That delicious warm, fuzzy, feeling as I hover between being fully awake & conscious and still in peaceful dreamland. Feeling calm & content. Then having my eyes open and as they do, coming around to the full realization of the loss just suffered, of my reality. And in an instant that warm, fuzzy, comfortable feeling is gone. Replaced by the cold, hard truth of another miscarriage, another loss.
There is much to be said for the therapy that sleep was for me during my years of infertility and recurrent miscarriage. I’m sure the same can be said for anyone going through a grieving process. Sleep is healing. Sleep is sweet escape from the pain of our realities.
But the problem with that sweet escape is that we are dragged from it daily and forced to face the cold, heard reality of our grief. And each morning as the realization of the grief would hit me, it would wash over me afresh, like a band-aid being ripped off a painful wound, and on some levels dealing with the realization of my grief everyday, when being taken from the sweet escape of sleep, was like reliving the trauma over and over again.
It was those days that were the most painful. It was those days that I wished to lie in bed and will God to take me. It was those days that I’d pray not to wake from that sweet escape. But each morning, as the sun rose, sure enough, I’d wake and once again face reality. It was those days that I’d swing my legs over the side of the bed, sit up and as the day dawned and the reality of my grief deepened, great big oozing tears would roll down my cheeks.
God knows, I don’t miss those days. I’d never want them over again. But I’m often reminded of them. No more so today after reading of a fellow infertiles late-term pregnancy loss and her wish for the sun to never rise again.
It is a place I wish to never find myself in again, as unrealistic as that may seem.