Can I just say that these gray days are killing me? Okay, technically this is the first gray day we’ve had in probably months. But let me tell you, a gray day that’s not hot or chilly, and where there are raindrops but it’s not raining, is a frustrating day for me indeed, and it so perfectly captures my ongoing mood: in-between.
I feel stuck. I love painting, but I’m struggling for inspiration. I’m excited to be teaching classes, but on those weekday afternoons I am scrounging for energy. It’s been five months since we lost our baby, but I still can’t let it go.
There. I said it.
It’s September. The thought is disheartening. I don’t have my baby. I can’t change that. I can’t wait it out. I can’t explain why I have had my fingers crossed this whole time. Like maybe I thought I’d feel better once this month came and went. Or I’d wake up and just magically have a baby in my arms and that whole thing back in April was just a bad dream.
Instead, here we are, one week out from what would have been the day. That day will be uneventful. Nothing will be different. I’ll still be sad and I’ll still walk around my quiet house and my dogs will follow me through every room. I’ll still cry teeny tiny tears and I won’t tell anyone because, seriously? I should be over it by this point.
Except I’m so not.
Even now, on gray days when there’s nothing pretty to paint and my mind wanders and it pops into my head, my heart sinks like a rock and there’s a thousand-pound weight just sitting on my chest. I could count that baby’s fingers and toes, and see its little belly, head, nose and lips right there on the screen. Worst of all, I could see exactly where the heart should have been beating away…but it wasn’t. Those images absolutely haunt me. How does anyone ever get over something like that?
I shouldn’t be jealous of the pregnant women that I know–and for some reason, I know a ton of them–but I am. I shouldn’t skip baby showers–but I just don’t want to go. I shouldn’t get all emotional when I see little bald-headed babies drooling all over their mothers’ shoulders…
Except I can’t help but picture our baby, me and Caleb’s big fat ten-pound baby: with a head full of swirly black hair, a little red face, and teensy hands with bendy little see-through fingernails. It struck me that though I didn’t get to have my baby here on this earth, he or she does still exist. That’s at least a tad comforting.
God has given me so much that I don’t deserve: Cheyenne’s sense of humor, Mia’s chocolate-chip eyes, Merrick’s impish little grin. Wild sunflowers and a zillion miles of wide-open sky. I sometimes feel like I don’t have a right to be sad, because nothing is owed to me anyway.
And then I read a blog today that said this: “Jesus wept over death and grief; shed your tears, friend. We have a Savior who cries.”
And if Jesus can cry, well then I’m sure I can miss my baby for a little while longer. God understands, even if I don’t.