I went back to work on Monday. Not because I wanted to, or was ready to. And quite frankly, not because work was making me either. It’s just that I don’t know what else to do. My mind is not on work. Quite frankly, I don’t know where my mind is, but I don’t think staying home by myself would be good for me either.
The mornings and nights continue to be the hardest as they seem to be when the realization hits home the most. Sometimes just being at home triggers me. I walk up the stairs and down the hall and lose it. Perhaps it is passing the two memory boxes containing their tiny knit hats, footprints and measurements—all that are physically left of our twins—that sit in our second bedroom waiting for us to do something with them. Maybe it is passing Double A’s office which was supposed to be transformed into their room (and those who came before them). Or maybe it is just the quiet of a house that continues to be without our children. Probably a combination, and together they seem to nail me every time. Sometimes being at home seems just as hard as facing the outside world.
Sunday was tough on both of us. And Sunday night was horrible for me. The crying turned into sobbing, and the sobbing became an uncontrollable, ongoing mess. Double A and I were both dreading Monday morning. Neither of us wanted to go to work and face the world. And while being home brings its own demons, we are protected from the world around us. After poor nights sleep on both our parts, Monday came all too quickly, as has each morning since. We stumble around with puffy eyes, trying to get ourselves to look somewhat presentable (read: showered and dressed in clean clothes) and out the door. Truth be told, Double A is doing a better job at this than me.
My 15 minute commute feels like hours. I rush out of the parking lot to the building, and up the back stairs in an effort to try and avoid seeing anyone I know. Once at the office, I sit behind my closed door, mostly staring at my computer and to-do list while fighting off, or more common, wiping away the bouts of tears. The marketing and events I do just seem of such little importance right now. My coworkers don’t know what to say or how to be around me. And I don’t blame them. I don’t know what to say or do around others, let alone myself. In fact, it seems like each time I try to speak to someone, I turn to tears instead.
While I’ve always been an emotional person, it appears that my emotions haven officially taken over my mind and my body. The pain so strong. The sadness so real. And the heartache so heavy. This is not the life I signed up for, and I hate having to figure out how to navigate this world again. Sometimes do overs are just not necessary.