The calendar tells me a whole month has gone by. July 5th to August 5th, just like that. I can’t tell if the time seems to have passed quickly or slowly, only that everything is entirely different than it was just 31 days ago.
So many walks, so many quiet early mornings alone with my thoughts while the rest of my home slumbers soundly, so much sorting and organizing and intensely deep cleaning, so very many tears. It’s continues to be a rather difficult thing to wrap my head around, being pregnant and then not pregnant. I will feel this loss for the rest of my life.
All this moving about has been good for me, flooding my brain with endorphins. Independently of one another, both of my older children have told me that I’m in a much better mood than I was when I was pregnant, better even than before I was pregnant, which is probably very true.
I’ve had a hard time these last couple of years, recovering from Roux’s traumatic delivery has not been easy. If I’m being honest, though, I didn’t really try. I foolishly thought I would just get better with time, but time kept right on ticking and better still I was not. It is only now, after facing the death of our unborn baby, that I am beginning to feel the levity that has been missing for far too long.
It seems a strange contradiction, moving through the greatest loss I’ve yet to experience only to find myself in a better place than I’ve been in quite some time. However, the truth of it is that I have been absolutely determined to not allow this tragedy to overtake me and in doing so have managed to pierce through whatever it is that has been shrouding my joy.
There is plenty of healing left yet, but I’m well on my way.