I think about my little boy constantly. He was a little person- he had a personality the first day he arrived in the world. I’ll never forget how awestruck I was the first time I met him. He was just so vividly an individual.

Tom and I received the professional pictures that the hospital arranged to have taken the last night he was with us. They are so beautiful- this is one of my favorites. Even though Tommy Jr was too young to open his eyes, I think in this picture he’s trying to gaze up at his Daddy. And Tom Sr looks so beautiful and serene.

These pictures reminded us how happy we were on his last day. Tom and I are smiling like mad in every picture- we knew the sadness would come crashing in, but that evening we were happy. Seeing our child in pain and being completely unable to help him is the most heart-wrenching, soul-crushing, emotionally crippling thing I’ve ever felt. But that last night, we finally got to comfort him and to bond with him the way parents are supposed to. We are so grateful for that time we had with our son. I know he was grateful for it too.

I thought of something today that always makes me happy: people’s bathroom reading. I love every magazine, book, crossword puzzle and newspaper. I like it better too if they’re on the floor- like someone was just reading right before you came over.

If I go to your house for the first time and you left a People magazine on the floor next to your toilet, we’ll be fast friends. If you left a half-done crossword puzzle and a pen, I’ll try and make us best friends. You should tidy up the rest of your house though, just the first or second time I come over. After that you can just live like you usually do.

There’s just something so carelessly intimate about seeing people’s bathroom reading. Like they’re letting you get to know them better than they normally would- maybe by accident, maybe because of carelessness. Either way you’re in. You know they love rereading Catcher in the Rye or subscribe to Traditional Living regardless of what facade they put on otherwise.

A magazine rack is ok, it’s not as good as something on the floor- but it’s better than nothing. Nothing is suspicious. Nothing makes me think you are eternally worried about what people think of you. I’m pretty worried about what people think of me, but not worried enough to take the reading material off the back of the toilet.

Looking at the reading on the floor of a dear friend’s bathroom and smiling today made me remember for a minute that I’m still here. I’m not the same anymore, but I’m not gone either.

Tom and I went to our first support group meeting last night. It was over two hours long. It was equally helpful and fucking awful. The thing is, I know I’m going to “get through” this. I know I’ll feel better someday.

If I were in danger of closing the drapes and becoming a heroine addict it would’ve have happened already. Plus, Tom won’t let me. Plus I talk on the phone to my mom ten times a day and she’d totally figure it out. Plus, I’m a fucking human for god’s sake. I’m of the species that builds skyscrapers and sends people into outer space. I trust my brain.

The real problem isn’t learning how to get over the loss, it’s coming to terms with the fact that Tommy Jr is gone. Forever. That is not going to change, no matter how sad or happy I act.

That fact explains my current attempts to act out. My boss is concerned because I want to dye my hair blond. She’s intervening by sending me to a fancy hair colorists who will likely talk my out of my big plan.

The truth is I would do anything not to be this person. I would dye my hair, lose 40 pounds, get radical reconstructive surgery and shock treatments and move to New Mexico. I can’t be this person. This person who’s baby died. This person who ruined her little family. Who made her husband a childless father. Who disappointed four of the dearest parents who desperately wanted a grandchild. This person who has saggy breasts and rubs Bio oil on her stretch marks while crying and who still has to wear maternity jeans but has no baby in her arms.

I know I’ll get a lot of comments for writing what I just wrote. I know it’s not logical or factual, it’s just how I feel. I feel like my body ruined our lives.

On a positive note (aren’t you glad you read this far down) I’ve started feeling Tommy around. It happened a couple nights ago, I could just tell he was near. And last night I woke up at 4 a.m. and couldn’t fall back asleep, but I didn’t mind because I could feel him. So I talked to him a little, told him some stories, and smiled a little. You have to take what you can get when some one passes away. If Tommy couldn’t stay here with me, but will visit me once in while in the dark when I’m half asleep…well I’m grateful for that.

Well Tom and I both made it at least for a few hours. I was dreading it, but I wasn’t prepared for how bad it really was. It wasn’t the work part- that’s the easiest part. It wasn’t seeing my co-workers, that was a positive part. It was just being apart from Tom Sr, and being back at the place where it all started. I had to take deep breaths the whole walk to work. Our little office was so haunting and the over-airfreshened air in the bathroom made me burst into fresh tears. I know it’ll be a little easier tomorrow, and it’ll just continue to get a little better everyday.

My motto for this blog (and at my best- in my life) is “Everything will be ok”. I feel so silly about that now. I feel naive for ever saying that, even preaching it, and making little rings that had the motto stamped around them. It makes me want to sneer at myself. I feel bad for thinking that, and for writing it here. But this event in our lives, it will never be ok.

Tom and I will heal, and we’ll move on in a way I think, but Tommy Jr will always be gone. Hopefully someday I’ll reread this and realize some way that it is ok, then I’ll dazzle you all with how much I’ve grow spiritually and emotionally through this joy and trauma.

Right now though, I feel like I’ve changed, and the person I’ve become is my 16 year old self. I’m all fragile and bitter and impatient and self-centered and aggressive- when I’m not sleeping for hours in the middle of the day.

Well it turns out that resuming smoking is going better than I originally thought. I’m not terribly pleased by this but I could’ve done worse by this point.

Tom and I are going to try to go back to work tomorrow. I’m scared.

I’m so scared in fact, that I’ve been looking into reality TV shows as a life alternative. I ruled out Shear Genius and Project Runway, but the Amazing Race and The Alaska Project are still options. We could do them as a couple and it would be slightly less alarming to our families than my other ideas: moving to a hobby farm, doing heroin (just sniffing it, not shooting up), being unemployed.

Work is scary for a lot of reasons, but here are the main ones:

1) I have to go back and sit in the chair that I sat in while I had contractions alone for five fucking hours, pretending that it was anything other than five hours of contractions. While sitting there, I will have to find a non-narcotic way to stop myself from saying (outlet and internally) WHY DIDN’T I JUST GO TO THE HOSPITAL.

2) A big part of my job is calling people and chit-chatting with them. I am very afraid to make small talk with people. I don’t want to scare them by bursting into tears but I don’t want to be weird and refuse to talk about it. I know I should “do what feels right’ but what if I feel differently all the time?

3) I think I will probably slip right back into the routine of it and the next thing I know six months will have gone by. I’m afraid for this to be over. I know that there will never be another time where it’s ok for Tom and I to be home together all day, crying and sleeping and whispering memories.

It’s like the weeks after Tommy was gone, we all still had these weeks of family time. Even though one of us wasn’t physically present. When we go back to work a new thing will be broken. This fragile little ghost family will get burst like a bubble. Soon I’ll be complaining about stupid shit again and trying to lose weight and buying birthday cards.