The holiday weekend came and went and was really nice, even with the germ-fest of sickness. We ate a lot and shopped a little and mostly let the baby entertain us and it was lovely.
But I think the menu planning and decorating and shopping was mostly serving as a distraction. It was serving as a buffer from the next major event on the calendar...
Just typing those words makes my eyes fill up with tears.
Thanksgiving is over and now there's nothing standing between me and the day I received the worst news I could have ever imagined and met that baby I loved more than I could have ever imagined. And you guys I'm not ready for it to be here again.
I'm not ready for it to have been two years.
I'm not ready to have lived for two years without that baby girl.
I'm not ready to mourn two years--twenty-four months--without her. I'm also not ready to mourn what was essentially a year and a half of my life stolen away--lost to grief and sorrow and selfishness and aching sadness.
I'm not ready to remember those early black days of December 2010.
I'm not ready to have been a bereaved parent for so long that new grief startles me and gives me flashbacks.
I'm not ready to have the tears coming back so easily.
I'm not ready to feel the kind of tired that comes with being so damn sad.
I'm not ready for it to be December--that cold, dark, sparkly month that will never be like it was before Eliza and now will never be like it was before Zuzu and I don't know what to do with that.
I'm not ready to figure out how I'll handle Christmas this year, with all the sad mixed with the happy.
I'm not ready to go to another candlelight vigil and cry outside in the dark with a bunch of other people who are also missing their babies.
I'm not ready to have those evenings where David and I mope around and I cry and then we try to make each other laugh with black humor and we talk about things we should do and we do nothing because every little effort feels too damn hard.
I'm not ready to drag myself up from the depths of despair. I'm not ready to remind myself how many good things have come from Eliza's life. I'm not ready to find the energy to keep going when I want to just fall apart.
I don't want to think back to where I was two years ago. I don't want to think about where we should have been today. I am not ready for that inevitable exercise in self-torture (even though I do it all the time).
The calendar is going to flip. The days are inexorably marching forward. December 6th is coming, whether I'm ready for it or not.
I'm so not ready.