I don't have a picture for Day 7. I think that's why I am behind on my posts. I wracked my brain trying to come up with something that would symbolize where I am now, photographically. Alas, I am not that artsy.
I don't cry every day, or even every week. I miss my daughter, but I have accepted that she is in heaven, and I will see her when I go there. There are certain situations, however, that I have a difficult time handling. Being around pregnant people who are talking about their pregnancy, blissfully unaware of what has happened to me, and tens of thousands of other women, is one of them. It happened this week at music class. I somehow found myself in a conversation with 2 pregnant women who were asking each other all kinds of questions about their pregnancies. I thought about saying something about my latest pregnancy, then realized they would not want to hear about it, due to the outcome. I felt alone. I felt sad. I wanted to get out of there as fast as I could. I walked away, but didn't leave. As I looked for someone else to go and talk to, there was no one that wasn't with someone else who was pregnant. So I stood with Joey. We stayed for the class, but left immediately after. I cried all the way home.
I am trying to give myself a break, but get back to really being a mom who is present with Joey and who is taking care of all my responsibilities at home. Some days I succeed, some days I don't, but the successful days are starting to outnumber the unsuccessful ones.
I struggle with how or when to say I have 2 children. We go to a parenting class on Sunday morning at church, and someone always asks us, "How old are your kids"? I say, "Joey is 2", and that's all. And I hate it, but I don't think people really do care. They don't want to be uncomfortable. They don't know what to say. When I go to mom's group during the week, we have "conversation tables" with some of the other ladies at church who are in a different study. We always go around and say something about ourselves, and it always involves how many kids we have. I say Joey is 2 and Harper lives in heaven. And there is never any reaction. But, no one really comments on anyone else's introduction, either, so maybe I shouldn't expect anyone to comment on mine.
All in all, I know this: I am forever changed. I will never be the same. The "old Wendy" is gone. More importantly, I am loved by an almighty God who has carried me through the most horrible thing that can ever happen to a parent. I was blessed with a supernatural peace when having to go through laboring and delivering my dead baby. I still don't know how I did it, and did it so calmly. All glory goes to Him.