Saving myself...

Olivia-Grace, these past few weeks have been spent in unsure waters, carefully treading the surprisingly calm ocean, anticipating the huge wave that will crash under my feet. My heart has felt so many different emotions, and I've struggled to make sense of the grief that lives quietly with me, but I have finally found a moment to sit at my laptop, and reflect on your 6th death day, in an attempt to find the words and help me process this difficult anniversary.  

I spent the time between your birthday and death day purely existing, and getting through the day on autopilot. I can't say I felt especially low, or high. A lingering sense of anxiety wrapped around my neck like a woollen scarf, but it failed to cause some great emotional reaction; it was just heavy and uncomfortable. This year, more than any other year, I've felt such adamant confusion that surely 6 years can't have passed us by. I've almost completely forgotten the shape of your body, the way your scent would rub itself into my shirt, yet I still have this warped sense that I am living in the same year that you were still with me. 6 years ago. I noticed very quickly after you passed away that grief truly fucks with our perception of time. Minute's feel like hours, the days feel like a distant memory of a life lived before. But this year, its even more noticeable. I've tried to process this as best I can, and the conclusion I came to was that it may finally be time to address the stored trauma my body is housing, with some dedicated therapy. The birth and our time in the NICU has burned and scarred me in ways no true flesh wound could ever show. For all these years I have learned how to welcome grief, and journey the unpredictable grief path, taking each turn as it comes, and I think some would say I am doing this quite well. But my soul has been holding on to the darkest time in my life, and I feel as though I am suffering the consequences. Suddenly I am so afraid of dying. I realised, for the first time in so long, I have so much to live for. I sobbed when my heart felt this. So many times I have wished to be wherever you were. Life would feel so hard and so far from what I had dreamed about, I let myself fantasise about joining you in a magical place, where there were no broken hearts. But after some pretty big life changes this year, I'm holding on to life here on Earth, and in some irrational way, that hurt my heart. Does this mean I love you any less? Does it mean I'm "healing" from tragedy, and if I am, why do I feel this air of uncertainty and fear? Is this how life should feel, parenting both the dead and the living; because how can I possibly split my wounded heart in two, and love on my babies hard enough to cover this planet and to the stars? 

I have had this heavy feeling sitting on my chest for so long, wondering if I'm regressing in my grief. I have tried to remind myself that grief is not a linear path, and steps backwards only gives us another point of view. 

I look back at your death day and wonder why I didn't cry more. How I managed to get through the day in a semi coherent manner. My emotional walls feel as though they're being rebuilt, as I try to protect my heart. But all the while, what I am doing really is just keeping myself in this bubble of disbelief, and false strength. This bubble that carries me across the ocean, skimming the waves. It doesn't truly honour you, or myself, and I fear the bubble will pop one day and I will drown. 

It's time to take the walls down, and let my heart go back in time. Back to the time I couldn't save you. Because I need to save myself...