Unpacking

I fold up my dreams and put them back into the drawers with my deepest hopes and desires. I put my luggage back in the closet, knowing that I can't even begin to pack again for another 6-8 weeks, or so my doctor says.

I have no emotions left, and every time I think about the first journey, I want to curl up in a ball and never leave the comfort of my house. I ended up in the wrong destination and I can't wash that away. I don't want to. People want to make me feel better but they can't. Frankly, I don't think I want to feel much better right now. I'm still unpacking.

I had all of these plans for my journey, sites I wanted to see. I wanted to take my baby to weddings and family gatherings in the fall. I made a Christmas quilt for him/her that I was planning on bringing out in November of 2012. Now when I do it will have no tiny shoulders to wrap around. 2012 was supposed to be the year of my perfect little peanut. Now it is stained and haunted by her memory, and I can't even get back in my car and start out on a second journey, a second attempt. I just have to sit here and stare at my empty luggage and wait.

I know I'm supposed to think that my loss was a good thing. "It wasn't met to be". But there's no comfort in those hackneyed words, at least not yet. Right now I'm just feeling like an empty vessel. A pitcher is meant to contain water and I am empty and wanting. I've been smoking ever since Tuesday, a habit I kicked in preparation for journey #1. I don't feel like I deserve to be healthy or well. I want my body to match my emotions.

I know it will heal, but right now I'm stuck in a depressed limbo between one journey and the next. The months seem so long and the miles to destination #2 seem so daunting and frightening. This time I expect flat tires and road blocks. I expect to be rerouted and sent back to the beginning. Maybe that's better, since it's obviously a very real part of the maternal journey. But it does take some of the joy out of planning the itinerary for the second time around.