Today has NOT been spectacular, but I’m hangin’ in there

Some days it feels as though the Band-Aid, that covers the slightly healed wound caused by Cora’s death, is being slowly peeled back and taking the freshly healed parts with it. Today is one of those days and to say that I’m feeling the pain of grief would be a slight understatement. UGH.

These days always seem to come when I least expect them – as though life has been chugging along in happy bliss and my soul feels strong enough for another round of the dark and dirty. One minute I’m giggling with my husband while we text each other from opposite ends of a new leather couch we’re testing in the store, and the next he’s dropping a casual bomb along the lines of, “Oh, my sister’s pregnant again. Let’s go check out the recliners.” I can’t blame him his delivery, really, as it kills him just as much as it kills me to learn about this kind of thing. Even after nearly three years, our hearts ache at the thought of other people expanding their happy families. No one can explain to me the why of it and I always make the mistake of thinking that, if enough time passes, it won’t hurt anymore. I am always wrong. It always hurts.

I even try to tell myself that I’m being ridiculous and that I should be happy for anyone who is blessed with the ability to be a parent. My brain knows that the one inevitable truth of all life is that living beings create other living beings, but my heart feels sad and resentful and sore when people close to me have babies. It took Greg and I about 18 months to be able to even be in the room with our nephew without wanting to run away from the entire situation and cry hysterically. Even now, when he’s just over two, I feel drained and sad and jealous after spending any time around him. So, mostly, I just don’t spend that much time with him or the rest of the family if I can help it. I don’t know if they understand, but it also doesn’t matter to me if they do or not as my grieving process is my own and I have to get through it any way I can.

The worst part for me, really, isn’t the fact that our daughter died (although watching her die was horrible). It isn’t the fact that she isn’t with us (although we still spend time daydreaming of the “what ifs”). It isn’t the fact that I feel her always but can never touch her (that is actually kind of comforting, to know she’s here always). All that stuff just is. The worst part is that the pain of it never goes away. Even when I’m smiling and at my happiest, that deep, unrelenting pain is just lurking below the surface, waiting to spring back into the spotlight and black out everything else.

The irony of all of this is that not two days ago I was looking through her book of pics and thinking to myself how amazing it was that I have been feeling so strong and positive for so long about everything to do with her. I actually thought, Wow! I haven’t felt the bite of that intense pain for a good long stretch. Yahooooo!. 

Joke’s on me, eh.

Today sucks, but I’m going to rip apart the innards of our little shed and maybe beat the crap out of another hair straightener (inside joke for those people who I told that story to) and I’ll probably be right as rain in a few hours.

Hope your day is going better than mine, my friends. I wish you all enough. 🙂

Cora Jane LeFlufy


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