I'm not ok.

Things were getting better. I really thought this. I thought I was handling this better and better everyday. I thought I was going to be ok. 

And then the last 2 weeks happened.

I know it hasn't been that long. Not really. It has been 141 days without her, which really is nothing. But it has been 141 days without her. It is something. It is almost 5 months. It is almost as long as she was here. So, I really thought things were on the mend. I know that sounds stupid, of course things aren't ok. Of course I am not better. How stupid of me to think I could start to feel better after such a short amount of time. I think I was just back in that fog of denial. I'm not sure what has set me off. Maybe the move. Maybe the approach to her 10 month birthday. Maybe the approach of the dreadful day when she will have been gone longer than she was here. (I AM DREADING THAT DAY.) I don't know what caused this, well other than the obvious. I just can't shake it. I can't get out of this dark spot. I will think for an hour or two that I have finally gotten myself back to a safe place. Back to a functioning state where I can remember Violet and also behave like a normal person. But, then the facade crumbles again. My breath catches. I have to physically grab my chest because it hurts so much. I cry that loud guttural sob. I try to muffle it so that I don't scare Lyv. If I can't contain it I get her something to do, a TV show, playdoh, toys. And I go to my room, close the door, and sob. I am so on edge. I don't have any patience. It isn't fair to Lyvi. I try so hard to be patient and loving and consistent. I am failing. I failed Violet, and I'm failing Lyvi. I know I shouldn't be so hard on myself. I'm doing my best with the cards I have been dealt. I bet people think that once you lose a child you have all the patience in the world for your living ones. I haven't found that to be true so far. I'm sure it's the grief and shock, but I have no room for anything minimal anymore. I realize that Lyvi is an almost 3 year old, and almost 3 year olds are insane little creatures of destruction and chaos. I adore her and her defiant nature. But, god. Sometimes I just need her to put on the shoes I picked out for her. Or let me do her hair without a huge ordeal. Or eat what I make her for lunch. These are all hard things for an almost 3 year old, I know. But, sometimes I really do not have the space in my head to reason and pick my battles. I feel terrible. I feel like the worst mother in existence. One of my children died, and the other one I have no patience for. Don't get me wrong, we have fun. We play. I adore her, and she knows I love her guts. I try my hardest, even when I am falling off the cliff, to be happy and present for her. But, these last 2 weeks I am failing her. I am failing Violet again by not being the mom I know her and Lyvi deserve. I'm trying. And maybe by writing this I will be more aware of it in the moment. 

I'm more angry these last two weeks. Again. The anger is hard, but almost cathartic. I can throw things. Bang dishes. Slam cupboards. Yell at the unfolded laundry. But, it also hurts. It hurts to be so mad. It hurts to get so pissed off at Rich for something so stupid, and have him not understand why I'm yelling at him for spilled milk. He isn't angry. It's not in his nature to be mad. He's a generally chill guy, and he's a lot more spiritual than me. He has more peace about this whole pile of fuck than I do. Which isn't hard to do since I have zero peace about it. But, yeah. He isn't really mad. Which is fine. I don't get to tell him how to feel. It's hard that he isn't mad though, because then he doesn't understand why I will be fine one minute and a complete disaster the next. It's just hard. All of this. 

So, all of this to say I'm not ok. I don't think I will be for a long long time. I think I'll probably go in and out of these "I'm ok. I'm not ok. I'm ok. I'm not ok" phases. It has only be 141 days, and I'm not ok.

Hi baby girl. I have felt you quite a bit over the last few days. Yesterday in the car I could feel you with me. I knew you'd play a song for me after I visited your grave. I just knew it. And, of course "I will wait" started the second I turned the car on to leave. I know when you are near me. I love it, but I hate it. I hate that the only way I get to feel you is by a song and a feeling. I hate all of this. I just want you back. I miss you so much. My heart breaks more everyday. I see all the babies your age growing and imagine what you would be doing. You were so ahead. I know you would be walking by now. I know you would be feisty and happier than ever because all you ever wanted to do was be on the move. I think you would have a good amount of dark fuzzy hair. I know you wouldn't tolerate a headband anymore. I know you would love the kiddy pool here at our house. And, I know you would be the most perfect amazing chubby happy little girl. It isn't fair. I just want you here. Growing. Learning. Being you. I am such a mess lately. I want to curl up and cry and never stop. I don't know if I can do this. I just don't know. I'm trying. I will keep trying. You don't get to live, so I am going to do my best for as long as I get to. I love you my fat baby. SO much. Wait for me, let's go to the stars.