Thursday, August 13, 2009

2 years, 4 months, 9 days

I have recently come to learn of a community of "babyloss." It is both a blessing and a curse. I am reminded of Sartre's wisdom: Hell is other people. But I guess that I would add that hell is their presence and their absence. Hell is the isolation I feel in a crowd and the darkness I inhabit in broad daylight. Loss is a new language that most people don't speak and have no interest in. It is sand in the throat.

I am waiting for that moment of trancedence that somehow justifies or mitigates this impossible state of being. The pain is renewed so often by so many innocuous situations that I wonder how much longer this can continue before my despair smashes everything around me.

Recently my coworker's triplet grandsons were admitted to the hospital with a mysterious presumed virus. She related that her daughter saved one of the boys by recognizing he was unwell and taking him straight to the hospital. My friend, who is no stranger to stuggle, also managed to save her sick child by insisting that her babies co-bed and by never leaving her side. Although no one intended to suggest that my parenting was inadequate, I have not been able to shake the feeling of abject, fetid failure. And that's all I can say about that right now.

Monday, August 10, 2009

Close the window

Sometimes I read the tragedies of others and I feel as though I am a part of something. Sometimes their sorrow draws out my own and attacks me. The part of me interested in self-preservation begs to close the window. For the first time in a long time, I find myself desperate to leave.

Lately, two stories about mothers who saved their babies have revived my despair and guilt. I was such a shabby, useless person. Maybe if I wasn't she would have lived. Maybe there's is an evolutionary component to this whole thing. If I had been a stronger member of the species...things might have been different.