A long time since my last post. The catharsis of blogging, the need to explore my feelings, both for myself and to share with readers, greatly lessened. Hard to say why.
Grieving continues, it always will. I do feel that I have plateaued, that this may be where I land. When I am busy and engaged in life, most days I feel mostly happy. Sometimes, even when busy and engaged, the grief is there very close to the surface, like a non-healing wound covered by a very thin layer of recovery. It's a wound that I am used to, that I can live with, that I can cope with and still get through my day.
Too much quiet is still very hard. Lazy rainy weekends, sleepless nights, too much car time, all give my mind opportunity to re-enter the deep well of grief that will never dry up. Avoidance is useful. I still knit, a lot, to fill that quiet with a little noise. I watch more TV than I ever have. At a grief group, one bereaved family last fall related how they went to go stay in a hotel for a holiday weekend, just to not be home and deal with the emotions there. They looked around at the hotel lobby at the other patrons and wondered to themselves, "What are you all running from?" I think about this often. Those people who schedule every second, who overcommit, who never take time for themselves, I used to see as superhuman, as better than me, an introvert who enjoys quiet/lone pursuits. Now I wonder what void they are trying to fill, what it is they don't want to think about as they sit in their living room at night.
My life continues to have many many blessings, and now one more. We are expecting a baby in February. After what seemed a rocky start, all seems to be going as planned. I am most definitely avoiding getting emotionally committed to this child, which seemed appropriate early on, but now that I am visibly pregnant and feeling the baby move seems less so. The emotional roadblocks are everywhere; for now I am intentionally ignoring them. I know that I'm not stunted, I will be ready when the time comes, but for now thoughts of getting the baby's room ready, or of even having the joy of another baby when my last baby was Henry, puts me in a tailspin. Additionally, we have our official ultrasound next week. My conscious self is excited, wants to see the baby and find out the sex; deeper, I'm treating this like one of Henry's MRIs, waiting to hear the news that all is so very not well, while trying my damnedest to be optimistic but already feeling that pain.
It looks to be a rainy weekend.