For Auld Lang Syne

I thought the nightmare was over, but I woke up and don't feel much better.

I feel sort of like I ate something really garlicky with chocolate for dessert, took 2 tylenol PM, went to bed (because that combination of foods always gives me nightmares), and woke up with that hangover feeling (which I always do if I take 2 tylenol PM). Slight headache, sluggish. And please, just leave me alone attitude.

Of course, none of those things actually happened, I'm speaking purely in analogy. What did happen was a very long and terrible year last year that involved the loss of a child and a parent, among many other good and bad things.

I was hoping that the clock would turn to midnight and all would be new again.

******
Here I am again, right back where I started. That's the funny thing about grief. You think you're good, but then you're not.

The doctor said it wasn't my fault. There is nothing I could have done to change the outcome.

But still,

April 18, 2009

I wish I never would have ignored my intuition about how Ally wasn't moving around much, I wouldn't have worked so hard to get Holden's birthday party ready instead of going to the doctor when my dad asked,

"How are you feeling?"

Rushing around the kitchen of the rented hall, I replied,

"Tired, but okay. Ally's not been moving around much today. I'm a little worried."

Looking concerned, he said,

"Take it easy then, get some rest."

"I will dad, I will. I'm almost done here."

He looked sad that day. I couldn't put my finger on it, on why he seemed different. I found out later that he had had his first grand mal seizure the day before and left the hospital that morning so he could make it to his grandson's first birthday party. After the party was over and we were back at home, he took me into the bedroom and quietly explained what had happened, showing me the bruises on his tongue.

I just didn't know then what I was in for. I didn't know that by the end of the year both my father and my baby girl would be dead. Not that I could have or would have done anything differently.

And I'm still here, still wondering what good could possibly come from all this? I walk by the collage of pictures in an 8X10 frame in Holden's room of him with my dad. As I carry Holden by the picture, he says,

"Papa! Bye! Bye!"

I'm somewhat reserved and quiet. I don't smile enough. I am staying busy, but the only real joy I'm feeling right now is in watching my son. He is the bright spot in a somewhat dim and snow covered January.

I look forward to the spring.