Friday, February 18, 2011
Feeling is Healing...
Ella's Famous "Pose" and Lily's paper Lilies
Friday begins my work week. I work Friday, Saturday, and starting this week, Monday. Sunday doesn't really count as a day off as it's soooo much work to get the kids to church and stay for the entire block. But we try.
Today I was feeling good and productive. I was sailing around on my Sketchers Shape up shoes, pounding out paperwork and sipping zip fizz every four minutes. And then suddenly, I thought of Lily laying in her daddy's arms less than two weeks ago. I thought of the hour it took her to stop seizing and breathing and my heart just constricted. Yes, I have peace, but those memories are going to be my "hard moments." With Charlotte it was the night before she passed, sitting in the corner of the hospital room with my husband, sobbing while the doctors worked to get an arterial line in my little girl, seeing her tiny pale hand against the blue sheet, the bright light, the blood. That is the moment that haunted me. I went to counseling a few times after Charlotte died, and talked about those moments. The therapist said "But don't you think Charlotte is watching you struggle with this and just saying 'Oh mom, I'm fine!" And that did it. That moment doesn't haunt me anymore. But Lily's still does. (Granted, it's been just a few days.) I have tried to imagine Lily saying the same words, but it just doesn't ring true. She was just a baby. She didn't say words. Charlotte *almost* did. And she laughed and smiled and had so much joy. Lily didn't. That is hard for me. I feel like I need to hold Lily. And obviously, I can't.
Perhaps I should consider going to a few sessions again, work through it out loud. So far I have done everything, and I do mean everything--to avoid this grief. To keep occupied with other things, my other kids, work, myself. This blog is very cathartic, but maybe I'm going to need a little more help.
I was able to stay at work today. I didn't even cry. I just stood by the drinking fountain clutching my chest for a moment until a coworker walked by, and then I smiled and sailed on my back to the desk. And I was relieved I was able to move forward with my day. And yet I know I need to feel what I need to feel or it's going to continue to attack me at inopportune times. With Charlotte I could replace those hard memories with happy ones, but with Lily, there are relatively few happy memories. She struggled. She seized.She lay in a hospital crib. She cried and slept. Once, maybe, she smiled. And that's hard. I wish I could see her now, happy, and focus on that. Just for a moment, I wish I could see her whole. A dream, a vision, something. Sometimes it feels a bit too dark to walk by faith.