1 month

Everdearest Aurora,

It's been a little over one month since we lost your little heart. One month of pain, grief, and healing - inside and out.  On most days, I'm surprisingly ok.  I feel almost guilty saying it, when people ask how I am.  I'm ok. I'll be ok.   Then sometimes, it hits me like a ton of bricks.  That's when I feel weak, helpless, and to blame.  On some days, I'm going through the motions. I'm smiling when I think I should be happy, snapping pictures of moments I know to be great.  (I know, but I don't feel it).  I force myself to reach out, while retreating inside my head.  Even in the midst of loving family and friends, I sometimes have to remind myself to feel happy.  But also, there are fleeting moments when my heart feels 100% joy.  In those moments, I really know: I'm going to be ok.

In the first month of my pregnancy, I began experiencing many symptoms of depression and/or anxiety. I would have checked all the red flag answers  in those postpartum depression surveys.  It was difficult for me to overcome, because I couldn't figure out why I was feeling so terrible when such a wonderful thing was happening.  Again, that guilt.  I learned about perinatal depression, and almost made an appointment to see a therapist.  That week, we found out, and then I had other things to be anxious about.  I never got around to making that appointment, though I probably should.  Coincidentally, the feelings of extreme imbalance have subsided.  In some twisted way, I'm reassured, knowing that there's a reason for me to be feeling down and out.  Possible you've saved me from myself.

Your father misses you.  He misses the idea of you, and it hasn't been easy for him.  He says the wrong thing sometimes, but I can see past it because of love.  He has been extra loving, and thoughtful, and patient towards me.  It hasn't gone unnoticed, though I don't think he knows how much I actually appreciate it.  I've been keeping my distance - up to this point, subconsciously.  I'm afraid to be close, both emotionally and physically.  I'm not ready to try again, and a simple kiss sends my mind on a fast-forward journey of reliving the uncertainty.  And, because he loves me so, he also gets the worse of me.  When I'm home, my guards are down.  At the end of the day, I've usually exhausted all my energy in trying to function and be ok.  When I'm with him, I can just be.  That version of me isn't always so pleasant.  Even worse, it's sometimes nothing at all.  He does all these things for me, and all I can muster is: nothing.  It's not really fair, but I hope I can continue to trust my heart in his hands. 

Your brother has been a saving grace through all of this.  His whole-hearted happiness is contagious, and his love envelops us all.  There are times when I'm afraid to be sad.  I'm scared that the negative energy will affect his innocent heart.  But he's strong, and he understands.  When I'm down, he holds me tighter.  When I let myself cry at night, he wimpers beside me, and then hugs me to sleep.  I wish that you could have experienced all the love he had for you.  He's really good with his heart, and I know he would have protected you in the most special way.

Tonight is a tough one, as you can probably tell.  Thank you for being here, as a source of comfort.  I'll try to make the next one more uplifting, okay?

Always,
Your mamma, still.