I've been trying to analyze this mind-boggling fear that cripples me sometimes, oftentimes. It seems that I need help... I probably do. Yet, I fear that if I do get help, if my fear lessens just one tiny bit, it will be enough to cause $#!t to happen again. Yes, it's not logical.
There is nothing logical in the death of a perfectly healthy baby either.
There are two parts two my fear.
One is the Fear of Death of my Child. This is a big one. The silent scream at the realisation, the world spinning as life as we know it ends. The end...
Two is the Fear of Life After. That scary, awful, brutally painful place, it scares me as much as the first fear. The helplessness, the misunderstandings, the platitudes, the millions of others who have what we lost...
Last night we stayed up all night watching Wiggles sleep, just to make sure we'll make it to through the next day, just to make sure he will live. Just in case. Yes, I'm tired and sleep deprived, I've been staying up for close to seven months now, making sure. Still, it's so much better than the other option...
I guess Fear is my best friend and my best enemy these days.
Lilypie Angel and Memorial tickers
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