I have 1 and a half bottles of wine and some super cheap vodka in the cabinet. I haven't had any yet, and if I start, I fear I may not stop. 30 days ago I gave birth to my son. 30 days ago, at about 8:30 in the morning I handed my son over to the Man. The mortuary Man. He put him in what looked like a black duffel bag and I went to sleep.
Today, my plans were to go buy a party dress and some red heels I like very much. But I don't care about red heels today. I don't care about parties. I don't care about eating. I don't care about Christmas. I don't care about anything or anyone today. I feel like I can't breath. Or like I'm trying to breath in water. I inhale, but it does no good. My head still spins, my arms feel heavy and I know I'll soon die. I'm probably starting to scare some of you. Some of you are ready so jump on horseback and whip out your swords to save me. Thank you. I promise everyday isn't like this. Although as reality sets in, these feelings become stronger and more frequent. I suppose this is normal too. I guess I have to travel the valley if I want to climb the mountain.
Yesterday I felt nothing. I was on even keel all day. No sadness, anger or fear. But no happy either. I don't know what's worse. How long does it take to accept and recover from loosing a child? How long until my heart isn't broken anymore? How long before I can go buy those red shoes without feeling guilty for feeling happy? How long before I want to cook fabulous food again? How long before I want to do anything other than lay in bed in the fetal position? How long.....?????
The other day I was thinking about what sort of things I want to do to celebrate Asher's life at the one year mark. Mrs. Barnard, would you mind terribly if we borrowed your sparklers idea? I like the thought of lighting sparklers. I also like the thought of drinking wine and releasing Chinese lanterns (the kind that are sort of like tiny hot-air balloons.) And maybe we'll bring a portable CD player and play some Aerosmith. And maybe, by then, I'll have started to feel happy with out feeling guilty. Maybe by then, we'll have decided to have more babies. Maybe by then I'll have surrendered my fears as well as all the hopes and dreams I had for Asher. Maybe by then I won't have to convince myself every morning that I really was pregnant and I really did have a baby boy and we really did name him Asher Benjamin Ritchie and he really did die. Really.
And now I'm going to go get that bottle of wine and learn some self control and have just one glass. Temperance in the Midst of Tragedy. That's what I'll call my book.