A couple nights after I got home from the hospital, I called my friend to tell her we lost the baby. She came over the next night with a book for Lily and a bottle of wine for me.
I was scared to drink it. Obviously feeling very fragile, I didn’t know how I would respond to what she intended to be a relief. I nursed my one glass of wine all night. She tried to refill it but I kept my slow pace afraid of the dark feelings sinking in before I knew what to do with them. It was very painful not knowing what to expect in those early days. I was just so fucking sad. The tears would just flow at the slightest thought of no Olivia. It felt like my soul was being crushed right inside my body yet somehow still completely out of reach and definitely out of my control.
Now I drink a bottle a night.
I’m just kidding. But I did realize after that night that drinking didn’t make it harder to handle. Nothing was worse than waking up in the morning and realizing over and over again that this was not a nightmare. So I got to where I drank rather often throughout the day, not having a schedule to reign me in and such. But I really don’t drink that much now.
Something my friend asked me that night has been on my mind lately. She wanted to know if now that this terrible thing has happened, did I somehow feel safer than before? Like the gods were done with me for now and I could quit worrying about anything terrible happening again for a long time.
My answer? No. Not in the least. It was quite the opposite, actually. I was terrified something was going to happen to Lily. I wrote about it early on but after awhile that feeling finally started to subside.
Until lately. I’ve been having these weird moments where I get all worked up and freaked out for no apparent reason. Like yesterday morning I didn’t say goodbye to her before work because she was still sleeping but then in the car on my way to work I started getting all panicky that she didn’t wake up for a reason. And so I called David to check on her and he didn’t answer. And in true Cathi form I put on this front that it was all cool but I was freaking out inside, imagining the fucking worst. Of course he called me back and all was well but shit that was weird. Then I did it again last night. Her grandmommy was taking longer than expected to bring her home and I couldn’t stop imagining a terrible car wreck and how guilty I would feel for not insisting to pick her up myself.
I think it’s my subconscious fucking with me. Its all, “You think you’re okay? You got everything under control? Well think again cuz you don’t control shit!” (Why does my subconscious talk like she’s from the inner city?)
David just said he’s been thinking the same way lately. We must be at that stage where we remind ourselves not to get too comfortable. Terrible crap happens all the time and just because its already happened once doesn’t mean lighting doesn’t strike in the same place twice.
The lesson? I don’t know. I guess to enjoy life and love and family and grocery shopping while you can. But I know nothing’s gonna happen while I’m so worried about it because if I know anything, I know that shit happens when you least expect it.