My first instinct is to apologize for not writing more/sooner/whatever, but I need to acknowledge that I have nothing to be sorry about. This blog is written by me, and for me to get my thoughts out and hopefully help someone else in the interim. So I'm NOT sorry!
This week has been fucking heavy. I feel like I have nothing- no energy, no knowledge, no anything except this big black hole gaping in the middle of me...
Tuesday started as a shitty day to begin with. I hadn't slept the night before. Like not even a wink until I forced myself to lay down in bed around 5:15am. It was the 5th anniversary of Teddy's death, you see, and I can never really sleep on those nights. Part of me wants to stay up and see if I can feel when he departed this earth. Like some fire will run through my bones and I can know, "Okay. At exactly 3:23am his heart stopped." but that doesn't happen. I got about 2 hours of fitful sleep before I was wide awake again. I took Logan to daycare and then Paul and I just hung out at home.
Later, Paul was heading out to take Logan to his therapy session when he came back up the stairs with a letter clutched in his hand. It was from Parsell Funeral Home, where Teddy's viewing and cremation had taken place. We knew that the only thing it could be was his death certificate. We looked at each other, totally frightened and unsure of what to do. I grabbed his hand and said, "We have to see what it says." So I held onto him with all the strength I could muster and he opened the envelope.
I'm not going to say what the paper stated. I am not ready to share that just yet. What I will share is how it felt as if he had died all over again. I saw his little body, I heard my voice screaming, I completely lost control. My body turned into a rubber noodle and I sank to the ground, gasping for breath. And I wished I could die. I wished my heart would just stop because to go on was too fucking painful. Why do I get to breathe when Teddy doesn't? What kind of warped reality is this that I have to keep on living without him? None of this makes any sense.
Paul and I were in total shock. We went out to smoke a cigarette after rescheduling Logan's appointment, and I could barely lift my hand to my mouth. I didn't have anything left. I headed back inside, afraid I would just slip out of the chair and curl up on the balcony. I laid down on the living room floor and stayed there for a good 20 minutes. Not thinking, just feeling. Feeling the black hole. Wishing it would suck me in, too. Somehow, we were able to pull ourselves together and both take Logan to his appointment. God bless his therapist, who is just so wonderful. She held me tight, and I felt that she was sharing my grief. It helped.
After his session we decided to go get some desserts from Martha's Country Bakery. They have a weird set up. There is a stanchion for a line to go through quickly to buy what you want and leave, or you have to get a table and order from a server. You can't just buy what you want and then sit down like any other delicatessen on God's green earth. WTF, Martha's? So we decided to sit down and take our time, which is always challenging for a 3-year-old. The server had to come back to confirm our order, and then forgot my coffee and Paul's a la mode for his pie. It was dumb. And Logan was just not in the mood to sit and quietly eat a month' worth of sugar in one sitting. I had the carrot cake, Paul had blueberry pie, and Logan had a Blackforest cupcake. All were delicious.
That night I crumbled and couldn't do anything. I knew I wasn't going to be able to take care of Logan, and I am so grateful that Paul could. I took two sleeping pills and was down for the count at 8:30pm. The next day I took Logan to daycare, Paul had an interview, and I went back to sleep. I spent most of that day in bed. I was so exhausted from all the phone calls, my brain, and my emotions that I just needed to check out. I was awoken by a call from Delaware. The Medical Doctor who performed Teddy's autopsy and subsequent investigation. And we had to go through everything again. Fuck it all. Shock, numbness, bewilderment, repeat. He was a nice enough man and was very gentle and straightforward with us, but the knowledge did nothing to help any of these feelings.
So what do we do now? I wish I had an answer. I wish I could snap my fingers and spring back into action but I can't. This morning I woke up, got Logan to school, came home and laced up my running shoes. I needed to get out, so I did. There is this beautiful trail near our place, the Greenway. It is a very long biking/running path that goes most of the way through Brooklyn and Queens. Today I decided to go a direction I had never been before, and before I was halfway done I decided I wanted to try to run. So I put on my Couch25K app (which I highly recommend) and did Day 2. It was as good as I have felt running since before I got pregnant with Teddy. I didn't have any pain in my hip, and my left leg felt strong. Most of all, I felt like I wanted to do it. I didn't force myself, and I didn't let myself quit when I got tired. And I felt like I deserved my shower when I got home.
So that's what happened this week. Paul's father's 70th birthday, visit from our dear friends and their child, and getting Teddy's death certificate exactly on the 5-month mark. Spiraling down, being held up by my loved ones and precious Logan and my Paul. And tonight I have to speak for 40 minutes at my old home group meeting in LA, which means I will have to stay up until 12:30am and reveal my truth about how the fuck I have stayed sober, and it's okay. Maybe I'll take a nap in a minute...
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