Over the past few days, I have uttered the phrase “Well, last time this happened…”  I hate it.  I hate that I have a point of reference, a comparison, to what I am going through.  In talking to friends, in talking in therapy, it comes up over and over. “Last time this happened.”  There is no escape.

I hate other comparisons as well.  I hate that because of the medical line drawn in the stage of my pregnancy that they are treated differently.  That Nelle had more paperwork from the funeral home.  That Nelle has more “stuff” – gifts I had received and other things. My entire pregnancy with Iris, I was so terrified that something would happen that I did not buy anything. Nothing to pack away.  Except for one teddy bear that I had purchased for her.  I have been sleeping with it for the past few nights. 
They each have a box of items now. Mementos from the hospital.  Cards. Funeral home paperwork.  Ultrasound photos.  For Nelle, I have the t-shirt that I wore bearing the announcement “It’s a girl!”  For Iris, I have the two t-shirts for the boys saying “1 of 3” and “2 of 3”.

I went to therapy again today and will head to my third session of the week on Friday.  For this week, I need that. I feel so isolated and alone in my grief and it is a way for me to sort through the magnitude of emotions that I am feeling. This time, I feel that grief is making me physically ill. 
There I go again… “this time” in comparison to “last time”…