A Drop In The Bucket

It’s been one month, 4 weeks today since I last heard Renix’s heartbeat. The day before we had our second appointment with MFM I was feeling really sick, I threw up my blood pressure pill, it had been about 5 days since I’d been seen because of Christmas so I called and got myself in to be checked. I was so scared something was going to be wrong. The way I was feeling wasn’t normal even for the miserable normal I had been getting used to. I got in and my bp was a little high but ok and Renix’s heartbeat was normal. It was like a huge weight was lifted off my shoulders when I heard that womp womp womp. Though looking back now, even if his heartbeat was normal he probably was still struggling. That’s probably why my body was telling me something was wrong, probably why I felt so bad that morning. Not that I could have changed anything even if I’d have known that was the last time I would ever hear his heartbeat. Not that the drs could have done anything. He was too small to even try to deliver. I guess someone must have been watching out for me that day, because if I had gotten the news that his heart had stopped when I was by myself like that I’m not sure I could have handled it. I’m not sure I could have been the one to tell Ben, I’m not sure I would have made it home that day. So the next day with my husband by my side is when we got the news. I guess it’s better that way. Coming from the specialist made it a more reliable source I guess, having my husband holding my hand when we heard the news, helped me a lot, and not having my daughter with me when it happened was probably for the better as well. I just can’t believe it’s been a month already. It feels like it was just last week still. I would say it feels like yesterday, except we have his ashes home and other things around the house of his now that weren’t before. It still feels so raw.

I’m overwhelmed with emotion all the time. It’s like I am a bucket full of water, and one more drop causes the bucket to overflow, that’s how I feel these days. I can’t leave my bubble of safety in my house for too long. And truthfully there’s things around the house that hit me wrong too. I can’t deal with added stress of other people, even friends and family, I do ok in small groups but can’t handle large amounts of people, the normal little things people do that annoy us are like magnified ten-fold for me right now and I just can’t take it. I have no more energy to deal with the things that we deal with normally like that, that involve having patience or just brushing stuff off that doesn’t matter. I can’t. Even if I try or want to I can’t. It just hits me like a ton of bricks and I overflow. It’s not just other people either, its everyone. It’s Zenna and Ben too. I love them, they are my reason for breathing but I can’t take the extra stress of things that normally would be no big deal like Z acting like a brat for no reason or like couples do sometimes, little comments that I know to ignore or brush off, that don’t really mean anything but venting frustration, I do it too, we all do, but I can’t even take those. I can’t take any of it. I explode, overflow and breakdown. Even after the breakdown though or the tears or whatever, I’m still full, it’s like my bucket is just constantly filled to the brim and I’m just always at this risk of overflowing with one more little drop. I don’t know if that makes any sense but it’s the best way I can describe it.

I am doing better than I was three weeks ago I guess, as I’ve said before the tears aren’t as frequent, but I just can’t seem to get a handle on how I am supposed to feel, or act or be. Sometimes I’m ok, I can smile and laugh and have fun and sometimes the smallest thing hits me like a ton of bricks. We watched Guardians of the Galaxy this weekend. It’s not a scary movie, it’s not even a sad movie, it’s more of a comedy than anything, but the first scene of the movie, caught me off guard. It was a mom dying of cancer and her little boy screaming and crying and being pulled out of the room after she took her last breath. The pain on his face, the intensity of the scene, just the fact that it was a mom and little boy, I lost it. I yelled at the people with me for making me watch it, slammed doors and went into my room and had a good cry for a few minutes. It’s so hard, because you just never know when something is going to hit you like that. You can’t be prepared for it. I can’t put up my guards and try to be strong because I don’t even know it’s coming.

I hate it! I hate all of this. I hate that we have to feel this way. I hate that I’m making others feel sad. I hate that all of this happened. I hate that I’m measuring my life in the time it’s been since my son died now. Before & after as I said before. Whether I want it to be or not that’s how life is now. Before & after. Even when I look at our family photo or other photos of Z and I or Ben and I or anything, like pictures of us having fun, smiling, laughing, I think will I ever smile like that again? Will I ever laugh and have fun without feeling guilty about it again? Will I ever have have a genuine smile again without the pain of sadness behind it? I don’t know. I hope so, but part of me doesn’t think so. I guess for now I’m going to hope for my bucket to evaporate a little so I’m not at risk of overflowing as often and keep hugging my daughter tight, and squeezing my husband whenever I can, and being as thankful as possible that I have them, and all my wonderful family and friends to help me through all of this.


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