn't handle it" and just go on our merry way. We must endure it daily, for the rest of our lives. And that's another thing that really pisses me off. When people say things like we're strong, and they couldn't handle it I just want to shake them. Do you think I thought I could handle it either asshole? Or wanted to? I sure didn't ask for this. And what would you do exactly? Jump off a bridge? Leave everyone else behind? It's such a slap in the face to say something like this, as though it's a fate I've chosen. I'm not strong enough either, but somehow, I have no fucking choice. So stop telling me how strong I am. Nobody whose been through something like this appreciates a comment like that. Maybe after I've run a marathon, but not after I've experienced the death of my child. Strength has nothing to do with it.
I miss you sweet Isla. I know you'd have been the most beautiful 5 month old out there, and you'd have fulfilled us completely. We miss you so very much, every day, all the time. You were such a special baby girl, and we just wish so much you were here in our arms. How we ache for you my sweetheart.