Wednesday, June 03, 2009

Days

I have days where I wake up OK.

Days like yesterday, where the boy is kicking, and I focus on that, and the fact that yellow sunshine is poking its nose through the blinds, and that the air outside is warm.

And I have days like today.

Where I wake up with my throat already thick and swollen and aching with the fast-growing lump that you'd think would be big enough to prevent the sobs from choking out, but somehow, it is not.

Where I put one foot in front of the other and make it all the way to the office. But the deep breaths and the mind-numbing work that I am ostensibly focusing on don't actually keep the tears from flowing down my cheeks.

The funny part is that now, instead of disappearing into my lap, they bead up on top of my stomach. I happened to glance down to find a little tear colony staring up at me

There's this vast chasm between what I understand intellectually and what I feel.

Because I know in my mind that it wasn't that he wanted to go, that he stuck it out as long as he could. That he really wanted to be here. That he didn't want to leave us.

My brain, somewhere my brain knows this. But not the rest of me.

My skin feels so thin. Like my clothing could scrape beneath the surface and light touches could bruise down to my organs. My heart just feels so exposed, so raw. Fragile and raw.

26 comments:

  1. I'm here if you need me. With lots of featherweight hugs.

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  2. Oh Lisa. :(
    Love to you.

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  3. I'm so sorry...just take it hour by hour, and accept that your feelings are going to fluctuate like that. You are entitled to feel whatever comes your way, and respond to it however you see fit. And I promise, someday, it'll be easier to cope and the happy moments will outweigh the sadness.

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  4. Days like today suck ass. I hope that as time passes you have more days like yesterday.
    Love to you, Lisa. Lots of love.

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  5. "My skin feels so thin. Like my clothing could scrape beneath the surface and light touches could bruise down to my organs."

    If it is any consolation, I know this feeling so intimately, I have used almost these exact words to describe myself. You are not alone, not by a long stretch. Hang in and hold on.

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  6. "My skin feels so thin. Like my clothing could scrape beneath the surface and light touches could bruise down to my organs."

    I have so felt this way before, its like you want someone to comfort you but you feel like if anyone touches you you're going to fall apart. I know exactly what you mean.

    It's just going to take some time, love.

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  7. I know it hurts so much now. It will get better in time Lisa. Your skin will stop hurting and you'll start to have more "good" days than bad. You'll always miss him but you'll eventually smile more than cry when you think of him. It's hard to believe today, but it will happen in time.
    heart hugs for you and your family.

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  8. My heart is breaking for you.

    And somehow, I mean that in a good way.

    xo

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  9. *hug* Although I have never met you, from reading your blog, I know that you are a strong and caring person. I sincerely wish I could do something for you, although I know I can't.

    I will continue to send strength and comfort to you and your family.

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  10. I'm so sorry to hear this. I can't imagine the pain you feel some times due to this loss. I continue to think of you...

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  11. I'm so sorry, Lisa. My heart squeezed a little bit extra for you today.

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  12. Big hugs. Great big thin/raw/fragile-friendly hugs.

    Bubble-wrap hugs, perhaps?

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  13. {{{{{HUGS}}}}}}

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  14. I'm here for you - with all these great ideas from the comments above for warm, soft hugs.

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  15. Oh Lisa. Thinking of you. Hang in there. ~xo~

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  16. Ugh, I'm so sorry you're going through this. I know that as time passes, days like this will be fewer and further between, but that doesn't make it any easier today. xoxo

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  17. Just keep telling yourself that you'll get through it -- because you will. Really.

    And, you know, you are allowed to throw yourself face down on the bed and have yourself a good cry whenever the mood strikes...although that might be difficult, given your current tummy situation.

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  18. Karen, random reader6/03/2009 4:45 PM

    Wishing you peace and strength, Lisa. And that is a most excellent description of the pain of grief.

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  19. The other day my sister-in-law blurted out in an unrelated conversation, "Oh, it's so sad about Lemon Gloria's dad, isn't it?" And then my mom had to hear the whole story. So half-way across the country from you, three women from two generations who know you only from your beautiful words sent our warmest thoughts all the way to DC to you and Betty and Nick and the little one. I know it doesn't fix anything, but know that there is love for you today in Minnesota among strangers.

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  20. I have never wandered over here before, but my Google reader said I should. And I'm glad I did just so I could offer more hugs.

    When bad things happen, it's that moment in the morning - where everything feels normal and happy for just a second as you open your eyes, before reality hits - that you sometimes miss the most and sets the tone for the rest of the day. I don't know what else to say other than I'm sorry hun. ::Hugs::

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  21. This is going to sound so totally out there, but... what if a piece of your dad is reincarnated into your son? I truly believe that can happen. I won't bore you here with my family history and what I have observed, but it would be precious to recognize a piece of him in your son. Think of that and honor every day.

    Love to you.

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  22. Every day, I look for your posts and marvel at the grace and strength with which you're handling everything. I know it can't be easy, even though I can't imagine the hurt. And every day, after reading your updates, I pray for you and Betty.

    Hugs from an internet stranger.

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  23. Take one day at a time. Revel in the good days. Cry on the not so good days. And know that many people love you!

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  24. You are all just so kind and lovely, you really are. I do feel your kind thoughts and your prayers and hugs and I share them with Betty and Nick and the boy. We all really, really appreciate them.

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  25. I appreciate the "thin skin" comment - I am 4 months PD (Post Dad) and told my friends early on that it felt like my skin had been ripped off and I was growing new thin skin and everything was uncomfortable, painful and itchy. Weird, I know. Take it from one who is in the middle of it, it does get better but not nearly as fast as you think it should. The heart and the brain are not on the same schedule. That being said, I am sitting at my desk crying as I am catching up on your blog - thank goodness for office doors that close!

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