undone

It was after my birthday and before Halloween. I'm pretty sure it was the first week of October. I think it was a Wednesday or a Thusday. That's when, last year, I went to the hospital and when, a few days later, the second twin was born and died. With grief comes the feeling that you've been stripped of your citizenship in the ordinary world; that you've become subject to a harsh new regime with harsh new rules.

My parents were overwhelmed by my sadness. My father told me that he couldn't come to see me in the hospital because he had promised to babysit my stepbrother's kids and because he needed to visit my sister, who had recently gotten a cast taken off her arm. After I went home, my mother stayed with me for ten days or so. I couldn't eat and refused to leave the house. My mother said I had to stop wallowing in my grief. A few weeks later, I went to my brother's house for his daughter's first birthday party. One of my stepbrothers and his wife were standing in the dining room, laughing. She was seven months pregnant, due a week before the twins should have been born. She said hello, but I didn't answer. Instead, I went upstairs and lay on a bed, sobbing. My mother came up and sat next to me. She patted me and told me how sorry she was that I seemed unable to take pleasure in other people's happiness. She went back downstairs and I let myself out by the back door. Later that evening, my mother called and told me how angry she was that I had left without saying good bye.

I think about all this and feel sorry for myself. I wish my parents were different. Still, I'd guess that most mourners feel abandoned. Only time can blunt grief's edge. No amount of love or support ever seems like enough. I try to remind myself that all of us are limited. Some things are beyond our capacity. We can only do the best we can.

Edited to add: Thank you so, so much for your sympathy and support. If I weren't, y'know, as cold as the Arctic pack ice, I'd be choking back tears.