Planning my day.
Sometimes I’m just talking, I’ll be fine I’ll feel happy, sometimes I’m in the car and a song comes on and triggers it, or I see a baby out and think oh. A movie or a show will be a trigger. Anything can trigger it.
Little cracks where the full force of grief breaks through my armor. I try my best to keep it at bay. But sometimes when I’m least expecting it grief breaks through. Reminding me that I’m broken. That nothing is ever going to be the same.
In an instant I’m slapped in the face. The fear creeps in. I hear a sound and it takes a second to realize of that is me. The sound of my cry, tears fall, my heart races. Pure panic.
These grief attacks hit hard. They knock me off my feet. My body aches and I want to give up. It hurts so bad I think I might die.
I don’t want to talk I just want to hide.
To block out the world.
Just let me sit here alone with my pain. It is taking everything I have in me not to shatter.
Every second of her life flashes through my mind. Over and over this baby just isn’t going to make it. I hand her to rose. Never to hold her again. The funeral director comes over, we need your signatures before we can have her cremated. So wait my baby has been laying alone in a fridge since Thursday. It’s been almost a week. How dare you.
Every part of me screams to wake up. Some one give her back. This is wrong. She can’t be dead. She can’t be.
Dead. What a horrible word. It is cold. It is flat. Dead. My baby is dead. Dead dead dead dead dead. Nothing will ever be ok. How can it be.
All I can think is I just want my Annaleigh.