You know what I hate? The blah days. The ones that aren’t crap by any stretch of the imagination – I’m not bawling, I’m not going out of my mind. But it’s definitely not good either. I just feel blah. (I blame the weather; it’s been raining and grey, and I always feel depressed when it’s like this.) There’s really not much to say. At least when I’m feeling emotionally miserable I have things to write about. I find myself going from forum to forum, reading and not posting. That is so not like me.

I really hate the waiting. I have never been a patient person in the best of times… and these are not the best of times. When I was pregnant every week was a week closer, every week brought new physical changes, every week was new. When I was doing IVF the cycle had a schedule, medications to track, hospital visits to make. But this waiting, it sucks. Not only am I waiting for my period, but I don’t even know when it is coming.

I have to say, I am a little irritated with my husband lately because he is doing far better than I am. I mean, it’s good that he’s doing well, don’t get me wrong – I was really worried about him for a while, worried about how losing our son would weigh him down. I had this whole post half-written in my head about how he’s been dealing with things, how he hurts, how he finally gets the frustration and jealousy I felt all the time during infertility towards those who have babies easily. And then one day he says to me out of the blue, “You know, I’m over that whole jealousy thing. Other peoples’ success doesn’t affect us.” And that was that in his head. Oh he’s still sad, he’ll forver hurt for what we’ve lost. But now he’s being irritatingly positive about the future. He gives me little pep talks about how it’ll happen for us again, and how we can’t let the loss of Devin prevent us from enjoying the rest of our lives. He’s right. Sure. But damnit, some nights I don’t want to be positive. I know he’s nervous about me relapsing in my depression, and unfortunately for him it’s not always easy to tell the difference between a bad day and depression. When I get upset I can see the look of worry in him, the nervousness that maybe this time I won’t come out of it. I just hope he can trust me enough to rant and rail when I need to. Even if I need to pull out Devin’s things and weep for a while. Sometimes I just feel like I’m stuck at a halfway point and I can’t move forward until I face things from the past.

I’ve been thinking a lot about my future pregnancy, whenever it may happen. I think the possible ovuation pains got me thinking about it in a more real way instead of a hypothetical way. It’s scary as much as comforting. There is more worry beyond all the worries about the pregnancy itself, the very real fear that something will go wrong again. Like I thought what if I do get pregnant soonish, when I’m still in the midst of grief. Won’t that take away from the pregnancy? Doesn’t my second child deserve more than that? Then I think about that second child and I’m just overwhelmed by a [stupid, irrational] fear that somehow the second one won’t measure up to Devin. I had this image of Devin, of what he would be, and he will always be perfect in my head; what if the next kid just isn’t good enough? Will I be able to treasure the next child like I did Devin? For some reason I think my next one is going to be a girl. And I feel disappointed by that thought – and then overwhelmingly guilty for being disappointed. I wanted a boy, I got so used to the idea of having a boy, so proud of being a boy-mama… I’m brutally honest here: I’m terrified that I won’t be a good enough mom to my next baby, that losing Devin has taken away something from me that I won’t be able to find again.

When I think about my fears in an objective way I realize they’re the same ones that people having their second child have, the very simple fear that you won’t love the second one the way you love the first one. And yet somehow everyone does. And the fears about it being a girl, well, it might very well be a boy, and that brings with it its own set of issues. I just have to trust that somehow, when it happens, it will all feel right. Just like how I struggled at first with Devin being a boy, but I came to embrace it, love it. Whatever or whoever my next child is, I will adapt.

I’ve been thinking more about asking my primary care doctor to set me up with a therapist/psychologist. I didn’t feel I needed one until last week. When that numbness went away, well, things have been feeling harder. Like all the fears, like dealing with SIL’s pregnancy, like my hubby dealing better than I am. Now I didn’t have much luck the last time I saw a therapist (when I was first diagnosed) – I felt like I was politely explaining things to a stranger. I didn’t get a whole lot of feedback and I certainly didn’t feel like I walked out of our sessions any better than I walked in. Maybe it was just a bad match, I don’t know. Maybe my writing and online support groups are just more my style – writing has always been easier for me than talking.

The other issue is that I’m a little concerned about money. There’s the chiroprator (whom I still haven’t gone back to see since Devin died), the dentist (I have an appointment tomorrow and I know I will be needing work on my teeth in the future, not all of which is covered), and then a therapist? Not to mention when I get pregnant again I’ll be seeing the same midwives at the hospital which of course has that lovely additional co-pay for “outpatient services” tacked on to every single damn visit. I know my health is important and I’m trying to do everything I can, but damnit, the US system really makes you not want to take care of yourself proactively.

So yeah, dentist appointment tomorrow afternoon. Just the initial intake x-rays and history, next week is my oral exam with the dentist herself. I finally got added to Den’s insurance, but I have my doubts as to when it’ll kick in so we may be shit out of luck for tomorrow’s visit – but I really can’t put this off any longer. My teeth are still hurting and I need to get everything taken care of before I get pregnant. I may have some cavaties to get filled (I haven’t seen a dentist in 4 years, I’ll be shocked if there’s nothing wrong), and I’m willing to bet they’re going to want to remove my wisdom teeth (yep, still have all four of them) – the idea of getting them remove always made me freak the hell out (did I mention I severely dislike dentists?), but after losing Devin… well, removing some wisdom teeth doesn’t sound quite so scary anymore. And I can see the problems it’s causing in my jaw, too. Sigh.

I have to say though, when the numbness left me so did the desire to take care of my body. I have had very little appetite for a week… I can eat if there’s food in front of me, but the actual desire to eat is null and void. I really have to force myself to get something out of the kitchen or I will go an entire day eating just a granola bar and bowl of cereal. I have little energy for exercising, eating, showering… and when I think about the things I ought to do there’s that voice in my head that says, “Why bother?” And some days I just can’t come up with a good enough answer.

Writing this down so I have a record… I’m getting some little bit of pain in my lower left side. Ovary pain? Maybe I’m ovulating??

I’ve been doing some reading lately and one of the things I’ve come across is this: When A Child Dies 2006 Survey, by The Compassionate Friends. It’s an interesting read overall, but the most interesting part to me was this finding:

I am certainly finding this to be true. My relationship with Den has always been a very close one, though it hasn’t always been without its issues. But there is no time in the past that I felt as close to him as I do now.

Another article I found was this one on expectations of your grief by the Sudden Infant Death Services of Illinois. I found myself checking items off in my head as I read through them.

Like grieving of things symbolic. The loss of dreams. The identity confusion.

The loss of a child is so much about the symbolism that changes: my first child; my mental image of this family; my concept of motherhood. My expectations of life involved these things in a certain, specific way. Everything changed when he died. I have had to adjust to a whole new future, and all of these things now have different meanings. It did not evolve naturally over time like life generally does… my image of motherhood did not adapt to trial and error, did not grow as my experience grew. It all changed in an instant. A clap of thunder, a flash of lightening, and everything in my life was scrambled and I was spit back out into a totally new landscape.

I do feel that someday I’ll get used to this new role. Someday it won’t feel so raw, I won’t feel like I’m still spinning. I’m willing to bet that after time even such huge losses as this fades into your history. It becomes a part of who you are, woven into your timeline. It really does change your identity. Right now I can look back and see who I used to be just over that hill, and it’s very disorienting. I’m just waiting to grow into it. I’m waiting for everything to sort itself out.

After yesterday’s disaster I woke up this morning feeling quite well, really. Of course I woke up mentally preparing myself for the baby shower, but I wasn’t dreading it or anything. I felt determination more than anything. I was going, and I was going to do fine. I left a little late, but figured getting there late wouldn’t be a horrible idea anyways. Honestly it went exactly as I expected it to – just fine.

I walked in and saw Den’s step-MIL and family sitting with some of our friends. I ended up just sitting there so I didn’t have to search the room (there were 60-ish people there, very large room) for the other side of the family. MIL found me, she gave me a hug and told me she was glad I made it. I told her I’d join their table after we ate. I felt that up and moving tables after I’d sat down would be rude… I mean, both tables had some of Den’s family.

Pregnant SIL did come up and give me a big hug. She looked really wonderful. A sad pang for me, but I had my shower so in a way I was remembering good times instead of thinking about what I won’t have.

We ate breakfast foods from a buffet, oh it was good. I love breakfasts! Step-MIL and the two girlfriends are all really nice and have been very understanding, so it was all very good. We all just chatted about random things. I was doing quite well until one of the friends started talking about her son (2 years old). This friend, well, she’s a nice enough person. I have found, however, that she is not someone I can stand being around when I am dealing with infertility or loss. I basically avoided contact during the latter half of my infertility to avoid idiotic comments, and I’m finding myself having to avoid her again now. It’s not that she’s intentionally mean… she’s simply completely emotionally clueless. She doesn’t “get” emotion. She started talking about her son yet again, involving long funny stories about the cutsies about little boys and how awesome sons are… etc. Uhh yeah. It’s just like, hello?? Remember me? Just lost my son, thanks.

But the timing was perfect, we had just finished eating, so I politely excused myself and went over to the other table where MIL was sitting. As I was heading over SIL’s mom (yes I know, there are too many moms and too many acronyms) saw me and jumped up from her table to give me a very tight hug and said she was glad I came. Then I sat and chatted with Den’s family a little bit about this and that.

Then SIL started opening presents. And that’s when it started getting hairy… just like I expected. My very first reaction when she pulled out some cutsie infant girl dresses was, Whew, it’s girl stuff. I have a lot easier time dealing with girl clothes. But after a couple of minutes and more cute outfits I started thinking about her baby and my baby and I knew that was my cue to hit the road. And you’ll be pleased to know I did excuse myself right then, I didn’t sit around waiting. I gave hugs and was quickly on my way.

MIL walked me to my car. When we were outside she said to me that she’s so proud of me and she loves me and that if she could she’d do anything to make this better… how very much she wishes she could take all the hurt away and somehow fix this. She said she knows that it will take a long time for us to stop hurting, that we will probably never stop hurting. We were both crying. The words fumbled here and there, but I knew exactly what she was trying to say. We hugged tightly and she sent me on my way with a, “Drive safe, okay?”

I am so incredibly thankful, so very thankful, for the family that we both have. Almost everyone has been so very supportive and understanding. Last night when I pulled out the invite for SIL’s baby shower I re-read what her mom had written in it. It said, paraphrased, “I’m sending this to you so as to not leave you out. We completely understand if you don’t come. No need to RSVP, just show up if you feel up to it.” And honestly I think that was just about perfect. If I hadn’t gotten an invite I probably would have felt left out; if I had gotten a normal invite I may have wondered if people expected me to be back to normal. But her handwritten note expressed exactly what I needed to hear. Den’s family has been right there for me, letting me know that they’re there to support me and that they understand if I can’t handle anything. Somehow they’ve managed to get just the right balance of normal conversation and including us in life without ever making it sound like they’re forgetting about Devin or the grief we face. And I know that is the reason I was able to go to this baby shower today. I was surrounded people who understood, who cared, and who didn’t mind crying with me. How much easier grief is when you don’t have to try to be something you’re not.

I’m a little sad that I didn’t get to see all SIL’s gifts, though. I’ll have to ask SIL if I can go over one evening and have her show me everything. Even if I cry, that’s okay. Sometimes crying is the only way to get through something… and crying and getting through it is a lot better than hiding from it forever.

I ended up coming home and working on Devin’s scrapbook all day. I worked on my baby shower photos. It was productive… a little sad for me to stare at the pregnant-me photos, I found myself drifting off in memory and just sort of… staring. Letting the sadness just flow through me like a stream. I didn’t fight it, I didn’t jump into it, I just… let it drift through as it wanted to. I thought about how everything of Devin’s, every memory, every trinket, will all fit into one scrapbook. There will be no pregnancy scrapbook, then first year, and so on. His whole life, in one book. And then it’s over.

Yesterday was somewhat of a disaster. We were out for the evening, a night with family to watch a band play, and, as they say, all roads lead to rome. In this case “rome” was me sitting in the hallway, crying. In some ways it’s fairly inevitable. I was just thinking about Devin a lot and feeling a little “off.” I just haven’t been doing so well lately without my numbness. It’s so hard to enjoy other things in life when you have this huge weight sitting on your chest.

But what really got me was the unfortunate event of Den losing his wedding band last night. Like I said to MIL afterwards, it’s not like I blame him, and it’s just a band, it’s not really that big a deal… but on top of everything else I just feel like I can’t take any more in my life. I was just sitting there as everyone looked for it thinking, you have to be effing kidding me. This, too?

Thankfully the ring was found by the end of the night, but not after I gave in to a meltdown. In fact, it was me giving in to my meltdown that ended up leading to the return of the ring. I picked a corner of the hallway to sink into a tall wing-back chair and hope no one really noticed me. Den ended up coming to get me (though not before sending SIL to the bathroom, “violating every woman in there,” in her words, to try to find me). It was there as I was looking at Den crouching beside my chair, my vision blurred with tears as I tried to compose myself, that I saw the ring laying in the middle of the hallway behind him.

Last night I was having a really hard time with not being pregnant. It occurs to me that I would probably feel this way even if Devin were here… I miss being pregnant so very, very much. I loved being pregnant. I loved going out with my big belly, I loved people commenting, asking about the baby… I really did feel that glow people mention, I felt just so so very happy in my body. I miss that just as much as anything else. The loss of Devin just makes it so much worse, because I have nothing to make up for that loss of pregnancy. Maybe it’s good, in the grand scheme of things, that I can’t get pregnant easily.

I am attempting to go to this baby shower today. I have no idea how it’s going to go. If I end up getting upset I am just leaving. But there’s a chance I could be okay. So we’ll see. It’s easier if I focus on the fact that I will be pregnant again…. maybe soon. That keeps me going.

I stumbled across buddhaweb today. The four noble truths of Buddhism:
1. Suffering exists
2. Suffering arises from attachment to desires
3. Suffering ceases when attachment to desire ceases
4. Freedom from suffering is possible by practicing the Eightfold Path

That resonated with me: Suffering arises from attachment to desires. We grow attached to this idea of a baby, all through a pregnancy this attachment grows. The future lays out before us and it worms its way into our hearts. We make plans for this child, we wonder what he will grow up to do, to be. We plan our life around what will be, not what is.

And then it is all gone. And we suffer, because everything we thought we had, everything we planned, everything we desired… is gone.

::

Yesterday wasn’t a bad day. I was productive, I was active. But I realized I still can’t view anything baby… reading friends’ journals about babies makes me feel panicky. Every time there was a spare moment, a silence, my mind drifted right back to Devin. And it hurt.

I realized the bubble is gone… that lovely bubble of numbness that I’ve been walking around in. It’s no longer there. Now instead of feeling numb I feel this constant ache.

Others have said that it gets worse before it gets better. I guess they’re right.

One thing I forgot to mention was that I also asked the midwife about Devin’s size. He weighed only 4lb 10.5oz at nearly 36 weeks gestation and we thought that seemed rather small. But the midwife said that he would have been around 6.5 lbs at full term, which is completely normal. I guess it’s just a lot smaller than what I was expecting. It seems that he was a smaller baby. I always just figured I’d have a bigger baby… not sure why.

It’s been a rough day. Just… rough. I was snappish with the dogs all day, blowing my top every time they barked (which is frequently, since with the windows all open they are hearing and reacting to every. little. sound). I nearly threw a fit because the floors are dirty and I just can’t stand the feel of dirt under my feet. I wasn’t even feeling very cuddly with Den (until we went to bed, then I was fine).

I just can’t stop thinking about Devin. All day, every minute, I’ve been thinking about him. And not in that fond-memory kind of way, in the I-can’t-believe-this-got-taken-from-us way. I saw a baby on a commercial and could barely breathe. I stared, fixated on the little baby arms and thinking about babies dressed in a onesies and oh god it just broke my heart all over again. Getting through the day feels like swimming through sludge. I can’t see ahead of me, I can’t breathe, and moving takes do much damn effort.

Sometimes I try rationalizing it. I think about it philosophically. What I wrote yesterday is true in a physical sense: we’re pretty much where we were before. Before we got pregnant we were infertile, not pregnant, and didn’t have a baby. Now we’re most likely still infertile, not pregnant, and don’t have a baby. If I had never gotten pregnant I wouldn’t have this huge hole in my heart, not like this. I would be mourning the fact that we don’t have a baby still, but I wouldn’t be bogged down with thoughts of this one baby. And I guess a part of me just can’t quite understand why it hurts so damn much. We didn’t know him, other than the kicks he gave. How could he possibly be the “perfect” baby? Won’t our next one be just as perfect? Aren’t the what-ifs just caused by my own mind?

And yes, some days I just want to run away from it all. I want to shut off that part of my brain and go back to my old life, the life of the Natalie who didn’t hurt all the damn time. But then I realize what I wished for and I feel guilty, so very guilty. I never want to forget, but how can you move on when you’re clinging to what should have been? I’m still trying to dis-entangle it all.

I’m trying to avoid all things baby right now. Even friends. I just can’t handle any cute pictures or stories. Not today. If the baby shower were today I would definitely not be going. But it’s not until Sunday (I thought it was Saturday, I was wrong), so I’ll see how I feel then. The moods really seem to swing pretty heavy from day to day… there is no predicting.

I finally booked my first dentist appointment for next week. I have put off going to the dentist for years now, but they’re hurting so bad right now… I’m still majorly clenching my jaw, and I know I am. I do it all day long and I have to keep mentally reminding myself to cut it out – a lot of times I don’t notice until it’s hurting. Plus my teeth in general, I know they need to be taken care of. I told my boss that I’m in a bad spot emotionally, so I’m trying to take care of myself physically. I want to get things taken care of before I get pregnant again… start off on the right foot, I guess.

Saturday is my SIL’s baby shower. I have very mixed feelings about it.

On one hand I really want to be there. I mentioned before how getting closer to her and the baby makes it easier on me than just standing back and staring and wondering and thinking. Being involved in my neice’s life is I think going to be very important to both Den and I.

On the other hand I really don’t know if I’m going to be able to handle it emotionally. All the people talking about babies and “when the baby comes home”…. I don’t know, I just don’t know. I also worry that my being there will dampen the mood. Knowing the family, people will be gentle around me – not tip-toeing, but aware. And maybe it’s better if I just weren’t there and let everyone celebrate honestly, because she needs to be celebrated.

I have let SIL know that I hope to show up and will leave when I feel overwhelmed. She understands completely. I’m kind of leaving it to the last minute, because I never know how I’ll feel until the day dawns. Some days are good, some days aren’t so much.

I just hate that all of this is in the way. In the way of SIL and my relationship, in the way of happiness, in the way of moving forward. I hate that every little event now requires careful planning and emotional fortifying. I just get so pissed off that this is what life has dealt us.

::

Today was my 6-week post-partum appointment (though it’s been nearly 7 weeks). I checked in and the receptionist asked me how I was doing, how I was holding up. I did have to sit in the waiting room for a few brief minutes, but I was okay with it. I just steadfastly stared at the TV and the fish, avoiding looking at any of the women in the room.

The nurse took me in back apologising for making me wait a few minutes. She took my blood pressure (110/77) and weight (147.8) – though not before asking me if I was okay with getting my weight taken. I was quickly shown into a room. Then the nurse asked me if it was okay if she asked me a few questions, and told me to stop if I felt I couldn’t handle it. She asked me when the baby was born, how much he weighed, what his name was. I just smiled. I’m never upset to talk about my baby.

The midwife came in right away. It was the same midwife with whom I had the appointment that day, March 6. She was there when I found out Devin had died – she’s the one who sat with me all day, who made sure I had everything I needed, who listened when I talked and hugged me when I cried. I’m glad they arranged for me to see her today.

She asked me how I was doing and I talked. I talked a lot, actually. Once in a while I would stop and wonder if I should just shut up now, but she was so quiet, just nodding, and she seemed in no hurry to leave. So I kept talking. I did start crying a little bit at one point, talking about how beautiful my labor was, how thankful I was for it, how Devin gave me that. She said with a small smile, “He gave you much more than that, I’m sure.”

I told her that we want to start TTC right away. She said ideally my body would heal a bit first, but in our case she “isn’t going to tell [us] to use protection.” They seem to understand that between our emotional need to be pregnant again and our previous fertility problems that waiting would not be beneficial, so we take what we get. Chances are very good that my body will have at least a couple more months of healing before anything happens… or before we head to the RE again.

I asked what would happen during a subsequent pregnancy. She said that since it’s a non-recurring issue that there’s no need to talk to a genetic counselor or have any increased monitoring… nor any reason I would be unable to continue seeing them. (As a Midwife group they have to hand off any patient who is high risk.) I mentioned that I really feel that I’m going to be paranoid as hell, like in the first tri when we won’t be able to hear anything by doppler yet. She said that my feeling panicked is a good enough reason for them to give me an early ultrasound, and that if a month between appointments is too much for me then they can do them more frequently if I want. So basically it sounds like I’ll be calling the shots, and they’ll do whatever they can to get me through it, even if, scientifically speaking, there’s no risk factors that call for increased monitoring. She also mentioned in passing that they would completely understand if I decided to go to a different care provider next time because of bad memories or whatnot. I explained to her that I’ve had the opposite reaction… I felt I had such good care of me and Devin and I really feel that I need to stay with them next time (even though I had somewhat planned to go back to my old Midwife after this pregnancy was over).

I have a lot of questions about what happened to him, about the amniotic bands, but that is something I’ll have to bring up with the peri when we see him on May 1 (the one who called us with the autopsy results).

It was very strange walking out of there, knowing that was the last time I’ll see them until my annual pap in September… or my next pregnancy. It’s another indication of that chapter closing. No longer pregnant. It’s like I took an 8-month daydream out of my old life – a crazy, wonderful dream – and now I’m back again. I’m right back where I started, wondering if what I remember really happened. My body is healed, the pets are the same as always, I’m back to work… all I have is a tree blooming in my front yard, some boxes stored in the basement, and memories that fade a little more each day.

I am feeling a lot calmer after some tears and angry writing and a few hours at work. Still struggling with the frustation and anger and a good dose of helplessness, but I’m trying to just breathe and stay calm and see the positives here.

A good part of my panic and frustration was because I immediately recognized that, while it would be physically possible to replace the tree, I just can’t do it emotionally. Entertaining the thought makes me feel incredibly guilty and panicky. For better or worse I have invested my feelings towards my son in this tree; from the moment we brought it home it was Devin’s tree. Replacing it would feel like such a betrayal… it would just be wrong in my heart. Even saying “it’s the wrong tree” sounds terrible.

I guess that’s why I was so upset. I realized early on, when we were selecting a tree, that it would be important and not something we could change (though I don’t think I knew it would be this bad). So this morning when I stood there staring at that one white bloom all my panic overwhelmed me as I realized it was too late. Too late to change my mind, too late to fix things. My OCD need for everything to be perfect, a need that is especially strong when it comes to anything for Devin, was overwhelming. I had to fight the urge to rip the bloom off the tree in anger, like ripping a page out of my diary after I mis-spelled a word. It’s not right, it’s not right, it’s not right. My son died, shattering my belief that anything in this world would ever be right again, and yet here I am having a panic attack because the tree is the wrong color… still clinging to an attempt to make things right again.

I’m really really trying hard to reason my way through my OCD. The tree isn’t perfect – but neither would Devin have been. He would have had flaws, he would have acted out, he would have made choices that I didn’t agree with. I tell myself it’s okay that the tree isn’t the way I envisioned it, that the tree is for Devin, not for me – it is how it is supposed to be. And I need to find a way to find the beauty in what it is, not what it was in my head. I lean on my photography, in a way – photography, in my eyes, is not about changing the object, it’s in finding a beautiful way to look at it. Anything can be beautiful if you look at it through the right lens, the right angle, the right lighting. So I put myself behind my lens and find the beauty in this tree.

Today is going to be a rough day. Why do I know this? Because I am about two seconds away from an utter meltdown.

It’s the tree, Devin’s tree. I went out to look at it again – the bloom has opened up – and it looks nothing like the typical cherry blossom bloom that I expected/wanted. I am irrationally angry and upset by this. We picked out a cherry tree, I wanted a cherry tree, the kind with those gorgeous pink and white blooms. But Den insisted he wanted a fruit bearing tree, it was important to him so that’s what we went with. We tried hard to find out what it would look like in bloom, but we couldn’t find even ONE photo of a Danube cherry tree in bloom. Nothing. Den tried reassuring me, but damnit I should have thrown on the brakes right there. We ended up picking out out a cherry tree based on the type of fruit it gives, its shape and the color of its bark. And now, now it’s blooming and it doesn’t look right. This is not the tree I expected. I’ve been so freaking excited and pleased with this tree until that bloom opened, and then it was like a slap in the face. I’m practically hysterical and I just want to yell at Den for getting the wrong goddamn tree.

And now there’s nothing we can do about it!!! This tree has been bought and planted. It’s Devin’s tree, it has been for weeks now. We can’t take it down or replace it. We can’t plant a new one. This is his tree now. And for the rest of my life I have to look at the wrong damn blooms!

Insult on top of injury…. I don’t have my son and now I don’t even have the right freaking tree. I am so damn angry right now there are no words. I just want to crawl into bed and bawl for a good long time, but I have to go to work.