My husband and I got in a heated discussion last night about how I'm dealing with losing my little girl.
He thinks I'm (dare I say) enjoying marinating in this stew of depression and hormones. That Emily with something to complain about is Emily fulfilled.
And having Leila's pictures in front of me, and blogging about my feelings, and talking about the situation are walls in between here and normal.
I can't erase her existence, that's my argument. I enjoy looking at those beautiful pictures. I can't help the feelings I have, but it really does help me to put those feelings into words. This is my therapy.
I finally understand those parting words from our nurse. "Don't let this get between you." I can see where that would be a problem. Probably not for us, because I'm pretty adept at repressing myself around my husband, but I get it now.
I don't want to be two separate people. The exuberant one who smiles and cooks and takes care of my boys, and the darker, brooding type who blogs under the cover of night.
But I don't see any other options right now. I've basically been handed my walking papers for grieving. I've been given notice that he's going to stop tiptoeing around me. Time to put up or shut up.