Keep Moving Forward

With our previous loss, Double A and I made sure we showered and got dressed every day, and left the house. Some times it was just to walk to the corner Star.bucks. Other times it was for a much-needed drink. But mostly it was to keep us amongst the living. That was what we knew, and so that is what we are following this time around. The days blur together, in spite of seemingly dragging on. Since coming home last Wednesday, we have run countless, meaningless errands and found excuses to get out of the house, although I couldn’t tell you where we’ve been or what we’ve done.

Sunday night came way too fast, and yesterday Double A had to go back to work. Not because he wanted to, or was ready to, but because he had just recently started this job less than a month ago. That said, his new bosses and company have been extremely kind and understanding, and are providing him the flexibility to work from home. My work, having been with us through losses #3 and #4, has been great as well. I stopped in yesterday before anyone was there to pick up materials to attempt to work from home. In and out in less than 20 minutes, I only ran into one person who made the obvious glance at my belly, having seen me last week in my first out-in-the-open yes, I am pregnant maternity top. Now the work is here, and while I’m not getting a ton done, I am making some strides and appreciate being able to do so under the anonymity of being at home.

Last night’s Am.bien must have finally kicked in because I woke this morning at 7:30 and Double A was already gone. It was a tough morning, compounded by the quiet of being home alone. Double A had come home yesterday by 1:00, and I knew the same would apply for today. But there was no stopping the blanket of sadness that enveloped me. The tears would come on out of nowhere, as if someone was controlling my water works from an undisclosed location. Sometimes they’d hit long and hard, and other times a brief deluge. In between, I pulled it together and got some work done. Small victories.

I finally forced myself to take the still-dreaded shower with the goal of running to Tar.get, the grocery store, and to gas up the car. Teary mission accomplished, and off I went. I was already dreading going to my favorite super store, as I knew I’d be forced to navigate around the in-your-face kids’ section front and center of the store. But I wasn’t expecting this. You know who goes to Tar.get during a Tuesday afternoon? Moms and their babies. Nannies and their toddlers. And while I’m sure there were other people there, it was as if everyone but these two groups were being grayed out. It took everything I had not to lose it in the center aisle. And, I had to stop myself from going up to each and every one of them and shouting, DO YOU KNOW HOW LUCKY YOU ARE?!? Have I really turned into that person? No, I didn’t go up to them, so I am not that person. Again, small victories.

Our therapist keeps telling us we’re in survival mode right now, and I guess that’s the only way to describe it. It isn’t a time to think, or do, or make decisions. It’s just a time to be. To be sad. To be numb. To be angry. And sometimes to not know where the fuck you are and what the hell is going on.


7 thoughts on “Keep Moving Forward

  1. These first few weeks following a tragedy are ones that require routine and being in survival mode simply to exist. The fact you are getting out of the house is huge. Not crying in the middle of Tar.get requires nothing short of super-human strength.

    Thinking of you with each passing day as you and Double A heal. So much love and light to you both.

  2. Erin, I just recently found your blog and just wanted to lend you what support I can. I am so incredibly sorry for you and your husband. I have had multiple losses so I understand a little bit of your pain, but mine were during the first trimester which I can only imagine are not as emotionally painful (not that this is a pain competition). I don’t know what to say other than I am so incredibly sorry and wish there was something that someone could do to bring your babies back. It is so incredibly unfair and I am sad and angry for you, your husband and your babies. Although I don’t know you, I am thinking about you.

  3. I think what’s “ironic” is that such a horribly traumatic experience doesn’t leave any physical wounds that require hospital-level care. The comforts of home are nice and what doctors think you want, but being sent home suggests you’re “healed,” when of course you’re still terribly broken. We were sent home in a cab at 10 p.m. after an emergency D&C the last time around. (I don’t even think the OB waited around for me to wake up…) Of course I wanted to be home, but I also felt like a little more hospital TLC (with administration of sleep-inducing drugs!) would have somehow been recognition of how traumatic what had just happened was….

    Hugs. MTM

  4. Erin – I’m friends with Rachel, here in Bellingham. Last week, she shared with me the horrendous news of your loss and today she told me about this blog. I just want you to know that you have been heavy on my heart and mind all week. I have no words that can make you feel better but I can simply offer up my condolences to you and your husband. I wish I could do something to take away your hurt, or bring your babies back. You are so incredibly brave to share your heart, soul and mind via this blog. You will continue to be in my thoughts and prayers.

  5. The fact that you already have an M.O. for surviving times like this and have to call upon it again makes me so sad. I wish this wasn’t your reality right now, and I hope easier times are around the corner. Also, Target is the worst. I cried almost every time I went there and then started avoiding it altogether.

  6. If your pain could be erased with words thoughts and prayers yours would be gone however sadly life does not work this way. Both comfort and pai will be part of your grieving process Your open wound will slowly develop a scab only to be ripped off at times. Each time it will heal a bit faster. We love you you are in our hearts and we grieve for you. Love A. J. And U. J

  7. Pingback: Things We’re Not Supposed to Say | Will CarryOn

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