Yesterday I couldn't breathe.
Some questions provoke anxiety. More "why." More "what if?" More "now what?" More more more questions than answers. You can't see my face, right now (or ever), but if you could, you'd see an exhausted, frustrated, and down right sad pair of eyes staring back at you. Not because I'm ready to give up. Not because I'm "over it." Not because I can't do whatever it takes.
But because I'm human.
Yesterday the doctor looked me in the eye and swallowed. His hands were clasped together, forming a shallow well between the finger holes. "Last September, we got all the tissue."
I swallowed, too.
"Things should be normal, because the tissue is gone," he said.
I rubbed my hands raw and watched the dried flakes plummet to the floor while my stomach twisted into a double knot. "Things aren't normal."
"But, the tissue. The tissue. The tissue." He started every sentence with those words, tearing little holes in my ears so the blood could flow. I watched his mouth move in half-time, but the words became silent. The only sounds were of my heart, racing, and the clock's minute hand, crawling.
"The tissue" was my child. "The tissue" was a part of me. "The tissue" took a big part of me when he scraped it off my insides. It clung to me with a plea, to be remembered as something other than "tissue."
I have no answers, still. Just more appointments, more questions, more doubt, insecurity, loss of faith, confusion and frustration. And that's only one of my questions. There's still a whole list of things unanswered, hoping for something a little more than everything I got yesterday.
I'll fall to my knees, clutch the angel with Lilliana's fingerprint in the middle and squeeze my eyes tight. Until the answers come. The kind to pull my to my feet, drag my arms towards the sky and force a "thank you" from my lips.
Thank you for last September's "tissue."
Thank you for today's possibilities.
Thank you for tomorrow's answers.
Candyland. Out.
P.S. Two days left to enter my Contest. Spread the word, enter, be happy. Winners announced Friday.
P.P.S. If you want to leave my post smiling, head right over to Sheri's blog where you can see my winning photo caption entry.
26 comments:
:( I'm sorry you lost a baby. Why is everything not normal? I hope you are ok ...
Your post really touched me this morning and all my good wishes go out to you. There's never the right thing to say but remember, we're always here to just listen when you need to talk.
You are more sweetness than your name or even your blog addy could express. Sorry is such a stupid word. Hope...I know it's hard, but it's all we have sometimes. And it's there for a reason. You are in my prayers. Do.NOT.Give.Up.or.Give in.
I believe. (((hugs)))
Aww Candy. What a sweet, beautiful and very sad post. My heart aches for your loss.
Thoughts and prayers are with you so that you can find the answers you seek. (((hug)))
~JD
My thoughts and prayers are with you today and always, Buffy
Oh, hun, I can't imagine. My heart goes out to you, but not in the 'expressing sympathy' way, more of in the "Oh God, I hope she's okay" way. I'll be praying for you, lots and lots. That paragraph at the end made me cry - your courage in forcing thanks, even in such hard circumstances, is incredibly inspiring. As is your ability to somehow express unexpressible emotions with words. All my love and prayers, and bon courage.
Hang in there, girl. Hug Lilliana to you and think positively.
A big hug to you from me, too!
I'm so sorry. :-(
oh, love, my heart is with you. i'm sending nothing but goodness your way. hang in there.
*hugs*
<333
miss candace im sending you lots and lots of love and bunches of big warm hugs. im gonna ask god to hug you too. ...more hugs from lenny
I so sorry, but don't give up. When you do, that's when there's no more hope. No more today's possiblities.
*hugs*
I'm so sorry.
Will pray you get your heart's desire again.
I'm so sorry for everything you're going through. I know words can't make it better, but you're in my thoughts and prayers.
I'm sorry. I really hope you get some good news soon.
I'm hoping for you. ((hugs))
Awe, I'm sorry for your loss Candy and for the hard questions you've been asking yourself recently. I hope you feel better soon and you're in my prayers babe.
I'm so sorry. I hope things get better soon. Just hang in there and don't give up. We're all here for you. <3
I've been in the same shoes, years ago, so I know how those words can cut. *hugs*
So sorry for your loss, C. (((hugs)))
You know my heart aches for you, Candace. I don't believe there are adequate words, but you are in my heart and in my prayers. Don't give up - and don't lose hope. If you need a little extra, we'll all loan you some of our hope! You have 193 faces in that sidebar, rooting for you. :-)
Candace,
Sorry doesn't even begin to cover it. But I am really in awe of your bravery and grace in putting your feelings out there, for expressing yourself, and finding a way to survive your heart break. I don't know if I could do it.
The unexpected never happens when you expect it -- by definition. Don't ever lose hope.
HARD.
I lost a baby once. Had it in the bathtub.
Sorry for your loss and worry.
Sending positive vibes your way. When you get through this you will be stronger and softer. More human. More compassionate. In the meantime it just hurts.
Hugs.
You and your family are in my prayers.
Your heart feels scooped out I know. You don't see any sense in your loss. You don't see any wisdom in the doctor's clinical terminology.
One day you will cross paths with another hurting soul. You'll have no words to take away their grief. But you will know what NOT to say to make matters worse. You will know that a hand in the dark to hold means more than all the cliches in the world. You'll be a light in the dark for that person.
And your baby will have made that possible. Your baby will have a meaning in existing for the small time that your baby was in your body. Your baby will matter then, for your baby matters now : you are a more empathic person now than you were.
My prayers and thoughts are with you now and always, Roland
I truly believe that a writer's gift is to help people feel even when they don't fully understand why. You write with such emotion, such power, posts like this bring me to tears. You have a wonderful gift, Candy. Thank you for sharing it, and so much of you. xo
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