This will be the first post of the blog, and hopefully the first of many more to come.
We have yet to even fill in the “Our Story” part of the site yet. But I guess that will come in time.
Today has not been a good day. I woke up many times throughout the night and just felt empty all day. Can’t believe that our life is continuning without Austin in it. Our house, which used to seem very warm and cozy, now feels cold and lonely.
I feel like I have been through an emotional roller coaster and I just can’t take anymore. I continue to wish that there was a “reset” button I could hit and just go back a few months. I also wish that I could just go forward about 3-4 years, when the pain won’t be so fresh. Just don’t want to be right here, right now.
The fear that I can’t shake, is that Marci and I will never have children. I am optimistic that we will get pregnant again, but there is a little demon inside of me that always whispers, “You may NEVER get to raise a child with Marci”. So even though thinking about it makes me feel good, I also am very worried about thinking about it to much, as it is not a reality and may never become one. It is a sad irony that the one thing that brings me happiness and hope in this process, is the one thing that I really can’t focus on and might be a dream.
I running out of tasks around the house to do to keep my mind off Austin and the emptiness.
Being there to comfort Marci has made me feel better over this past week, but I am at a point today where I don’t even have the emotional energy to comfort her and that pains me.
Finally, this morning we met with a couple that runs a support group and lost their son at 36 weeks. It was very nice to talk with them and feel understood. But after we got home, I felt a terrible let down. It must have been subconscious, but I think I was hoping that they would have the key or secret that would take away the pain and let us move forward. Sadly, that was not the case and I think that is why I’ve gone downhill since this morning.
It was a week ago today that we couldn’t find a heartbeat. The words, “I’m sorry, you’re baby is gone” will haunt me for the rest of my life.
- Scott