I am buried in grief.
One moment it feels like a rock slide; throbbing, pulsing, shaking me to my core. I cover my head and hope not to get crushed.
When the dust settles and I open my eyes, the pain is so strong I can breathe it in. I pull the rocks off one at a time. Sadness. Anger. Confusion. One at a time I think, "I can handle this." Yet even as I set them aside, they stay with me, so when I can take a step forward I'm weighed down. The path is heavier now.
In other moments my grief is like the ocean - vast, and all I can see. I'm not drowning in it, but rather floating on it. Waves come and I crash with them, riding out the heartbreak, hoping the calm in between is enough before the next one arrives.
I'm not having any thoughts about hurting myself - that's the last thing on my mind. But I only do what I have to. I feed myself because I know I need it. I go to work because it's what's expected. But there's not a lot of heart in my actions. There are moments where I'm distracted - by a good book, a sweet friend, a funny show, but it doesn't last long.
Most of the time I'm simply...lost. I feel like I should be doing something, but nothing helps. I go to Target, but only walk the perimeter of the store, avoiding the maternity and baby sections as best I can. I buy things. I think about another tattoo. But none of that will give me what I want - our baby.
I would have been 13 weeks pregnant today. I should be celebrating the hurdle of the first trimester, starting to share our news with people, and buying a few board books because it's "never too early" to start reading to the baby.
Instead I'm thinking of how I'll never get to see our girl laugh at her daddy. How I'll never get to breathe in her sweet baby smell or feel nostalgia for her growing up too quickly. How our lives right now are "should haves, would haves, could haves." I should be anticipating all that's to come.
Instead I am buried in grief.