skeletal days

The last many days have been sort of numb for me. Sadness and sickness have visited our house. K has a head cold and my immune system is fighting it off with all of its might, but I still have a sticky pressure building in my face and it makes me tired and crotchety.

I think I’ve finally entered the non-hormonal phase of grieving this pregnancy loss. On Saturday, I cried as I drove to a meeting in Lansing. Yesterday, I cried, again, as I drove to another meeting in Lansing. My tears were wet and slippery and just kept sliding from the corners of my eyes. There was not much thought behind the tears, just sadness and a sense of loss.

After I returned home from Lansing yesterday, I went to the metro park for a bicycle ride. I rode fast and hard and tried to empty my mind of everything. I tried to focus on the pumping of my heart and the strength of my leg muscles pulling and pushing the pedals and the sweat seeping from my ever-turning-more-gray head.

And now, I’ll go on with this seemingly skeletal day. My bones feel evermore exposed and while I find promise in the birds’ songs and the green things ever so slightly surfacing from beneath the cold, brown dirt, I am simply tired.

I do not want to weigh the future or its possibilities or lack of possibilities in my head anymore. I do not want to dream about tomorrow or a better day. I do not want to think about much of anything or do anything much but use my body to get places where I have to be and then just be there.

And at the same time, I want more than anything to just not give a fuck. To be care free and hopeful. To smile with ferocity and laugh with sincerity. To fill up these empty parts and be a greater force of love in this frustrating time. To create my own, new skin again and again and lose it with dignity again and again and regrow it stronger and thicker again and again on these hard bones of mine.