Time slips

Time is slipping. It doesn't feel like February. It doesn't feel like much time has passed at all. It just feels tired. 

It's coming up on six months. A half a year. That's a half of a year of my life, and I have no real idea where the time has gone. 

No real idea. 

I'm upright. I breathe. My nutrition has improved. I cry daily, but not usually hourly. And I have nothing real to show what I have done in six months besides just survived. 

Surviving is hard work. 

Blah days.

It's a blah day here. The weather is icky. My mood is icky. 

I'm working on good things. Or at least trying to rephrase as good things. 

I had thought that the rain would melt the snow. And it has. In places. Not on my slippery driveway. Now I'm hopeful that maybe the snow will cover the ice that is bound to form and make it less slick. See ... hopeful. 

It's just generalized funk. 

I feel like the Peanuts character Pigpen with his floating cloud of dust. Except mine is sadness. 

What made me cry

At the dentists' office, what initially made me weepy was when I told the dentist, "I've been through worse."

Just figured that out. 

Another place I cried

I cried today at the dentist. Bizarre. 

My silly tooth was beyond saving and the dentist had an opening, so I had it removed today. I was numbed. That stung a bit. Then I was numb. Then he pulled it.  Then I cried. Heaving sob kind of cry. Not for the tooth. That was a relief. The poor man didn't know what to do. He and the sweet assistant kept assuring me that it was okay, but there I went, sobbing and apologizing. 

After the dentist left I told the assistant about Katie. She had lost a fiancé, so she got it. I finally got it together enough to walk out, pay, and leave. 

It sucks to have such little control over your emotions. 

Now you know.

If you don't already know, here's a fun fact:

Grief screws with your pain receptors. 

I was told this early on. Many people told me to be careful if I fell or something. It is fairly common for grieving people to have broken bones and not know until much later. What I didn't think about was my teeth. 

My best guess is that I probably had a tooth break sometime. I have no idea how long ago. There was no pain. A couple of times it seemed a bit twinge-y with cold. I started using using Sensodine. It's been longer than 6 months (a year, maybe? I haven't been paying attention) since my last visit to the dentist. Yesterday I had a twinge in the morning, but didn't think about it. Last night it really hurt, but I used some hot salt water, brushed my teeth, and still fell asleep. This morning I woke up without pain, but with half (okay, a quarter) of my face swollen. Very swollen. 

Now, thanks to the dentist on call, I'm on antibiotics. Tomorrow I will get an appointment to see what the root cause is and how to fix it. 

I'm just kinda stunned that I really had no idea this was coming. 

I had made the appointment with the doctor. I knew that was important. Who knew I should have had an appointment with the dentist?  And if you knew, why didn't you tell me?

Mentally, I'm having good and bad days/weeks. The five month mark passed. I made it through Valentine's Day.  Somehow life goes on. 

In my head I've been having imaginary conversations with strangers.  I'm trying to figure out how to tell people about Katie. I'm trying to figure out how to say or type Katie without getting choked up. How to tell people kindly. Is that weird?  But it can catch people off guard. People that I don't know well enough to know if they know are the hardest to talk to. My mailman knows. I don't think the neighbor across the street does. 

I'm again struck with the desire for formal mourning clothes. A black wreath in the window. Something. 

It sucks

It's been a roller coaster week. Some good. Some still unknown. Some, well, pretty shitty.  

My bras have made several attempts on my life this week.  I thought we were through with this nonsense. Reality is that although it feels like an assassination attempt, it's really just my being über sensitive again. If it weren't damn cold, I'd probably be wearing a lot less clothing. I am back to the hoodies again. It's pretty bad. 

I melted down multiple days over a light bulb that didn't even burn out. A long time ago probably early October the bedside lamp was turned on in Katie's room and it has burned ever since. I come home and see her light in the window and I talk to her. Sometimes it's just goodnight. Sometimes it's a conversation. I panicked when I thought that the light might burn out. I had to be rescued by my Other Mothers, Joslyn, specifically. 

I don't know why it's been hard. I know why the tough moments were tough, but I don't know why my panic started. My crying is a constant in life; it's not something new.  I don't know why I'm losing sleep. 

I lie. I do know why. The base cause is that my baby is gone. And that breaks my heart. Over and over and over and ...

Pain and anger

For those of you worried that I'm not saying what I need to say, you're probably right. 

But I can feel it burning in my belly. 

There is an anger that is starting to catch fire. 

Early on I said that I wanted to throw things--dishes--against the wall and smash them, but I didn't want to clean up my mess. Now I just want to throw things. I don't care about the mess. I just want to throw things and scream. 

It. Isn't. Fair. 

Someone needs to hear me scream. I want whoever caused my baby to die to know how much I hurt. They should have to listen to my screams and crying. They should have to feel my pain when I try to help Libby. They should have to feel how my heart tears when Libby asks me to be careful and not die when I'm going somewhere. 

No one who hasn't done this can know what I feel, but whoever was in charge needs to know how I hurt. 

I want someone to know.