The blanket.

Yesterday I called the OB clinic to obtain a release to return to work and see if they had acquired a blanket like the one Christopher was cradled in that they had said they would get for me. Today I drug my feet all morning before forcing myself to go pick them up.
I can't explain what that place does to me. Even as I drove into the parking lot it was all so surreal. They gave me the things that I needed, as well as what I have learned to refer to as the "sympathy stare." This is when you just know that people want to say something to acknowledge your loss, but they don't know what to say so they just stare at you or even sometimes (but not today) say something completely off of the wall like "I lost 10 pens last week," which I know happens--I am guilty, too. They were very nice at the office, just very quiet after they learned that I was the one that was there for the blanket.
The last time I went there was not so pleasant. It was 2 weeks after our loss and I had a check up. As I sat in the waiting room I became very aware of everyone around me. One gal was staring in awe at her newly acquired ultrasound pictures. Another couple entered dressed to the 9's with their young son. The man stepped out of the waiting room to accept a phone call while the obviously pregnant mom headed for the restroom, leaving the little boy there with (I assume) his grandma who constantly begged him to sit still and be quiet while she read her magazine. Then the teenage girl walked through the door smelling of smoke with her belly bulging; the look in her face screaming that she had a million places that she'd rather be. There I sat. So empty and missing the excitement that I had felt every time I had been there before. I was grateful that Craig had come along. By the time I got to the exam room and my awesome midwife came in I was losing it. I couldn't even say anything when she asked what we had named our son. The harder I tried to compose myself the faster my tears fell. I wanted more than anything to erase the time between my last visit and then. I wanted another chance to carry my son; to dream, to hope, to feel him there. I eventually did pull myself together and got some answers to some questions that I'd had. As I left that day there was a lingering feeling that life had shorted me. It was completely unfair that my son was gone and that my dream for this child had ended. Why me? What was the plan in all of this?
I can't say that is a feeling I've had a lot in the 4 weeks since then, but sometimes it really bothers me when it happens. So many of our plans for this phase in our lives revolved around this baby joining our family, and each time one of those plans unfolds in a different way than what we had dreamed it is a reminder that life has changed.
Today I have struggled with those feelings again. I think it is partly from receiving the blanket...the last thing that I can collect that reminds us of time spent with Christopher, and I'm sure that a lot of it is because we're facing so much change. We are in contract for our house in Michigan and put our Iowa house on the market last night. I am going back to work on Saturday and wonder what work will entail for me once we move. Recent appointments have led us to a place where we will have to make some decisions. My dad's headstone was set yesterday bringing a new sense of finality to his death. I am overwhelmed with change to the point that at times this life that I'm living doesn't seem like mine at all. I still feel a deep sense of peace most of the time, but sometimes my mind produces questions a little faster than my soul finds peace.
Someday, some way, some how, sometime, this will somewhat make more sense to me. I can't wait until that day. Until then, I'm just thanking God that there are many more days where I'm feeling pretty good than days like this. It's amazing how seeing and holding one little blanket can trigger so much.