Writing therapy.

I've been reading a lot of books about miscarriage and still birth. I'm finding that most of them are written by therapists who counsel women on their grief, and not women who have actually had the experience. I think it makes a difference. Though I wish this on no one, not even someones worst enemy, you can't really know what it's like to lose a baby unless you've actually been through it. Forgive me now...I'm coming into my anger and feeling very strongly about things now.

I was awake last night when Kevin came to bed, just laying there thinking about things. He asked what I was thinking about and so I told him. Maybe it wasn't pleasant to hear. In fact I know it wasn't, but he listened to me anyway. I was angry for different reasons.

For one I was angry that even through my being upset that I was pregnant I came to terms with it, and loved him from the beginning. I accepted what God had brought into our lives, what we had brought into our lives. I came to accept and believe that I could go through pregnancy and labor/delivery alone again with Kevin deployed. I convinced myself that I could care for the other two kids despite being so sick. I could do this--no problem! I had done it before, I could do it again. God only gives you what you can handle, right? So how unfair that I came to accept these things only to have it all taken away, disappear in a moment in a dark ultrasound room to the words "...I have bad news..." Just angry.

And then while I was laying there in the hospital, the whole time I was in labor with Thomas, I was thinking "What if he was wrong!? What if he just didn't see the heartbeat? What if he's really alive and we're making a huge mistake? (inducing labor)" What if he was born alive and we were killing him? Oh God. And then I saw my baby...and I knew. Why did he have to be right?

Angry at the doctor for confirming what I already knew. I had been having recurring dreams for a few days before it was confirmed that Thomas was dead...and I am now angry at my doctor for having confirmed my worst fear. And angry at God for having let me know ahead of time that he was already gone. I wanted to be WRONG. For once in my life I wanted my stupid dreams to be confirmed as being totally without meaning. My poor doctor. He was so kind to me. And he continues to care for me very well. My anger makes no sense.

None of it makes any sense. The only thing that the books are right about is that crazy nonsensical things go through your head, things that are without real meaning. Like my anger. There really isn't any sense to it, it's just my grief taking over for a few crazy minutes, my brain trying to find someone to blame, some reason for it all. And still no reason would suffice. It just is the way it is. I will live with it. I will get through another day.