Sometimes I wish I had a sign on my forehead.
When I go out to the grocery store or to a gas station; people see me and label me as "mother", or "short blonde", or maybe "wife to a big scary looking guy". But if they looked closer they would see the necklace around my neck with my son's name on it, and the memorial tattoo on my shoulder. If they really paid attention, they might notice the bags under my eyes and the look I get when I see other people's babies.
Sometimes I just wish I had a sign on my forehead that said "I am a grieving mother, please don't talk to me".
When I go out in public, I am mother/wife/woman/daughter. No one knows my story, no one could even imagine the life I have led.
When I'm online, people know who I am. They know my story and some of them can relate. I pour my feelings out to a computer screen, typing away my life through a keyboard. I enjoy the control I have online. I can say what I want, to whomever I want, whenever I want. But when I'm in public and someome asks "Aw, the picture you have hanging off your purse, is that your baby?".
And I say "Yes, yes he is. He passed away and his name is Corbin."
Then they will know. They will give me the look, and say their condolences, and go about their day. I, on the other hand, will be swallowed back into the thoughts of my newborn. I will try with all my might to remember his cry, and fail. I will try to remember what he smelled like, and fail. I will try to remember what his weight felt like in my arms, and fail.
You can never explain that feeling. There is no book for it, no "How to grieve a lost child". It happens and you learn the hard way that not all things can be put in a scrapbook. You can keep his first hair cut from when they tried to put an IV in his head, but you can't capture the smell of his hair. You can take a picture of their tiny newborn feet, but you can't put the newborn smell in a bottle.
Sometimes I wish I had a sign on my forehead telling the world "Please don't talk to me."
