Trying to find words for my sorrow yesterday and preparing for our upcoming trip.
Yesterday did not end well for me. Too many "triggers" during the day, plus Ger had to work late so I struggled to then put the kids to bed on my own. I anxiously drew a bath, sat in the water, and cried until my head hurt. Or maybe my head was already hurting. I have a large jacuzzi tub, so by the time I turned off the water, I realized that Quentin was outside of the master bedroom door, sobbing. Our door sticks a bit so neither kid can open it on his own. I opened the door and asked what was wrong, and through his own tears, he said "A piece is missing to the Super Why puzzle." I assured him we would look for it tomorrow. As I headed back to my bath, I almost had to laugh at his sadness. So different from my own.
As I dried off and put on my pajamas, I heard several noises that told me they had scaled the baby gate at the top of the stairs. I knew they were capable, but it had only happened once or twice — usually they respected the boundary. But sure enough, I came out to find a stool pushed up against the gate to assist in their escape and the room empty. In the kitchen I found that they had opened the pantry door - VERY daring. And interesting since I don't store any snacks in the pantry: it is just dry pasta, rice, beans, etc. Quentin claimed he was hungry. Well, then you should have eaten more dinner I replied. I shoo'd them back up to their room, telling them that if they ever came out again, other than for going to the bathroom, I would be putting the "baby-lock" back on their door so that they could NOT come out at all.
Today, I came across another one of those "conversations" with a trip to my dentist. It was actually scheduled for a few weeks ago and I rescheduled my cleaning. In the days leading up, I could already hear the question: "Are you wearing your mouth guard?" And could hear my response: "Well I was but then I was pregnant and nauseous so I wasn't... and now I'm not pregnant anymore but haven't gotten back into the habit of wearing it." I was dreading it. I was dreading how I would handle saying it.
Arrived today and the hygienist sat me down and made the expected small talk. When I mentioned that I had an errand at my son's school, she said "Oh - how many kids do you have?" It hit me so hard. I haven't heard that question since it happened. I whispered "Two." She then prattled on saying "Oh, I don't have any kids; I'm happy being an aunt. My sister is due to have a baby in January." To which I winced; the same month as my due date. I knew it was likely all over at that point. Then when my gums were checked with a hint of gingivitis found, I somehow managed to spit out "Well - I was pregnant recently. 5 months. But I lost the baby. Any chance that is pregnancy gingivitis?" (which I had problems with when I was pregnant with Quentin). Yep, likely pregnancy gingivitis. The tears flowed at that point. We can add "in a dentist's office" to the list of public places where I have cried. The hygienist rushed through my cleaning. I think she actually skipped a portion of my mouth, but I was grateful to get out of there.
After that I made a quick stop at World Market and bought a skeleton for Theo to put in their room, since he will not stop bugging me about Halloween decorations. He was lucky I was having a moment of weakness.
As we drove home, we were listening to the song "Elements" by Lindsey Stirling. Theo asked me to remind him of the elements, to which I responded "Earth, wind, fire, and water." Then I continued with "Your middle name is 'Huab' which means 'cloud' — like wind. And Quentin's is 'Teb' which means 'earth.'" Theo then said "What about the baby?" I should have figured that his quick little mind would catch that, and I said "Well, her middle name is 'Dej' which means 'water.'" "And can we save the other middle name, in case we need it someday?" he asked. I ignored his question.
Trying to find words for my sorrow yesterday and preparing for our upcoming trip to Wisconsin this weekend, I tripped across this quote from C.S. Lewis, from his book A Grief Observed:
“For in grief nothing 'stays put.' One keeps on emerging from a phase, but it always recurs. Round and round. Everything repeats. Am I going in circles, or dare I hope I am on a spiral?
But if a spiral, am I going up or down it?
How often -- will it be for always? -- how often will the vast emptiness astonish me like a complete novelty and make me say, 'I never realized my loss till this moment'? The same leg is cut off time after time.”