One year ago today, I watched the sunrise from the hospital room where my world stopped. I’m sore both from from the epidural and birth process. I’m broken. Angry. Eager to see my daughter, squeeze her tight, and hear her sweet laughter in the midst of all this pain.
My nurse comes in mid morning with discharge papers and our doctor comes soon after prepping us for what we will probably be feeling…We set up an appointment for follow up with him. We continue to pack up. There’s enough to fill a push cart down to the car. Flowers, gifts, duffle bag, etc. We walk by all the other rooms on our hall in the maternity ward. That wasn’t easy. We see the funeral directors walking through the doors and Tim leans over and says “They’re coming to get him..”. I nod…understanding what’s happening but not believing it. We drive the 2 minutes to our home and it feels like 2 days. Our parents are there. Maybe others. We walk in. I’m in a haze. I don’t want to be here. If we went somewhere else instead would it still be true? They’re happy to see us…Happy in the sense that now they can take care of us and see that we are able to use our legs. Not happy in the sense that we brought home their first grandson. Dad hugs and says “Welcome back.” Back? We’re not back. We’re not us anymore. But what do you say to a person coming home to a house with no new baby? Just hug us and take our hands and lead us to our bed. Thanks.
As I sit here today in my home, I remember. I am still nursing a broken heart. I am still sad that James isn’t here. I remember the devastating conversations. The food that had no taste. Today is that way a little bit. The feelings aren’t as extreme as they were that first day living here without him, but they are still present. I will always wish he was here. I will always imagine what life with him would’ve been like experiencing him past 9 months in my womb.
I will always feel a little bit empty.