Today has been a really, really hard day.
To start, I woke up around 6am in a terrible mood. All I could think of was how much I wanted to hold my sweet girl. I cried silently in bed until I couldn't take it anymore. So, I got up and just held the blanket that Morgan was wrapped in while at the hospital. I held it and cried. I cried, and cried, and cried some more. And stroked the little yellow knit cap she wore. I was able to eventually get a little more sleep, but I was still in a bad mood.
Then, the nurse from the hospital called to let us know that Morgan's pictures were ready. Finally! I've been longing to get these pictures since we left the hospital. I've just wanted to see her little face more than anything. I drove over to the hospital to pick them up. As soon as I got out of the car, I just felt awash in these terrible feelings and emotions, just being there. My reason for being there, to pick up photos of my dead baby, magnified the emotion. Even worse, the pictures were at the labor and delivery reception desk.
I wanted to cry as the receptionist handed me the pictures and said to "Have a nice day". She obviously had no idea what kind of pictures were in that envelope. Not the kind that allow you to have a nice day. Once away from the reception desk, I sank into a chair, right in front of the elevator. I opened the envelope but couldn't look at the pictures.
Back at the car, I set out to run some other errands I had planned. As I walked across the quad at school, and wandered around the public library, I just felt broken. And, I felt as if anyone who saw me could see my pain. I felt as if my legs wouldn't move, and my eyes couldn't distinguish between the books on the shelves. I felt extremely sad, broken, slumped over.
Once I returned home, my husband was in the bathroom, so I opened the pictures by myself. He came in after I'd looked at the first few images. I looked through the short stack of photos, then passed them to him. We both, obviously, cried some more, then retreated to opposite sides of the apartment.
After fiddling around being miserable, I figured I'd put away my maternity clothes. I was tired of looking at them. Some of them had never been put away after I purchased them. A small stack of maternity sweaters had been sitting in the corner because I didn't know whether I should hang them or fold them until I needed them. Oh well, they're folded now... Half of the clothes still had the price tags on them, and of the things that I had worn, other than a pair of jeans and a pair of shorts, had only been worn once or twice. I'd only had enough of a bump to fill out the shirts in the last 2-3 weeks of the pregnancy. In addition to putting away my own clothes, I also had to put away the few things we had for Morgan. That was the hardest part of all.
We're planning to go together to an infant/perinatal loss support group tonight. So, I'm sure more tears will flow before the night is over.
And lastly, it's just after 5:00pm as I write this. It was this time, just three of the longest weeks I've ever experienced ago, that I was wheeled into surgery for the cerclage that didn't work. It's amazing that it's only been three weeks since our world began to crumble.