Slipping into December

So it's December, officially, as of 1 minute ago. Another month gone, another year winding up to its end. 2006 seems still to be a long way away though - weirdly distant. I guess I just have to get through this month one day at a time. The closer it gets to the 7th, the harder that seems to be. I know I'll make it through whatever happens, because life doesn't really offer any other option, yet on some level, I don't think I can.
I don't want to do this again. Isn't once enough?

I keep trying to be positive you know - trying to convince myself that lightning can't strike twice. But lightning has struck again. And I want to believe that life (or fate or god or whatever) can't be cruel enough to take another one of my children from me, but the truth is, it may very well be just that cruel. And I'm torn between facing reality and keeping hope.

And you know what? It's just fucking wrong to have to contemplate the possibility of having to plan a funeral for one of your children, let alone your second child - and within weeks of Christmas no less. And it sucks to have to accept that as part of your reality, and then feel guilty for thinking that way, and beat yourself up for not thinking more positive thoughts because you know that you'll feel responsible if things go wrong. And there are no answers, let alone good answers or right answers, and there are no choices because you're not in control. And it's fucking wrong that as a mother, you have to accept that you can't fix this for your child because this isn't some little booboo to kiss, no scraped knee that you can love away.

And I want to let go, to break down, to feel whatever I feel and react to it however I need to but I can't because I'm afraid I'd never get back up. Afraid that people around me would think I'd gone insane. And I want to give myself permission to be depressed - and I just want to stop having to go on like everything is just fucking dandy. And I can't, because I have to be strong enough to survive, strong enough to be here for the other kids through this, strong enough that Scott doesn't have to hold me up, because he's going through the same things I am and it isn't fair to expect him to be some superhuman hero who puts aside his own fear and pain to drag me through mine.

You hear people say how they found themselves in some bad situation, hoping it was just a dream, wishing they could just wake up and realize that it was all just a trick or a joke or a nightmare, and it's become almost a cliche - but it's surprisingly possible to find yourself in that position. I spent months after Alexis died wishing I could just wake up. Months of mornings spent re-digesting reality, re-accepting her death. And here I am again. With every kick and hiccup, every mad dash to the bathroom, all those things that make a pregnant woman sort of grin and rub her belly and think of tiny little fingers and sweet newborn smiles - all those things that should make me look forward to next week just remind me again that this baby isn't OK, that this baby may never come home. . . And I just want to wake up and realize that it's all a bad dream.