Today, I again spent some time slugging through posts in the BabyLoss blog-esphere. I am such an organized soul that I read posts from start to finish, beginning with the earliest archived message. This becomes such an investment with respect to both time and emotion. Especially since I am drawn to bloggers that actually have something to say. And have been saying it for a while.
I spent some of my lunch hour exploring year-old posts from deadbabymama. I have seen this blog linked from so many BabyLoss blogs that I felt I needed to explore what she has to say. I read the most recent posting, relating to a recent birth experience (with a good outcome, I might add). I hate coming in mid-way on a conversation, so began at the beginning, over a year ago in BlogLand. It is theraputic for me to read these posts from the time surrounding the first anniversary of deadbabymama's daughter's death. In synch with me, I guess. And a woman with something to say.
The rest of my lunch hour was spent in the cafeteria, eating with several colleagues. This is something that I simply could not do 6 months ago, so I really mark that as an activity that demonstrates a certain amount of healing.
In fact, I was able to sit through a description of a new DairyQueen commercial that depicts a pregnant woman giving birth in one scenario, and her husband doing the deed in another scenario. Hilarious (sarcasm). I get that some people find birthing experiences to be joyful and humour filled. I don't. HOWEVER, it was wistfulness that I felt, not the burning, agonizing, grief attack that would have characterized the same experience 6 months ago. I am healing, as much as I hate to admit it.
I really question the sense of ambivalence that I have towards so many things these days. What does this ambivalence indicate? Does it indicate healing? Does it indicate that I am not dealing with issues, or does it indicate the I have "dealt" (ha, ha) with them? Does it indicate that I am disconnected with my grief and my emotions surrounding my son's brief existence? Or it is really part of the natural healing process - am I just afraid that I am giving something of my son up by giving up that grief?
Then, when I type "my son" and the full implication of what that means glares at me through the computer screen, my heart beats a little harder and my stomach lurches. Why does that reaction make me so happy? Am I going to be that person that holds on to her grief like a beacon, turning my son's death into some sort of sick shrine? I don't want to lose the innocence and goodness of his life in some sort of twisted temple of bitterness.
This thing that I am doing here...this "getting on with it"...where is my guide? I am feeling my way through. Am I going in the right direction?