Right now, I just need an escape. 

An escape from this thing called life after loss; from this gray area of waiting.

Waiting for the pain to soften, for the memories to not break me in two, for the heaviness to lift. 

I want a break. 

I want freedom from my thoughts, my fears, my worries, my suffering.  I want a release from my endless searching for an answer, a reason, a source of comfort to help it to all make sense. 

My thoughts wage war on me. It’s a rampage.  I cannot still them.  Even in my exhaustion of caring for a newborn, I often cannot sleep, because I can’t stop thinking about baby that did not come home. 

I’m tired of reading stillbirth story after stillbirth story in an attempt to numb and normalize my reality, to feel “connected” to other women who understand or “get it.” 

I’m lost in the past, fearful of the future, and the present is wasting away...all while a new babe rests in my arms.  He rests on me, yet I am restless, because security has failed me.  Is failing me.

What can I trust?  

This past year of pregnancy for her little brother put me into self preservation mode, and now that he’s arrived and lives, so much is surfacing.  It’s seeping out of me.  The emotions and feelings are unbearable and out of control.  I’m weepy.  Fragile.  Sensitive.

When I am alone the memories arise, and I see the truth set before me.  It hits me with a hard blow and leaves me breathless and despairing.  I have been presented with both life and death, and yet I must continue stepping forward each day in the face of grief.  I’m losing.  Losing badly.

Why did my baby die?  My little girl, who should be a year old in my arms.  It’s still so unfathomable.  The unthinkable me.  Have I been in denial?  Why does it feel so confusing?  So fresh?  So disorientating?  So debilitating?  I’m devastated.

And I just want an escape from the pain.  Even if just for a day.  I want the light to shine in through the cracks instead of me being consumed by the shadows.  I want the dark clouds to lift, so the sun can cover me and make me whole.  I want to feel joy and peace and surrender, instead of sorrowful, anxious, and controlling.

I want love to replace anger.  Trust to take over doubt.  Faith to repair what has been damaged in my relationship with my Father in heaven.  I want walls to crumble, but I’m building them into mountains.  I’ve become a professional in that area.

I want this burden to lift.  I’m exhausted.

Will it ever? 

My life, my earthly days, will they always be consumed by this loss?  My love for my daughter is deep and sacred and born from within, and her death feels so unnatural.  I can’t shake it. 

I go to her grave, and I press my skin against the warm stone, and I try to feel her.  I almost need proof that she is really gone; that all that lies behind the stone is her white coffin, which holds all that remains of her...bones, a white dress, a blanket, and the toys her siblings gave her at the funeral home the last time we saw her body.  I need to know that she really and truly died, because my mind cannot comprehend it.  

I want to wake up from the nightmare.  I want to know this isn’t a bad dream.  But at the same time, I want to forget the heaviness and just live life a little more fully...whatever that looks like.  However and whenever that will come. 

My soul needs an escape.  I’m so tired and weary to the core.  I’m praying this burden lifts, even if just for a glimmer.  Let me fly away from it for a little while. I promise I’ll return.