Bullshit. Since I got this autoimmune thing that's given me the 'beetus I can't even enjoy lemonade if I had the time and energy to do so. Yeah, that's my big news in the world. But I'm not in the mood for that discussion. Because its May 26th. Otherwise known as the day my world got sad and awkward.
I'm unlike other dead baby moms. I can't take this and turn it into anything good. I can't turn it into charity. Talking about it and telling people they aren't alone is the best I can do. And even then, I doubt I'm a healthy role model.
I want to go kick my sister in laws ass. Why? Because she said I wasn't friendly enough at Joel's funeral. I want to burn down the ultrasound facility that messed up his scans. I hope my midwife dies in a painful manner I can't even imagine for ignoring me when I said something was wrong.
I want to look at a bullshit sky and tree and talk about angels and sunshine and feeling Joel's spirit. But I don't. I feel nothing. He's not here. That's the sad truth. I know the moment he left. I remember a moment when I felt alone. I knew he was dead when I walked into my appointment. I've not felt him since and I doubt I ever will again. I don't see random beauty. Of course, I'm pessimistic and never did before 4 years ago either. It felt like things never worked as planned. Even Joel's life started that way.
You see, back many moons ago the truth is that my eldest son Jules didn't fit the word eldest, seeing that he was a whopping 8 months out of the womb, but I'd just discovered that the whole "pull and pray" method every girl I went to high school with used successfully apparently doesn't work with old married people. After I'd tossed around the idea not adding anymore kids, after marital problems and money problems (read: real life shit), I was knocked up. Again. And I cried. Hysterically. Almost daily fights with my husband over stupid things. Extended family drama. Being a married mom in her early 20's, completely overwhelmed, finding out we were adding to that...well, I was hysterical. Nothing would work out. Life would change forever. How the hell would we...I...cope with this?
Funny thing about all those feelings? They were still true after my baby died, just different. I was hysterical. How would we...I...cope with this? Nothing would work out. Life will never be the same again.
Hi, my name is Jessica Culver and my baby died while I was 9 months pregnant. The baby that at one point I wasn't sure I wanted, who is now the person I long for.
Joel may have cured cancer or AIDS. I would have loved the hell out of him. Joel may have been a drug addict. I would have loved the hell out of him. Joel may have been the valedictorian of his high school. I would have loved the hell out of him. Joel may have dropped out of school and just did odd jobs his whole life under the table. I would have loved the hell out of him.
It'd been nice to know something about him. I bet he would have hated lemonade, too. Or maybe he would have loved it and made it for me daily. I would drink it without a single complaint, even if it meant I needed more insulin. And I would have loved the hell out of that, too.