Thanks for all the thoughts, prayers and hugs. Really, I mean that.
I was eating a mango tonight and it was phenomenal. It caused these seizures of sweetness to ricochet in my mouth.
Which made me sad because food tastes so good now. Because I no longer have morning sickness. All the nausea and exhaustion has vaporized. I miss them. Because they meant baby on board.
Then I said to Mr. Hall, "I really don't want to go to your sister's for Easter. Everyone is going to ask how I am. And try to hug me. What can I say to them?"
Then he said, "Tell them you cried a bout a half an hour ago, so you're about to cry anytime now."
This was very funny. I laughed, really I did. I laughed because I have been crying in this spouting spurts. It's happening everywhere. When I was pushing my son on the swings, at the park, while I was laughing with him as he giggled and flew o so high, I started blubbering. When I was filling my car with gas, I started sobbing. When I was buying those mangoes, I cried a bit too.
These are short bursts though. Sudden little storms. I can pass them quickly. Pass them off as allergies as I wipe my eyes. They are reflective of the sadness that is there underneath all of this. Sadness is our new companion. It's never far. Mr. Hall feels it to. Feels it just like I do.
Then it hit me.
This sadness is like the morning sickness. It's a sign the baby was here. Only the baby is not here anymore. Now we, Mr. Hall and I, just have this sadness. And we promised to be sad together.
And thinking about the sadness, thinking of it like morning sickness, is really, really comforting. I'm not sure if that sounds strange but it's so comforting to hold this sadness now. It lets me welcome the sadness, it lets me feel all natural about it.
It's a gift, this sadness. And with our sad we honor our loss. And thinking about it like that, fills me with all sorts of hope.
Needless to say, those were some mangoes.
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