Island

I don't know how to explain what I'm feeling exactly, because I'm not sure it even makes sense but I feel like I have to try.  Even with all of the love, support, encouragement, kindness and prayers of family, friends and strangers...the only word I can come up with right now to describe how I feel is "alone."  It is what I imagine it would be like to stand alone on an island in sight of the mainland with no boat to get you across the waters ahead. 

I know it isn't really rational because at the very least, I have Chris by my side and we can still talk about anything.  I know I also have a number of family members who would be there for me in a heartbeat, even if all I needed was someone to listen to me cry.  I have an amazing online support network of women who have been through this and would do as much as any stranger from across the globe could do if I asked.  So I'm not really looking for anyone to say "I'm here Katie...just give me a call or a text or a message."  In my heart, I know that all I need to do is make a phone call and there would be someone on the other end willing to do anything they could if I asked. So that's not my point...honestly, I'm just hoping that by putting it somewhere other than my head, maybe I can figure out what's going on. 

Part of it is just my usual Monday funk...after working basically alone for 35 hours over the weekend, I know I usually have a little too much time in my own head, but I honestly don't mind that too much most times.  Actually, that part is kind of nice sometimes...of course there are times of chaos, it is a crisis center after all, but most of the time it is pretty tranquil and relaxed.  Our house is hardly ever what I would call tranquil!  :) 

I think another part of it is that there are several people I have reached out to recently but from whom I have gotten no response.  It isn't that I'm upset by the lack of response, exactly...I know our situation is tough and it's too much for some to handle.  That's okay, but I think what is hitting home is that, even though you receive countless offers of "If there is anything we can do, just let us know..." many of those aren't sincere.  For too many, it's just one of those things you say when you don't know what else to say to someone in crisis.  So this one isn't really a shock, but it's still kind of hard to accept.    

I think the majority of this feeling comes from the fact that we are just six weeks, or less, away from the birth of our little girl and the enormity of that is almost crushing.  I want so badly to enjoy these last weeks and I want to be prepared to celebrate the brief time that we'll have with her, but trying to balance that with keeping a grasp on reality leaves me feeling unsettled.  I know that there are those who pray for a miracle up until the moment their baby takes his or her last breath and to have that kind of faith is fine, but that isn't my faith.  I do believe that God can work miracles, but I just don't feel like that is the plan for us.  Don't get me wrong, every once in a while I catch myself daydreaming about what it would be like if this was all some terrible trial and we get to leave the hospital with a healthy baby but those fantasies are pretty brief.  For me, and for us, it's important to be prepared for the much more likely reality. I know there are mothers who have refused to make any arrangements before their baby died because it didn't make sense to plan a funeral for a baby who was still alive; I don't fault them, but that's not the way we have chosen to approach this.  Trying to balance the enthusiasm that your body wants to feel near the end of a pregnancy with the restraint that your brain is cautioning you to exercise is a constant battle. 

I can try my hardest to explain it and I'm sure it makes at least some sense, but there is no way I could ever share everything that is in my heart because there is so much that I don't even think can be put into words.  That is what leaves me feeling alone on my island...my heart and my head are so full of grief, joy, anger, frustration, love, bitterness, anxiety, anticipation, longing, and a thousand other things that I can't describe.  I know I have plenty who would jump in that boat to rescue me at all hours of the day or night, but what would I say when they reached the shore?