18 days…

I only have 18 days left to grieve freely. After that, I have to go back to work. I secretly hope that my doctor doesn’t clear me, but I know she will. I keep trying to prepare myself for everything I am going to encounter upon my return.

I have a note up near my desk saying, “I Love you, Love James & The Mogwais!” I will have to take that down immediately, before I burst into tears

My desktop background on my computer is the last ultrasound pictures I had of the girls before I ruptured.

I have my mask on my desk, I wore it to help protect the lives I once had growing inside of me. I will have to store that somewhere out of view.

I have to deal with my back, legs, and feet. I was on complete bed rest for over 8 weeks. My back constantly hurts me, and my legs and feet really can’t handle walking much right now. I am going to be sore, tired, and very irritable on top of everything.

A Co-Worker’s wife is pregnant and only a couple of weeks behind me. I am going to have to see how I handle the birth announcement. Probably not well to be honest. I might have to “accidentally” skip that group meeting.

I’ve been gone since Oct 24th. I have to come to the reality that people go and and get pregnant. There might be others at work who are pregnant, will soon become pregnant, or their spouses.

I will have to deal with all the looks of pity. There goes Krystal, her children died. Things are going to be different. I honestly don’t know how I am going to handle things.

I just need to load my phone up with music, and keep headphones in. I really don’t want to talk to anyone about anything. Nothing really seems all that important anymore. I have so many mixed feelings about it all. I want people to pretend like nothing ever happened, but at that same time, I feel like that would mean people were pretending Willow and Hazel never existed. That would hurt me more.

They WERE born and they ARE my children. I just can’t see them or hold them anymore. I love them more than life, and I would gladly trade my life for theirs. I prayed so hard in the hospital for God to take my life and spare theirs. I have done so much wrong in my life, wasted so much of it, sinned. The girls were perfectly innocent and had their whole lives ahead of them. They could have been something great. It should have been my girls that lived, not me. I don’t understand why God chose me to live instead of them. Punishment? A Lesson? Bigger Plans?

I may never know the answers. I do know that I am getting too old to do something “big” with my life. For some reason, God called my children home.. and not me. I am so sick of death in our family. in the last 5 years we have lost:

Dad
Uncle Anthony
Grandma Powell
GRandpa Powell
Aunt Mary
Granny
Papaw
Grandma Jane
2 cousins
and my two daughters

I’m just ready to be done with this life, or be able to move on. I’m ready to be able to go one day without crying uncontrollably and unable to move. Rise up, Lord! (Psalm 44:26)

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