Last Saturday Ted and I were driving to Whitby for my friend's birthday dinner. I was feeling down in the car, but not horrible. Ted started saying how hard it is to see me sad all the time and that it is good to remember Jacob and love him, but I can’t let myself be a prisoner to losing him. I’ve never thought of it that way before, but I really do feel like a prisoner to it.
My days and nights are easier than they used to be – I no longer wake up crying and go to sleep crying (although I have been crying the past several days when I get into bed). I don’t spontaneously burst into tears during the day (most days) and a laugh doesn’t usually turn into a cry anymore in a split second. I still cry, but I usually have warning that it is coming on and I can even go for 2-3 days without a major cry, which is a huge accomplishment. My eyes will fill with tears at least once a day, but it often stops there (I make it stop since I am at work or out in public).
But the weight of losing Jacob and then August is always with me. Even when I am talking to someone and smiling and joking, it is still there. I was cleaning up after my Mom’s party on Sunday, wondering if anyone noticed the ultrasound picture of Jacob we have framed on my nightside table when they were taking a tour of our house, or if they look at me and think of what we have been through. Later on, Ted said that I look sad all the time (when I’m not consciously faking looking normal), that people don’t look at me and see a happy girl anymore, they just see a sad one. It makes me sad that that is what he is living with and that is what others see, but it also satisfies me. I want people to look at me and know that I’m not over losing my babies, that I never will be and that 4 months is just too soon to be "normal" again. I am still trying to figure out my "new normal".
I really am a prisoner, serving a sentence that I don’t deserve to serve (who does?), in a jail that I don’t want to be in, but that I also don’t want to leave as it seems to take me further from my babies when I do leave it. Even when a laugh or a smile is really meant, not faked, it is always temporary. But it feels good that I don’t have to fake everything anymore. It feels good when I’m not filled with turmoil and I don’t feel like I’m drowning. I lived in that place for a long time and I’m glad it’s not my constant companion anymore.