unbabymoon

We are supposed to go on our babymoon in a few weeks. We are supposed to be just as thrilled about it as we were when we booked our flight and hotel weeks ago. I’m supposed to have a baby inside me, but instead of a baby I have a seemingly bottomless amount of feelings…misery, rage, disgust, hurt, longing, frustration…among others. Feelings that are always riiiight on the brink of spilling over and out of my mouth and my eyes. Even my limbs feel restless…they want to punch or slap or kick or throw something. I can watch an episode of “Fargo” or read a book on the deck for hours or even spend some time in public, and those feelings and urges will be kept at bay for a while. But as I know all too well from this past year of grieving John, those feelings don’t always stay neatly tucked behind my trying-to-get-through-this-day face.

In a book I’m reading one of the characters discovers her daughter has committed suicide. She spends the following weeks holed up in her bedroom, sitting in an armchair and staring out the window. All day she sits. Her elderly friends take care of the cooking and cleaning and supervising the woman’s now mother-less grandchildren. I found myself envying the woman as I read. Sometimes I wish I could hole myself up in my room and not think about how the dog needs walking, or the clothes need laundering, or how it’s 2 p.m. and I should probably get some food into my stomach. Sometimes I don’t know how I can think of those things. Most of the time I resent responsibility—can’t I just get a break?—but now and then I’m grateful for it. It forces me to put one foot in front of the other.

(And the truth is I do spend an awful lot of time simply sitting and staring.)

Last year we canceled our babymoon/5th anniversary trip to Pittsburgh, and that alone was depressing. The thought of canceling two trips because of two dead babies is enough to make me want to tear my hair out. So we’re not going to cancel.

Now I look forward to the trip because I just.want.to.get.away.from.everything. It makes me sad that instead of being celebratory, this trip is now a brief escape for two people who have no desire to be involved with reality. I’m sad I won’t get to someday show my baby pictures of the trip we took when she was in my belly. I’m sad that the clothes I had bought to wear on the trip are now either returned or in a pile waiting to be worn by friends. I could go on and on…I’m sad, I’m sad, I’m so utterly sad.

We’ll be spending three full days and two nights in San Francisco. I have yet to finish figuring out our itinerary (my brain is too fuzzy for planning), but the “TO EAT” list is already twice as long as the “TO DO” list. That’s okay. Eating is doing.

Got any suggestions for the doing (other than eating) part? Any shops you know I’d adore? I know there is a lot to do. (Alcatraz is booked full…I’m reeeally upset about that.) I have to keep in mind that I’m still healing and we’ll be using a lot of public transportation as opposed to walking everywhere.

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Thank you for grieving with us and caring for us. Right now it’s hard to receive encouragement about our future, even though we know everyone means well. We know God’s Word and what He promises. Keep that in mind as you read my depressing blog posts. I’m not writing as a cry for help—I’m writing to put words to my pain, which is very real.

[We’ve] had [our] fill of old cliches, like 'life is hard, but God is good’. But even though it's true, it won't stop what [we’re] goin’ through. I wish that I could say it would.

(I truly do want to know your San Francisco recommendations, so any comments regarding our trip would be welcomed!)