Same Old Story

I think people must be getting sick of reading my blogs, but I'm going to write them anyway, even if it's just for me. It helps me gather my thoughts and work things out.

After Brian died, I was devastated, obviously. The tears came almost constantly. However, I thought that I had come to some peace about it because of what I believed he taught us. He taught us about my incompetent cervix so that we knew for the future what to do to prevent another premature birth. He made it possible for us to try again.

Now that Sawyer has died too, I don't understand any of it. Brian's death hurts more than it ever did, and Sawyer's death is so unfair I can't even comprehend it. I am so angry right now. I don't know where to turn. After Brian died, we moved right on ahead with our plans for a family, and I had conceived Sawyer within 12 weeks. Now we're talking about birth control, and even though I know it's what I have to do, I don't want to. The emotional part of me wants to try again right away. I just want to have ONE child to love here on earth with me. It doesn't change or lessen my love for my two boys. I will always love them with all my heart. I just can't see them, or hear them cry, or change them, or hold them, or sing to them, or physically be with them. I don't feel like I have much of a choice about trying again right now . . .logically I know this. But emotionally, I just can't stand the thought of starting birth control. I waited and waited and waited to have my babies, and now here I am, 32 years old with two in Heaven. Taking birth control feels like resignation to me.

I started my period today. What a nice reminder, just before Mother's Day, that I am no longer pregnant, as I should be, and that my boys are gone. I started crying when I saw it. It hurt after Brian died too.

There is no resolution to this blog. Just random thoughts. I want to rage and cry and scream, but I can't do that here, and there's no point anyway, is there? So I just blankly float through the days. I sleep a lot, because it's a way to escape the world. The rest of the time, I feel empty most of the time, and sad or angry the rest, when I allow myself to. I hate the world outside of my own little set of rooms. It's filled with happiness and joy that I am afraid I will never have. Instead, I'm left with a broken heart that no one, no matter how hard they try, could ever fix.