Today your Daddy wants to take me out. That involves effort. I have to take a shower and get dressed presentably, not just in my nightgown. I have to put my hair up. I have to put makeup on. I’m going to do it for him. Even if I can’t stop feeling like the entire world is over for me, I can at least let him think that he is helping. He has invited his friends from school, and even though I like them, I’m not sure that I can face them. I don’t know if I can stand their sympathetic looks and shallow words of condolence. I just don’t know. I’m trying to keep up appearances for the rest of the world–like I’m normal and sane and not batshit crazy. On the inside, I am totally batshit crazy. Seeing pregnant women causes me literal pain–not like it hurts my feelings, but literal, chest-crushing pain. I am jealous of them–they are still in that naive place where they don’t believe that their pregnancy can go South in the blink of an eye. They are still pregnant with their baby. And I hate them for that. I just want you back, and they don’t know how LUCKY they are. I know that I’m not supposed to be bitter and angry, but I AM. I am angry and sad and depressed and dejected. Why did God take you away from me?!
I love you more than all the stars,