ticker tape
I keep watching the world go by and I just don't even care that I feel no connection to it. It's like watching a tv show with the ticker tape scrolling by at the bottom and all you can focus on are those scrolling words.
"Your baby is gone. Your baby is gone. Your baby is gone. Your baby is gone."
As I lay in bed last night not sleeping, just watching those words go by again and again, I wondered if there was something I could do with the ticker tape. Ticker tape parade? But then I remembered that people threw the tape out the windows when the news was good. What did they do when the news was bad? Hmmm... threw themselves out the window... I decided to steer clear of that line of thinking.
And the sucky thing is that there is no external sign of this internal monologue. I feel like we should be marked in some way. That if we had big, gaping scars that somehow said, "we were going to have a baby but now he's gone," it might be easier to be out in public.
Yes, I'm grocery shopping. Yes, I'm laughing at the funny part of the movie. Yes, I'm folding laundry. Yes, I'm chatting with a group of people. But I've learned those things by rote, with 31 years of practice I can do them in my sleep.
What I'm really doing is watching the ticker tape.
8 comments:
It makes one wonder how many others are living on auto pilot with hidden scars around us. It's as if there is a separate world that we don't think about existing until we find our selves in it.
Stay strong C & D.
I wish I had the right words, but they fail me and I have nothing to offer you but handfuls of tears. I don't know what else to give that could be of any kind of comfort. If you ever need someone in whose presence you can just be angry, I would gladly provide some asylum for that.
The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the woods;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
I ache for you. Every day, every minute, every hour. If only I could bear your sadness even for just one hour so that you could have a respite.
Having no idea what to say is no reason not to say it.
Know that I care.
Hi my lovely Corrie-bum. I an sitting here with tears running down my face and all I can say is what Cynthia has said. I love you sooo much and wish I could take away the ache. I am hugging you always.
Hi Corrie,
Ever since I saw your post a few days ago, and several times since (see, your blog is now on my 'a' list, as in, 'read every day'), I've been trying to think of something to say that will help you. I've started and erased and started again and backspaced for days now. For whatever reason, I feel this certain affinity with you and I've also been given more time than I wanted to have little more to do than think. There SHOULD be something profound in there.
But there are no words.
There is just a fellowship of people who remember how it felt for them when it was their turn to feel such pain. And there is the realization that somewhere along the way it becomes a little less like dragging an axe across the tendrils of your heart, and more a gentle whispering caress. We know.
It hurts so much because you loved him so much. It hurts because Emmanuel matters. He is loved, Corrie...he is loved. And so are you, and so is your man. In part, I believe that your choice to praise God in spite of it all, will eventually be the balm that can soften the edges.
And I know that no words from a stranger will help to ease that pain in it's all-consuming rawness. But I just wanted you to know that many times each day, that stranger is lifting you up in prayer.
Hang in there Corrie...hang in there.
Crystal
Corrie, I got your comment on my blog today and I cried for you. I've had two miscarriages but they were very early...I have never been in your shoes so I can't imagine the pain you're feeling. I'm praying for you. Take it day by day. And know that I see your scar.
I feel we should be marked somehow as well. When I'm out I think about how I just look like everyone else and it seems strange.
Maddie x
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