Cleaning

I'm still swinging violently between feelings but I really do think it's better than spending too much time in one kind of emotion. I don't know if it's the new year upon us but I'm busy doing 'stuff' if that counts for anything?

The other night I went into this crazed cleaning mode. I do that sometimes and it's cleansing in a way. I took all the pictures off the walls and redecorated. I rearranged the furniture and dusted the shelf. The shelf. Not just any shelf. The shelf that holds the remains of Yuna. It's still something I'm not sure I understand or haven't processed entirely. Or maybe I just haven't dedicated time to that process yet. In doing so, I then get hung up on all the decisions we made when we knew that we'd be planning a funeral for our baby girl.

Our last baby. Our only daughter. Ever.

So there she sits in a silver and pink container with doves. I just feel sick knowing that we weren't a part of that process. Even in death she was completely alone and there was nothing I could do about it. Another kick in the guts. Feeling like I failed her somehow. Well that's a recurring theme for me. Just the "ugh if things were different...". Well if that were the case, then she'd be here on my bed breastfeeding and playing or sleeping with her brothers. Meh not my REALITY.

And with cleaning comes the feeling that there are things that shouldn't be where they are. The change table that held all my art supplies. Despite it's conversion it was STILL a baby's change table. The clothes in a box under the bed. They all smell fresh and distinctly of the Eco friendly washing powder I only used for the clothes in preparation for her birth. Most of them brand new.

Can I swear? It fucking sucks.

I read The Alchemy of Loss by Abigail Carter after Yuna died and when grieving the death of her husband Abigail did a similar thing. For a long time she kept his clothes in her closet. And the smell was enough to allow a good deep sobbing session. Sometimes that's helpful. Sometimes it seems like a hopeless eternity of pain and despair. What to do with it?

Whilst grief is universally the same it can be so very different when it's your baby. Well it feels like that to me, a baby lost mama. No matter how much support, how many people you connect with or know that are in the same situation, or have been there, you still feel alone.

I guess the cleaning opened that wound again. The one I'd buried in order to function in this world. The one where I remember that this it it. That most people who lose babies keep their things for that baby in the hopes or even knowledge that one day maybe they will have a baby that will use them. A new baby to love. I know it doesn't reduce the pain or even make it easier but that hope IS there. Even if it's not acknowledged openly. Somewhere deep inside you know.

So here I am with a box of lovingly washed, hand dyed, beautiful hand picked over the course of my pregnancy baby clothes and nothing to hope for.

I know it's just 'things' but it's more the meaning behind them that's getting to me. The realisation that these clothes are going to sit in that box and we're not having another baby. Ever.

I just cannot wrap my head around it. It's so much easier to leave it untouched.

*Random Thought of the Day* I fucking hate you *Random Thought of the Day*