I’m feeling really, really tired of all this grief shit, today. This week. Lately. I am angry. Angry about having to live with this. Angry that I am expected by so many people to be ‘over’ it. Angry that I’m not ‘over’ it. Angry that there’s anything to get ‘over.’ Angry that my baby is dead. I don’t want to think about babies dying or children dying or anything sad or awful or horrible. I just want to enjoy the sunshine and my kids and be a ‘normal’ person. I don’t want to do research, or help anyone, or abide with anyone or even acknowledge anyone’s pain and sadness. I just want to go to the beach, put my bare feet in the cold ocean and laugh with my kids. I want to go on picnics in the park and not notice two-year-old girls. I want to unsubscribe to groups and blogs and all of it. I want to never have known these existed. I want to not be thinking about how I explain to prospective nannies that my kids also have a dead baby sister. I want to not be worrying about the woman across the hall who went to the hospital this morning 29 hours after her water had broken, completely, blissfully unconcerned. I want to not be looking at resources for bereaved families and considering how well they ‘represent’ the experience of stillbirth. I want to have never heard the word stillbirth, or at least to still be believing it couldn’t happen to me. I want to shut it all off. I want it to be over. I want it to never have started.

I hate this. I’m tired, I’m angry, and I hate it.