taken December 7th
The stages of grief go something like this:
I feel very stuck at anger. I know that grief is not a straight line. I know that it won't be linear and a constant forward progression. I know that I might take two steps forward and stumble three steps back. I know that I don't magically wake up one morning, check the box on anger and move on to bargaining. But what I wouldn't give to fast forward to a place of peace.
I do feel the bargaining, and I do feel the depression, but I always go back to anger. And not just anger at our situation and loss, but anger towards EVERYTHING. Anger towards strangers posting pictures of their dinner on Instagram because: DON'T THEY KNOW SOMETHING BAD HAS HAPPENED TO ME?? I know, grief is very irrational. Stupid grief.
The truth is that I am doing ok. Most days I can go through the motions of being a mama to Fletcher and Rowan, and even sometimes take pleasure in something that we're doing. Even laugh out loud at some of the funny Fletcherisms that have been pouring from Fletcher. Even sit down as a family and play a game of Go Fish and laugh til I cry. That means something. That means that I am moving forward. That I am not being swallowed whole by grief. But I just cannot shake this pervasive anger.
I am so very angry that I no longer have a delicious baby belly like in the picture above. And that I don't feel the baby gymnastics that go on inside. And that in 3 1/2 months I will not be holding a sweet little bundle and breathing in that wonderful scent of newborn. I feel so angry that I can't make a definitive decision about the future because one minute all I want is to fill this baby void and the next I know that I cannot possibly subject myself to such heartache ever again. I feel so angry that I have to miss someone so much, that I didn't even get a chance to know.
So there it is. I'm stuck at anger, and it's a pretty ugly, irrational place to be. But I am having flashes of normalcy creeping in, so I am ever hopeful that I become dislodged for good. And soon.