You’d think after all these years I could let it go. But it sticks with me. Still today I am remembering where I was, what I did, throughout that day. After getting the news. After going home. And then going to a friend’s, because I didn’t want to be by myself. The phone calls and the things that were said.
No, it doesn’t hurt as badly as it has in some years. Year One was dreadful. After a few years the pain began to fade, though the year after my miscarriage–my due date with that baby just happened to be March 14–it was severe again.
Maybe “letting go” or “moving on” isn’t about not remembering, not feeling. But clearly it’s not comfortable to remember with others.
I ran into an acquaintance today who I’ve not seen in years. She knows about my baby but had not met her yet. “I just can’t imagine!” she said, speaking of all we went through with her in the NICU. Shoot, I was there and I can’t imagine it, don’t want to remember it. “I just love the happy ending!” she said. I just wish it were possible to get the ending without having to go through the terrible time we had. Eight weeks in the NICU was no picnic.
Of course, when I brought that up, she seemed to want to change the subject.
Here’s to less painful memories in the future, or at least memories that I don’t feel I need to share with people.