On the 9th Nov we got tattoos in your memory. You are a part of me forever, in my skin, in my heart, always with me.
Your name & little feet. And lyrics from the song that reminds me most of you, Rose of Sharyn by Killswitch Engage.
“It won’t be long, we’ll meet again. Your memory is never passing. It won’t be long, we’ll meet again. My love for you is everlasting.”
I haven’t posted in over a month, for many reasons and none at all, mostly I’ve forgotten.
I’ll start with my ring. I ordered a beautiful white gold ring in sky blue that contains Castiel’s ashes. It looks like clouds in the sky which is exactly what I wanted.
Wherever I go, you go 💙
Talking to other people about you isnt the hardest part for me. I’m so used to not getting emotional around people (I hate people seeing me cry so I avoid it at all costs). I can have conversations about your death or what you’d look like and completely disconnect from the words, as if I’m talking about the weather.
I don’t open up to anyone, I never really have. Deep conversations, physical contact etc are pretty awkward for me. Your daddy is the only person I’ve fully, and continuously, let in and been vulnerable around. And even then it’s hard to explain to him my feelings sometimes.
It’s when I’m inside myself, thinking, remembering, imagining, that the tears start. So it seems random, just sat watching tv and I get upset from no apparent trigger. I am the trigger. I don’t want to keep busy and distract myself either – grieving is a journey, and I can’t take any other metaphorical path around, this is the one I’m on, so if that means spending 80% of my time laying in bed playing computer games and thinking of you even though it hurts, that’s what I’m going to do for now.
How do you know when its the right time to try again? That you’re ready and not just anxious?
On the one hand, I should still be pregnant now and I loved being pregnant, we already decided we want a baby so all of that decision process has been done, yes we want a child. But on the other hand Cass shouldn’t even be born yet, so being pregnant with another seems strange when I should still be carrying him. And that’s only after: wondering if I’ve conceived this month, will my period come tomorrow, did I remember to take my vitamins today.. Cause god knows its not as simple as just deciding we’re ready and then poof it happens here’s a baby. I know there’s nothing physically wrong with me, I know it, yet it feels like there’s so much wrong.
Then there’s the first trimester yuckiness, starting all over again with the size milestones, “it’s the size of a grape now”, and all that. Having my 3rd first scan in under 14 months. Worrying if there’s a heartbeat, praying they are growing and will start kicking soon.
Before it was always a case of ‘what if it doesn’t happen this month’ but now we’ll also have ‘but what if it does’ both outcomes are now equally terrifying. No one in my position wouldn’t be a nervous wreck throughout a pregnancy following loss, that’s what I have to prepare for; to be worried every day. I suppose there is no right time for that.
The big question is am I ready to hope again? To let in the potential for another heartbreak.
We have an appointment for the results of your post mortem this Thursday, to see if they know what caused your death or not.
Others may not understand but I’d feel better if they found nothing, a freak incident; that’s the result I’ve been expecting because that’s my preference, but now the results are back I can’t help but go to worst case scenarios. In my mind I’d obsess less next time if I knew it wasn’t something I carry, something that is likely to repeat.
I’m so sorry Cass, that it feels like I’m putting any future babies before you. I should want to know what happened to you, and I do, I’m just scared. I’ve had so much hope for next pregnancy, that it’ll all go okay and I’ll be bringing home a baby, but they could shatter it all with your results. We know how quickly your life can be turned upside down, and I’m pretty sure there’s no limit on how many times it can happen. There’s so many things it could be, many are recurring, many can’t be prevented. For me there would be nothing worse than knowing it’s unlikely I’d ever have a living baby, or that something in me damages their health. We started trying for a baby when I was 22, I’m going to be 25 in 9 months. I’m not a child person at all, but I’ve always known I wanted a family, to be a wife and mother.
We’ll just have to deal with what comes next.
I was never going to dress you, breastfeed you, push you in the pram we got you, take you to see the ducks, take you on our first family holiday that we were planning, take you swimming, pick you up from school, take you out every year for your birthday. We had plans for you baby boy. Plans that were never going to be. But in my head I got to live out the fantasy of what could be, in my daydreams you lived a whole lifetime.