Memorial

Yesterday was the memorial service for lost babies at the hospital where I had the little one.

We had to buy flowers, which wound up being at the grocery store because every florist in my little town conspired against me and was CLOSED on Saturday.

I had to decide what the Kid was to wear, and get her some shoes.

I had already decided what to wear, but then I tried it on. And then just collapsed and cried a whole lot. It's so surreal. This is what I am wearing to my son's funeral. Commence sobbing and tomato-faced snottiness. I am not a pretty crier.

My whole family was there. My mom, sister, niece (who wanted to be there for the Kid), in-laws, sister-in-law and her family, my dad, my grandma, my girls from work, and Satan, who came over early and rode with us. I felt very loved, even if I seemed all numb and businesslike through the whole deal. Everyone told me how strong I was, and I felt honor-bound to tell them, no, I just had my meltdown in my bathroom the night before. I'm not special or anything. Plus, the X*n*x helped.

The four of us - me, the Kid, the Husband, and Satan went to Red Lobster after. I didn't play the asterisk game there, mostly because if asked, I will, for a modest fee, be willing to tell the (imaginary) teeming zillions who hang on my every word here that Endless Shrimp is just the thing after you go to your baby's memorial service. Really. Okay, not totally really, but it was good, and I had not eaten all day. Plus they only charged us for one instead of 2 (dead baby discount?) and didn't fix it after we told them of the mistake. We did not even mention the dead baby. Red Lobster: they are psychic or something.

So that is that. I wondered the other night if I was putting too much into the anticipation of this (translation: I have been a raving bitch) in the hopes that this would be some kind of closure, and what if I wake up feeling like this still tomorrow, and the next day, and for the rest of my life? I still drive by the daycares on my way to work and wonder which one I should be stopping at. I still drive by the schools and wish I could still anticipate tearfully dropping my baby boy off for his first day of big-boy school in 5 years. You know, like a NORMAL parent. When does that stop?

If you say never, I will stop speaking to you. It's my worst fear.