Of course I'm not angry with you. Under all my anger is so much pain that is stabbing me in the heart with every breath. That pain is intensified by the most indescribable love I have for you, and the hurt becomes unbearable at times. The loss I've endured in my life, though difficult and awful, is nothing compared to you leaving, and no one feels it quite the way I do. Your dad hurts, your brothers hurt, your family hurts, but they didn't carry you and it's not the same. Dallas always wants to tell me how much he misses you, and I want to let him but it peels another layer off my heart each time he brings you up. It's not that I'm trying to forget you. I'll never forget you. We have designated a special time at bedtime where we will talk to you every night. Sometimes we might smile, sometimes we might cry, but we know you're listening and that brings a mighty comfort.
I went to the doctor today for my post-partum check up... the anxiety I felt walking into that office was ten times what I felt when I walked in after your diagnosis. Women with babies in their arms and bellies. I am so jealous of them. It's a selfish and inappropriate jealousy, because these women are happy and healthy and that's wonderful for them, but unfair for me. I have lost twenty pounds, but gained only three when you were with me, which puts me at negative seventeen. It takes all my strength to wake up in the morning, let alone put food in my mouth. I feel a crazy person, and if you looked in my purse, you'd certainly think I am. Bottles of medication, your blanket that I can't let go of. My doctor wants me to take antidepressants, but I am fighting it. Maybe it's time to stop fighting. If it might help, I'm willing to try it.
I'm looking forward to the day when I can write a happy, hopeful entry here. Today just isn't that day, and I know you understand. It will come, and that is what keeps me going.
I miss you more every day, my sweet angel baby. I hope God is holding you as tight as I would be if you were back in my arms.
- Jeanette Winterson, Written On The Body