This is our first week living in our new house. You see, we've spent the last 6 weeks living at my parent's house. My family found us a quick rental the weekend after Vienne passed. There was no way I could go back to our home where it all happened. But, once we moved everything into the new house, I just could not move into it. I have felt that once I move here, I will be taking the first steps towards moving on...living life without her. And, that kills me. But, I eventually realized that there was never going to be "the right time" to move in. We would just have to leave the safety of my parent's house and do it. So, we did. And, it should be a really hard week for me, emotionally. Considering a bunch of other crap that has transpired this week, (Ivy's health is not well and she is not sleeping well, just to name a few) I should be falling apart. But instead, I am seeing that my way to cope through everything in my new life, is to shove any feelings I have deep down into hidden recesses where it is very difficult to dig back up. I feel like a walking zombie. Just my presence with friends makes them cry...but me? No, I just sit there, blank, feeling nothing. Somedays, lately, I will get through an entire day and look back and realize, with horror, that I barely thought about Vienne. I get up in the mornings and I put on my hard shell and plow through the day. Days are not good, days are not bad...they are just days.
Last night, I stayed up late, craving to feel her...to feel anything...so sick of this numbness, this hard shell I've created to protect myself. So, I watched her memorial service video. I have only watched this twice before, and one of those times was at the service. It is one of the things that can reduce me to racking sobs. And then, of course after watching this, I realized why I make myself so numb. Why everyone else can carry their emotion for Vienne on their sleeve and why I cannot. Because my pain is sooo damn debilitating...sooo sooo deep and unbearable that there is no way I would be able to take care of Ivy if I lived in it every moment of every day...or even dwelt on it often. When I go to that place, I will dwell on sweet memories of her and then suddenly, my mind will smack myself in the face with the cold heartless truth of things...and then I will go to the place of reliving that horrible morning and filling myself with blame over and over again. I will obsess over how I could have possibly prevented it...how I could've changed things just by a different choice. "I should've stayed upstairs and changed her sheets...they needed changing that morning"..."I should've brought my breakfast smoothie upstairs to drink it there like I would on other days"..."I should've called to her when I heard her show end"..."I shouldn't have read my damn Bible!"..."I should've stayed near her body while the paramedics worked on her and I should've laid hands on her and prayer harder"..."I should've prayed harder"..."I should've demanded that they not give up!" But it's all useless. I know. And, so I must keep carrying on. I have to raise Ivy. And, to do that I have to get up in the mornings and continue a routine for her. I am a good mother and I will not dishonor Vienne by being anything less for her dear little sister. And, so I must put on my cold hard protective shell and plow through my days. I cannot sit and stare at her pictures and think too long...I have to just keep going.
And, I hate it. I hate it so much.
I know that I will need grief counseling - I am fully aware of that. I am scared of it, though. I am scared that they will try to "fix me"...try to make me happy again...to enjoy life eventually. And, that just makes me sick. But, I do know that I need to find a healthy balance with my emotions. I want a healthy balance. I want to feel her through the days, be able to shed some tears, but then be able to carry on. I cannot find that balance right now. It has to be one extreme or the other. Right now, I am choosing the extreme that is helping me to survive each day and be what I need to be for Ivy. But, each day that I carry on like this, I feel further and further ripped away from my beloved Vienne.
At night, I keep rolling over to Mark and saying "I'm done now. I want to go home. This was a sick test and I am ready for it to be over...where is our Baby??"
But, I'm not even close to done.
Here is a video of just a happy memory at home, with my family. These were our typical evenings together. I want to go home.