My husband is gnashing his teeth in his sleep. I always thought the word "gnashing" was old-fashioned, and I couldn't imagine anyone doing it. I can now - gnashing and crying, in the middle of the night.
It was been 10 weeks since Bronwyn died, will be 11 weeks on Monday. Feels like just yesterday and a lifetime ago at the same time. My husband is a cheerful, optimistic, enthusiastic guy and I know he tries as hard as possible to keep me "up", but it's taking a toll on him. Obviously at night. We both are digging deep furrows in our foreheads from our constant squinting and frowning, and I have noticed him physically trying to smooth his forehead out with his hands, to press out the tension. I know it doesn't work, because I do it too.
This is a horrible, horrible thought, but I wish I was surrounded by people who had also lost a baby. Not that I would wish this on anyone, ever, but it would be nice to feel understood.
I probably never gave much thought to what this would feel like, except for those panicky moments during pregnancy when someone mentions a stillbirth and you think "OMG, that happens!" But if I did, I would not have imagined that this is the way it goes. That you feel worse as time goes on instead of better. That numbness and shock would be a good thing. That I would become afraid of people and angered by them at the same time. That I would feel guilty for momentarily thinking of anything else but my dead daughter, as if SHE WOULD KNOW.
I am also surprised that I have started to weigh up grief like potatoes on a scale, trying to compare my own against other scenarios. Would it be worse or better if she died shortly after she was born, instead of six weeks before she was due? Would it be worse or better if I didn't know she was sick ahead of time and went to the hospital to find out she was already dead?
I hate my life right now, but I love my husband more than ever. Is that the only good to come out of the bad?
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