My Poor Brain

 I have been thinking that I need to blog something. But whenever I think it I get the same reaction from my brain as I do when somebody tells me I should write a book. It sits down on its butt, kinda like a donkey that doesn't wanna go somewhere and brays at the top of its lungs "ABOUT WHAT??!!"

 I guess it's swamped with waves right now. There's a hurricane coming the end of this month and my mind is busy nailing plywood over the windows and doors to try to stay safe. It doesn't seem to accept the fact that the hurricane is actually coming from inside and no amount of plywood is gonna keep it safe.

 I had a bloody meltdown the other day because it was a year ago that we saw Radley safe where he belonged for the last time. Then we got to meet him in person in a way we would rather not meet any of our kids and he wasn't safe anymore. Oh, I thought he was! I thought that the curse was just on the ones inside. I never imagined in my wildest nightmares that one wouldn't be safe OUTSIDE me. I thought it was me.

 I still think it's me. I still think I should have drank more raspberry leaf tea and that would have stopped the abruption from happening. I still think I should have said no IV nutrition, that's what killed my dad. I still think I shouldn't have lifted insulation up to Reece in the rafters. I still think I should have slept on my left side more. I still think he gave up because he thought I abandoned him and I didn't love him anymore. I think I should have argued with the nurses who didn't let me hold him because kangaroo care helps NICU babies so much. I should have been discharged on Tuesday morning instead of afternoon and said to heck with myself healing and resting before I went to see him. I should have sang loudly while they tried to bring him back. I should have had them leave him hooked to the vent while I held him so he maybe could have come back.

 But nobody wants me to think any of that. Nobody wants to allow me to try to turn the clock back. They tell me I did all I could. But I didn't. I could have done so many things differently. They tell me it wouldn't have changed anything. I want to know, HOW. DO. YOU. KNOW. THAT. Because if you got a back door into God's mind and can know this shit for a fact, I want you to send him a message. I want you to tell him something screwed up somewhere and he needs to turn the clock back like he did for Joshua and Gideon. I want a re-take. The first one sucked.

 You guys can tell me till you're blue in the face that none of this is my fault and I'm never gonna believe you. And another thing, I don't want arguing. I want you to just LISTEN and stop trying to fix it and make me feel better. I can only get fixed by what iffing until I can't anymore.

 Nobody in this world can or is gonna stop me until I finish my fight with God on the whys and wherefores of what I did or didn't do and HE tells me himself and knocks it through my head - probably with a 2X4 - that it wasn't me.

 Of course you don't wanna hear my heart smash. But it does, and it is. And it ain't gonna stop being in pieces until God and I finish our battle and I believe what he's saying. LET me what if. It's part of that ever-loving asinine "grieving process" crap. I know it because I've done it before. It starts to sink in after a few years, so let me wallow around in my hurricane and let the waves wash me up on shore and let me get out of the riptide before you tell me the stuff I already know I'll know sometime.

 One last thing, I hate August. And the first half of September. And every 4th and every 31st. And end of October, beginning of November, and July 7th. So if you don't see me or I sound cynical and snarky half the year, that's why. And the rest of the year I'll tell you I'm here. If you ask me how I'm doing and I don't say I'm here it's because I'm not, I'm there and you should probably maybe give me a hug. Because all I want is my baby back.