Monday, June 22, 2015

Sometimes I forget and sometimes I remember

I have been thinking about Isla a lot lately.  I am recognizing that I could probably use some help regarding my feelings about the whole situation... there maybe some post trama stress or maybe some depression or plain exhaustion at feeling so much so hard all of the time.
I forget so much specifics about her and it hurts.  And then sometimes I have memories so vivid that I cannot believe she is gone.
Tonight we went to the lake to swim.  I love to swim.  Isla loved to be in the water with me.  My husband and 2nd child not so much.  They will come in to the water.  But Isla wouldn't come out.  I was in the water alone.  It was dusk and the water was gorgeous and the trees surrounding everything was lit up by the setting sun and it was almost perfect.  I was only missing my baby girl.  When she was a baby I had taken her to this lake... just her and I.  She was only 6 or 7 months old.  I brought her into this chilly lake and she laughed and smiled so much.  She was shivering.  I debated when to bring her out of the water... she continued laughing through the chill.  We got out of the water.  Snuggled.  Ate.  Did it again.  It was the best.  Several of my favorite moments with her are in large bodies of water.  We shared that love of water.
We spoke at compassionate friends (a group for bereaved parents) this month about the fact you never heal.  Your world is different and less innocent.  You become more compassionate, but I would argue that I am also becoming less 'here'.  As cliche as it sounds, part of me died when she started throwing up on vacation and the doctors didn't take my concerns seriously and I knew.  A part of me died when she stopped being able to walk or hold herself up on her own.  A part of me died when she formally died.  And there is certainly some of me left, but it feels real beaten up right now.
I love my family dearly and I want to be the person I once was.  I do.  But I can't.  I don't think I can ever again and I am scared for what that means.  Like you slowly become the person you are (in my case 30 years).  And within a year I have become someone new entirely.  It was too fast and I don't know this new me that well.
I realize now that there are a few people that check into this blog every now and then.  You are welcome to read and comment, but please don't feel obligated to do so.  I seriously just need a place to vent sometimes and for whatever reason, pity is so frustrating.  I just want this to get better and I just don't think that is going to happen.  If it does I will be pleasantly surprised.
Also, what will that mean when it does get better?  I already feel like this life with Isla must have been a dream.  It does not feel real most of the time.  How can it get better?  How can it not hurt?  The only way I can see is if you forget that it happened.  I don't want to forget.  I don't want to forget how it felt to be her mom.  But it does hurt to remember too.  When you get something that wonderful, it hurts to not have it anymore.  Yuck.  Goodnight.

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