In the Quiet

I am someone who loves quiet and solitude. My husband is the opposite and would be perfectly happy to have the t.v. on all day, or to spend most days with friends. The funny thing is, since Haven I have been craving distraction. I'm afraid to stop and think, because thinking leads to the most painful memories, and to longing, and to guilt, and to self-blame. I suppose trying to distract myself from my grief is not the healthiest thing, but it seems to be the only thing that is helping me hold it together.

Oh, the thoughts I think...

"What if it was something I ate?"

"What if I wasn't sleeping on my left side enough?"

"What if she had been born a few days earlier? Would she still have lived?"

"What if there were signs and I missed them?"

"I was laughing the last time she kicked me - what if that was a warning sign and I laughed?"

"What if I had gone in to the hospital sooner? Maybe her heart would have still been beating!"

"What if I had taken that last week off like I had planned? Maybe if I hadn't been so tired and distracted, I would have noticed something was off!"

"Will they ever find an answer or will I be tortured for the rest of my life wondering?"

The questions just swirl around in my head, and images and mental video play over and over. The look on the nurse's face, then the look on the doctor's face. That sick knowing feeling as we went into the hospital. The fear. The wailing I couldn't hold in. My sweet husband being there by my side through it all, being so brave and so helpful. Holding her and kissing her cold little cheek. The softness of her skin.

I will never forget these things. I take some small comfort from others who have gone down this sad, sad road. They say it becomes easier to bear with time. I really hope they are right. Right now the grief cuts like a knife.