Running to Mexico

On January 25th, we ran away. We embraced avoidance, packed our bags and settled into a condo for a couple of weeks of sun and sand in Mexico. 

The trip was a long time coming in some regards. In August while we sat and waited for miscarriage to start in the days after I ruptured, I said to Lee that if the babies died then I wanted a dead baby trip. Morbid, I know, but that's where I'm at (and have been for a while...). In response to others' discomfort with this morbidity the raison d'etre of the trip shifted around over time. He originally agreed to it when I suggested that the trip would not be immediately after the loss, but once we had started to heal. The trip would be a marker: we are still a family, we are surviving this and we will thrive. But, for me, as much as I wanted this to be true, it was always my dead baby trip. It was an easy decision to decide that the trip should take place surrounding my due date. 

I wish that I could write this post and say that it had been healing, that I looked at my husband and living daughter, found thanks and allowed myself to take a step toward moving on. In reality, Maggie and Patrick were on my mind more often than at home. I wanted so much to be distracted and often actively tried to put them from my mind, swallowing tears and forcing myself to admire the beach and ocean instead. We filled our days with swimming, exploring, meals and visits with Lee's parents who were in the same area. But tears were never far, nor their memory.

We ran all the way to Mexico to avoid sadness, triggers... I left behind their photos, their blankets... their ashes - those tiny tokens that I hope give reality to their tiny lives..... I hoped that leaving them behind and a change in venue would give me a break. But, the truth is, Maggie and Patrick are dead in Mexico too. They are dead. That follows me; it's in me. It's that pull in my chest. It's that truth that still stops me when I laugh or try to joke. I am just not ready to be happy or to be okay. So, I wrote their names in the sand, I cried when my mother-in-law tried to take a 'family' photo - because what kind of family do I have? I broken one. One that is missing two people... 

What did I gain in Mexico? I did enjoy the distractions we chose. And I always appreciate a break from the snow. I had time to sit and snuggle with my family (what remains of it). I began to think about who I am now; I have not wholly learned the answer to that question, but I know that I am not and cannot be that person I once was. For now, I notice that I am missing my ability to feel care-free, happiness-embracing, social... I certainly learned that there is no escaping the awfulness of grief and child loss. No distraction would be big or bright enough to ease that piece of me and my story. Thanks for trying though, Mexico.