And then the monster rises again.

*Note: After the shock and the hurt died down, I curled up in bed with his blankies and cuddled and smelled them and had gratitude that I got some part of him back again, if only for a short time.

The irony of grief is that it is often caused by death and yet IT never seems to die.

I was having a good day.

Until I wasn’t.

Despite a late night, I woke up before 4 am this morning.

I lay in bed curled on my side, feeling my little baby kick and squirm inside me and just let the million thoughts that I usually have running through my head play out and keep me company. Soon, the black shadows of the night started to give way to the midnight blue of early morning.

It made me think about Matthew.

Matthew always took his early morning feeding right when the light started to change. It has always been a melancholy time of day for me and often as I would sit nursing him I would rock his sweet body and feel happy that I had such great company to make it seem less gloomy.

After he died I would wake up automatically that time of the morning surrounded in cold, blue light and I would squeeze my eyes tightly shut, put my hands over my ears and curl in the tiniest ball I could and sob. Like if I did those things I could block out the waves of pain and loneliness that often felt like a physical assault. It’s been a long time since I’ve done that, but I do still think of him in those hours.  I think about him all the time. Still, being 5 years into loss means that I can pick myself up and have a good, if not great day after the morning memories.

Like today.  It was good. I took a long nap to make up for the early morning and had THE best sandwich and soda delivered by my amazing friend, Michelle (Seriously, she is the best, people. And funny. And with really great hair.)  I felt a burst of nesting energy and got dishes done, cleaned, did some laundry and Twittered average things like this:

After I updated this the dryer alarm went off.  I finished all the laundry in the house and it occurred to me that I needed to wash the baby blankets of Matthew’s that we are going to use for Baby Aaron. We didn’t want to use any of his clothing, but we both felt that reusing his soft little blankies would be ok.

So, I dug out the tub marked “blankets”, hauled it upstairs and opened it.  It hadn’t been opened since we packed it away five years ago. Everything was in a plastic space bag. I put the tub on my bed, released the suction valve and opened the bag.

And it hit me.

THE SMELL.

It smelled like Matthew.

Exactly like him-my sweet, red-headed baby boy.

Like he was right there nuzzling into my neck, making his sweet little noises and sucking on his green pacifier. Baby smell. The best smell in the world. Until your baby is dead and that smell on a blanket is all that is left of them.

The feeling that hit me were so intense I stumbled backward. Tears poured down my face and I felt like I was in the TV series “Chuck” when he “flashes” on something. Hundreds of images of my baby, my family, my friends, sweet images, horrifying images, my feelings, my joy, my pain…I was so overwhelmed I couldn’t breathe.

I felt like my heart was going to explode.

Hearts are funny things-they keep insisting on beating even when you are in so much pain you feel like it should kill you. Mine has been destroyed so many times you would think that there wouldn’t be anything left to explode by now. And yet? There always is.

All I could do in that moment was cry and IM my husband. He told me he was sorry but he was also at work. So, I twittered to try and get some of it OUT.

(And you internet people? Give the best virtual hugs in the world. I can’t thank you enough.)

Then I curled up on my bed and squeezed my eyes shut and put my hands over my ears and cried and rocked until I could breathe easier.

You’d think after so many years I would handle moments like this better.

Lately my thoughts have taken on a vividness and recollection that has not happened in years. I think there are many reasons for this. The loss of two sweet babies in our little internet world has stirred many feelings and memories. I feel helpless and vulnerable about many situations in my life. SO many things have changed and it has left me feeling like I’m sitting in a stormy lake on a boat with no oars.

I’m also entering what I call “The Triumverat”: Mother’s Day, Memorial Day and Matthew’s birthday.  It is a time of grieving suck second only to his anniversary in September. And I’m pregnant with almost the exact timing I was with Matthew. Matthew was born on June 7th.  I am due on June 3rd. I AM SO GRATEFUL AND HAPPY FOR THIS BABY. I KNOW HE IS COMING AND IT HELPS. But the feelings and memories coupled with time of year have been hard on me. They will be the same age. My baby will be the same age Matthew was on his anniversary this year.

I can’t think about it often. It freaks me out.

I actually feel a big weight has lifted with this Mother’s Day because of baby Aaron. I worry about the other two events but when I think about Mother’s Day I’m happier this year. It’s easier and feels lighter and much more joyous. AND I HAVE SUCH GUILT ABOUT THAT. I know I shouldn’t, but there is a part of me that thinks I SHOULD hurt forever. Because Matthew is dead.  It should hurt forever and ever, AMEN. (I’ve been working on that but it is a hard habit to break.)

I have a naturally goodnatured disposition full of laughter and hilarity. I LOVE to have a good time. But underneath I am just worn down and pushed over the edge emotionally at this point with worry. I know I am battling a huge, huge and scary depression. I walk a very fine line with it many days. My head goes to places I never wanted to (and never thought I would) go again. Add constant health problems. Wacked out hormones. Insurance suck. Finances. Relationship suck and realizations. Rejections. Being scared to death of the actual delivery. Trying to get this kid through the first year without him dying on me.

It’s a lot to muck through and I feel like it has all eaten me alive slowly over these months.

I’ve tried to be pro-active. To do what I can to help the situation. I’ve tried bluntly asking for things I think would help but let’s just say it hasn’t worked out so well. It’s been such a hurt that I’m done doing it.

I just have to cope the best I can. Be grateful for friends and family and what I have. Hope that it gets better. Write a blog post and pour my heart out to random internet people to lessen some of this godawful load I feel despite knowing I am coming off as the biggest psycho depressive fear-monger on the planet.

I pray that there is no post partum depression so that I can let the joy of this baby help me. That love can ebb some of this hurt away. Combat some of this deep, horrible, old grief and fear.

I guess that the only way I can do that it is to realize that along with the grief that never seems to end, the good things never die, either. The joy of what Matthew was, and what he continues to be to me and my family. I just have to try to focus on that and find comfort about my other worries any way that I can.

Still…I think it is going to be one hell of a long, lonely night.