fear...

There's a C.S. Lewis quote that I've probably posted here many many times. In it he says that no one told him grief felt so much like fear.

There is so much fear.

It occurred to me last night that the ever present pain now has a close companion. Fear, fear, and more fear...

There are the fears you probably expect.

When I rock my rainbow before bed it always takes many minutes of talking myself into laying him down because of the fear that he wont wake up. When he wonders into another room and I realize that he is quiet my heart screams every step to find him because I fear that something horrible will have happened. Every four months when the blood work comes back I fear the worst. I fear that his body will start losing a battle with the world...

There are those fears, then there are these:

I fear conversation. I fear small talk and "how are you?" I fear being alone because it is then that the darkness can find me but I fear being with people because I can't fake it like I used to. I fear losing yet another friend because I am just too much to handle. I fear people's unconsidered, thoughtless, or judgmental words... because they hurt like hell. I fear those many, many moments when the words just wont come, when I can't remember why I am where I am, or what the names of things are. I fear being perceived as a jerk because I just can't operate in the world like you can. I fear the panic attacks, the helplessness, the ever crashing waves. I am terrified to celebrate that my rainbow has turned TWO because what if that is the end? What if whatever force or being that runs the world notices that he is growing, and loved, and helping to heal his broken parents?

My world is entirely ruled by fear and I have no idea what to do about it.
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I know no other thing to say but to ask again that you, who allow this kind of pain and confusion into your life when you read my words, be kind because everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.

I hurt... I fear... I hurt...

Until next time...

I carry him...

In one of my classes we are studying the endocrinology of development, specifically what hormones are involved in sexual differentiation. As part of our assigned reading we read an article about many of the ways a person can be an intermediate between the sexes. One of the things we read about is called a michrochimera.

Turns out that during gestation fetal stem cells cross the placenta into the maternal circulation and that these cells incorporate themselves into the maternal system. The fetal cells have been detected, living and functioning, in a woman as old as 94.

When I read this I was in scientist mode and my mind went off on a tangent about how that could work... biologically speaking. I mean seriously, HOW does that work. Cells that are genetically different from the body are working as part of the body. Cool.

Today, while I was sitting in class, my instructor said "So a mother carries cells from every fetus she has ever carried." and I lost it.

It hit me.

I carry him with me.

I LITERALLY carry him with me, physically.

Nothing will every make Damon's death better, or ok, or his absence any less agonizing but I am holding on to this with everything I have.

I carry him...