Dark Cloud

One of the worst parts about all of this, besides losing my son, and the pain, and the heartbreak, is the dark cloud now that seems to forever be over our heads.

Everywhere we go, I feel like people are just staring at us. Even if we’re just around family and friends, I feel like everyone is watching us, and waiting for us to break down or hoping whatever they said isn’t going to make us cry or just staring at us because they don’t know what to do or say. There’s this big dark cloud over our heads and no one knows how to speak to us and no one knows how talk to us and no one knows what to say because there isn’t anything to say. But it hurts. It hurts to have everyone staring, it just reminds me of what I’m trying to let go. It hurts that people are afraid to talk to me, it hurts that I can’t go anywhere without people looking at me with sympathetic eyes, or them saying I’m sorry. Don’t get me wrong I appreciate everyone who cares and I appreciate people saying they’re sorry and I appreciate everything everyone has done. But I feel like I am just this big dark Debbie downer cloud everywhere I go whether I’m feeling down at the moment or not. Even on our night of laughter I couldn’t escape it. Our old friends we met up with, I didn’t even know if they knew and that was okay because then I didn’t have to think about it, but we couldn’t get through the whole night without them saying “hey you know, I know what’s going on but I just didn’t know what to say.” Which is totally fine and I understand completely, but it then brought back my cloud which I thought I had tucked away for the evening.

Even when we’re out in public around strangers and they don’t know, I feel like I have this sign pointing at me that says “downer” in big flashing letters. I see pregnant women and baby boys, and baby boy things. Normally I love walking by the baby stuff and seeing my husband squirm while he thinks I’m going to go buy our daughter new outfits but this weekend when we went shopping I didn’t even want to see it because I’d have to see the little boy stuff too. I want to smile at all the pregnant ladies walking by, I want to tell them how lucky they are. I want to smile at the little baby boys that are so cute but instead I just feel sad. Then there it is again my dark cloud.

The hardest part is even I don’t know what to say. I have to take Z to Wic this morning which I’m absolutely dreading because I’m going to have to tell them I’m not pregnant anymore. How do I say that without it bringing on more questions? My insurance called to do a survey and they said “we see you were recently in the hospital can you tell us the reason you were admitted?” I don’t know how to answer that question. My baby died. I had a C-section but I didn’t get to bring my baby home. I’m not pregnant anymore, but I don’t have a baby. Then there it is all over again that dark cloud above my head where they stare at me and they say “oh I’m so sorry” or, “oh what happened” or they just look at me with those sad eyes and they don’t really say anything. And it just brings me back to square one. What am I supposed to say? “it’s okay”? because it’s not. “I’m okay”? because I’m not. “thanks”? Oh thanks for feeling sorry for me. I hate it. But there isn’t anything I can do about it.

I guess I’ll just keep smiling my half smile and saying “thanks. I’m as ok as I can be I guess.” And hope that someday the cloud will at least shrink and not be so giant and visible over our heads. And keep focusing on the things that do make me smile for real like this beautiful little girl and my wonderful husband.




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