I just don't know what to do with myself.
I float throughout the days. Sometimes I go places and do things. I got my hair cut and styled for the first time in years. Normally I don't bother, because I never take time to style it and it's too wavy to work on it's own. And I've always been a little afraid to cut it again, lest I hate it. This time, what did it matter? It's only hair. I haven't yet washed it to see how it will look. I don't really care.
I went to breakfast with my mom today. Nothing fancy. IHOP. There were three little boys in my section, ranging from a about a year old to about 3. I just stared at them and wondered what Gabriel would have looked like. Nothing like them, of course - one was African American, another Hispanic - he had beautiful eyes and a smile to melt your heart. He beamed at me and I wanted to die.
I sleep a lot. Sometimes, when I'm just falling asleep or floating back awake, I feel him near me, get glimpses of how he might have looked. It makes me want to stay in bed all the time. I don't dream of him. From what I've read, that's probably a good thing. I know of people who only have nightmares about their children, or feel they lose them all over again when they wake up. But those moments . . . I long for them.
The thought of going back to work . . . if I could quit I would. I do not want to go back. Not only do I feel an incredible amount of guilt over things that were not finished before I left and the burden I piled on coworkers and how awful I feel about trying so hard for months to get onto a good footing and stay there and how useless it ended up being . . . I don't care about my job. I've often said it doesn't matter, and I think if Gabriel had lived it wouldn't have. The job paid the bills and allowed us to have a baby. What it was didn't much matter so long as I didn't hate it. Now? It matters. I have no desire to waste my life doing something unimportant that I really don't care about. I don't know what I can do instead, and so I know I will go back, but I feel my throat closing up when I think about it. One more week at least before I can face it. I try not to think about it.
Beyond that. . . what do I do? Our days were filled with work and with planning for this child who is gone. My free time was filled with baby talk - among my friends and on sites like thebump. I haven't been there in a week and can't see going back again really. Different person, different life. The registries are still there. I haven't yet been able to go delete them. I suppose it doesn't much matter either way. The crafts I worked on. . . a blanket, letters for his name. . . no point now. I feel useless, a lump.
I am sad most of the time. I get caught staring into space - I am thinking of him. Replaying his birth and short life, regretting something, wondering about how life should have been, pondering how to keep putting one foot in front of another and forcing myself to go into the world and work on hardening this shell I am going to be living in.
I am a ghost. Existing, but not really living, I guess. I just don't know how to do it yet.