I started bleeding on Saturday morning, slashing all those "miracle pregnancy within the year of Otis" dreams. I didn't realize how much I'd invested in that dream.
So that, combined with all the monthiversaries and weekiversaries and anniversary of his conception pretty much led me into the darkest hole I've found myself in since he died.
My face is peeling from wiping snot and tears off of it. I soaked at least four washcloths with those tears and snot, and that was just in one of many crying jags. I couldn't open my eye on Sunday morning when I woke up, I thought I had pink eye because my eye was glued shut. No pink eye, just tears.
Lots of really, really dark thoughts showed up in that dark hole of grief. All the guilt, all the "this was my fault." (Please, I know, I know, rationally, that this wasn't my fault. Try telling that to a hysterical grieving mother - rational doesn't work with her. But I don't need you to tell me now. I know.) I am beaten down. Broken. Shattered. Grief is kicking my ass. And then some. I don't know how I'm going to make it through Christmas. Mercy.