what comes next is the crazy

We went back to the perinatologist's office again for the first time since George died.  The last time we were there was the day before he was born.  The doctor was evaluating my condition since they were concerned that I was developing HELLP syndrome.  He performed another -what turned out to be the last- ultrasound in order to see how George was doing (even though we knew it was only a matter of days before he would most likely die).  I couldn't even look at it.  Leif did though.  He watched our son on that screen- moving and alive.  But I couldn't look and now I often feel the pangs of regret about that.  The me on this side of his death wants to scream at the me on the other side, "You stupid idiot!  This is all you have!  Look.  See him while he is still alive!!!"  I feel ashamed that I didn't have the emotional reserve to see him one last time like that.  

I'm four months -and some miscellaneous days- pregnant.  Everything is fine with this baby so far.

But last night I had my first, and I am sure not the last, breakdown of this pregnancy.  I sat on the couch and cried and sobbed on Leif's lap before moving to the bed and doing the same there until I fell asleep.  It has been awhile since I have cried myself to sleep and I woke up this morning with puffy bags under my eyes.  I recognize you, I thought about the woman I saw in the mirror.  Last night I realized that part of me, the insane part of me, was thinking that somehow we were being given a do-over.  Same doctor's office we were first given his diagnosis.  Same room.  Same sonographer.  Different outcome.

But this baby is not George.

George is dead.  Dead.  Dead.  Dead.  I am never going to see or hold him again.

I have to live the rest of my life without ever knowing him.

Last night the envy for all women who got to take home their children was stronger than I have ever before felt.  I wanted to scream that it wasn't fair and throw shit around the room.  Instead I just slobbered it into Leif's flannel shirt.

I am grateful for this baby.  I am grateful that this baby is alive and well so far -fingers crossed- but my desire to have George back is still so palpable it scares me.  What kind of mother will I be when all I can think about is the child who isn't even here?