Journal Entry: March 6, 2018:
I’m not supposed to be here. I’ve uttered that comment in various, teary eyed conversations, over the past 32 days. After the last time I made that comment to someone, I realized that I was eliciting an unintended, very similar, response from each person I’d said it to. Usually, with a look, and a tone, of concern, every person I’ve said it to, has asked me something along the lines of “what do you mean you aren’t supposed to be here?” I’ve now realized why I get this very similar response from every person I’ve made this comment to. So, I want to clarify.
To the friend on a lunch date: What I meant was, instead of sitting in a restaurant eating fresh, hot food, we were supposed to be eating leftovers, or whatever we could scrounge from my barren fridge. You were supposed to be holding my sweet baby boy in your arms, while I lounged around in my comfy pants. And enjoyed a small reprieve from the extreme tiredness that I’ve been told comes with the first few months of motherhood.
“THEREFORE, IF ANYONE IS IN CHRIST, HE IS A NEW CREATION; THE OLD ONE HAS GONE, THE NEW HAS COME!” 2 CORINTHIANS 5:17
To the woman at my church: What I meant was, instead of sitting in that pew with empty arms, holding my husband’s hand; I was supposed to be in the cry room. I was supposed to be in the cry room, sparing you, and the rest of the congregation, from the fussing of my little bundle of joy, while the pastor gave his sermon.
To the counselor I drove over an hour to see: What I meant was, instead of taking the long trip to sit in your office, divulging my sorrows to you, so that you could figure out how to console me and help me through this grief; I was supposed to be at home figuring out what it is that, after a nap, feeding, burp and clean butt, still has my precious Marshall crying.
To the friend I ran into at the bar: What I meant was, instead of sitting there crying into a glass of Angry Orchard, I should have been sitting at home drinking some shake I had just concocted to aid my body in producing plentiful, nourishing milk for my hungry little monster.
You see, when I say “I’m not supposed to be here”, what I mean is, I can’t help but think of what I thought, and hoped, and prayed, I’d be doing in the moments of our conversation. Wherever I may be, at whatever time it is, I can’t help but hurt for the seemingly simple moments that I should be experiencing with my first born child. I’m told that someday these thoughts will be less invading, but until then, this is where my head, and my heart, and my soul often are.
I know what went through your head after I said, “I’m not supposed to be here”. So let me ease your concern. No. I am not thinking what it is you feared I might be thinking. To the core of my being, I hurt, but I have too much to live for to be thinking that. All of the people and everything that I have to live for, well, that is for a whole new, lengthy entry – or 10.