I’ve learned some days can be good, and other’s more than bad. That’s life, especially now. But past that, past the good and the bad, I’ve gotten familiar with my days being empty. And feeling empty.
Today was one of those days.
I didn’t necessarily feel bad, but I certainly didn’t feel good either. I just felt, empty.
It wasn’t a random emptiness either. It’s the empty feeling left by the loss of my future. My dreams. My family. My SON. Mostly my son. Completely my son.
And I know I’m certainly not the first person to know this pain. Not even close. And for that I’m thankful. Not that others have lost their children as well, but just for the fact that I’m not alone. Not completely anyways.
But I do feel alone in the sense that most of the couples I know that have lost a child have managed to stay together and go on to have more children. So there’s hope there. Something to look forward too. I thought I had that for a while. Something to look forward too. Hopes for another child, or at least starting to try. We even talked about it, me and his dad. And seemed like maybe we were on the same page. Maybe we weren’t and I just didn’t notice. It doesn’t matter now.
That’s where the empty enters.
I know I’ve referenced Ground Hog’s Day in the past, but even today and speaking on the phone to one of my best fiends, she pointed out that it really does seem like I’m living like that. Because I am. It’s not by choice. I don’t think anyways. But everyday just seems to be the same. Wake up, work, work out, hang out with Lola, shower, sleep, repeat. It’s a cycle; 5:45 A.M to 11:30 P.M., Monday through Friday. This is my life.
How the hell did this become my life?!
This was never what I wanted for my life. Never what I dreamed for it. I have goals. I had goals. Professionally. Personally. All of it. But now, now it’s enough to get through the next day.
Except it’s really not. Not enough. It’s really empty. Incredibly empty. The deafening silence of emptiness actually. It’s all but consumed me. It just seems like it would be so much easier to just pack it in, ya know? Admit defeat. Give up. But then, I’m not entirely sure what I would even have left to give up? Seriously, I got nothing. Unless you count materialistic shit. I have a lot of that. A lot of shit. A lot of nice shit I suppose. A lot of fancy brands and designer labels. Shit I used to covet, in a sense. Or at least be excited to swipe that Amex for. But now, it’s literally just shit.
Because do you know what I don’t have anymore? A baby crib. And oh, Kam had the most beautiful crib by Sorelle. I was so happy with that. It was flawless. And I don’t have an abundance of diapers, both clean and dirty. Or a freezer full of breast milk since Kamren was exclusively breast-fed and never saw a drop of formula. I don’t have any of the things that are actually worth something. That have value. I’d burn my closet full of designer bags in an instant to have a need for Kam’s diaper bag again. (That was a Petunia Pickelbottom bag, but I got it on sale!)
I’d sell my soul for one more moment with him. Right to the highest bidder, Devil included. And how happily I would do it. I’d probably throw in a few extras for good measure. Even if it was just one more snuggle. One more kiss. One more moment to breathe him in and feel just a little less empty. Just for one moment. To remember what it felt like that have the full happy feeling of love. The sheer happiness felt as my arm would fall asleep holding him until he did the same. Or the 5 A.M feeding that resulted in him dozing back off on my chest. And his contented smile from a fully belly and the warmth of my body up against his. Yep, right to the highest bidder. Everything I own, plus me.
They say the wound is where the light enters. I guess I’m still waiting for that light. Right now, for me, the wound is where the empty enters. And man, there’s a lot of it.