Jake describes our life right now as having waves. There are waves of grief that come and go off and on. Some are big and some are small and short. We never know when the waves will come and we never have any warning but for a few minutes as our hearts start to feel the pain more acutely.
The week after Molly died, we met some friends who lost their first child, a daughter, a few years ago. They told us how hard it was for them and how difficult it was to re-enter life and how it would get harder before it got easier. I didn't like what they were saying because we were so close to having lost Molly that I felt we were unable to relate and I was still feeling waves of joy from having had Molly and spending a week with her. Looking at pictures wasn't hard because I didn't want to forget and I was so proud of our week with her. I didn't want to be depressed about her loss. Yes, I was sad she was gone, but I was so glad that she had gone on to a better place, far better than this earth.
Now it seems things are getting harder. I asked a friend to pick out some pictures for a frame that holds seven 4x6's. She even had to stop after looking through a few stacks of pictures, because it was getting hard for her to look at them. I don't like seeing pictures where Molly was silently crying or upset. The pictures of Jake holding her after she had died are the hardest because I know I wasn't there. I'm angry that I didn't stay as long as he did and hold her more. Why didn't I stay longer? Why did I leave? No one made me leave, I had just decided I was ready to go but I wish I hadn't. I know that wishing doesn't do anything for us, if anything it makes things harder and more difficult to bear. You know, if I had not had the need for sleep or eating or going to the bathroom I would have stayed by her bedside the entire time. I would have seen her more, taken more pictures, kissed her sweet skin, and held her little hands. I would have been able to calm her down when the nurses changed her bedding or rolled her onto her side. I would have asked to hold her more even if it meant my back would hurt from that chair we had to sit in.
I am angry. Angry at how different and empty my life now feels. I am angry that others are moving on with their lives, having healthy babies, waking up at odd hours to calm their crying babies and feed them, or just back in the swing of life as it was for them. I told Jake that while a lot of people still think of us, think of Molly, and pray fervently, no one has the physical reminder that we do that she's gone. No one else has a decorated nursery with an empty crib and diapers, wipes, and bottles that aren't being used. Yes, people are sad and still grieve with us. For us it's continually throughout each and every day that we are reminded of our loss. And that makes me angry. I miss our old life, our old normal. Well, we don't get to go back to the old normal anymore.
Life is forever changed. Different. Scary, as the waves are getting bigger and bigger.