Of course, it's not the sun that's making me feel this way. It's life. It's the hand I've been dealt and the numerous times I've picked myself back up and carried on. Today, I really don't have much of an interest in carrying on, and I'd much rather close the door and hide under the covers. The crappy part about that is I really don't have a choice. Life doesn't come to a halt when tragedy strikes. So here I am walking around, silently resenting everyone I see for having a average, obstacle-free day and going about their business. It stings to see pregnant women and new babies, so much that I have to look away. Last night, I heard a baby crying outside my apartment and Will immediately squeezed my hand to show me he felt the sting too. No words were even needed; it's just a mutual pain we're both trying to deal with and I, personally, am feeling like a failure in that department this morning.
If you know me, you know I've encountered a few bumps in the road in my 25 years of life. My mother passed away after an eight year fight with breast cancer when I was almost 10, and my father very quickly lost his battle with lung cancer just a month after being diagnosed when I was 16. Hurt and heartache are familiar foes of mine, and I thought I knew them pretty well. I wasn't prepared for the pain of knowing that I will be outliving my daughter. It's like nothing you can imagine, unless you have experienced it. No one should have to bury their children and I'm on Team "Screw you, God" today for choosing us to have to go through it. I have good friends who have lost babies and children, and my god, how I admire their strength. Can I borrow some, please?
I've been warned that I will hear phrases that will upset me, although of course, intentions are nothing but kind. "God has a plan", "Everything happens for a reason", "She'll be in a better place", "You can always try again". These may be true, but they don't bring me the comfort I'm craving. What I want is a miracle. I want someone to smack me, wake me up and tell me this is all an awful dream. Then I come back down to earth and hesitantly remind myself that sadly, these things aren't going to happen. There is only one option, and that is to accept and prepare. Can I just put that off for about 100 years?
There will be livable days and days when I want to throw in the towel. Hard days and less hard days (I can't say "easy" days, because I just don't think they will exist). For now, I'm going to take a deep breath and remember that yesterday I smiled. I will smile again. Maybe not today, but eventually.