Personal turbulence

For the past few weeks, I've said my goodbyes and looked at things a little more closely for I know it might be a long time before I cast my eyes upon them again.  I shed some tears and hugged people more closely and made promises to keep in touch and visit again, vows I intend to keep.  In some ways, it was difficult to say goodbye, but in many ways, it was liberating.

On Thursday, January 13th, I kissed my husband many times, knowing I'd be lacking in cuddles and kisses for nearly 3 months, and went through the gates of security.  At the last minute, he gave me a postcard that he had written on and told me to read it on the plane.

I cried a little while I waited but held it together...until I saw that I was going to be sitting right next to a baby.  A very, very  young baby.  And my mind and body just.shut.down.  I started looking for escape routes and I started sweating.  My fight or flight instincts kicked in but my rationality came back to me.  I haven't seen or touched a young baby since I held Isla, and I wasn't in any rush whatsoever to be near one.  But I've been considering it since I found out a friend just gave birth.  (Aside - I didn't know this friend was pregnant until I clocked it on FB.  I emailed her and asked her if she was because she didn't announce it or anything.  She told me that she indeed was - 38 weeks so!  She said she thought it would have been insensitive to tell me in the months following Isla death and then time just marched on.  We've talked about it and I appreciate that she didn't want to hurt me.  Now, I'm wrapping my head around seeing her new baby when I visit Montreal.)

Anyway, so yeah. Little babies are on my mind, and thinking about holding one is at the forefront.  So as I stood there in the aisle considering whether or not I should change seats, I decided I would try to ride it out.  I calmly sat down and said hi to the little family sitting in my row.  And then I started crying as I sneaked looks at the little baby, a little girl named Annabelle, trying so hard to calm the rising hysteria.  She stared at me with her unseeing blue eyes and I realized that she wasn't a threat.  I didn't want her like I wanted my own baby.  She was there, living and breathing, the miracle that she is, and I didn't hate her.  I touched her little hand and looked at her closely.  I felt ok.  I made small talk with her proud parents and found out that Annabelle was 9 weeks old.  We chatted about Scotland, Canada and Japan and our plans.  It was ok.  Then I read the hell out of The Scotsman, The Toronto Star and Psychologies. 

It has been nearly 8 months since we lost Isla.  Time keeps marching on and we keep moving on. I read that very lovely postcard that Dave wrote while I was on the plane and he mentioned the time when we were happiest in our lives, which are highlighted in the pics I posted in this blog.  It was our first holiday together and we went to Tokashiku, an island in Okinawa.  He taught me how to swim on my birthday and we were so happy.  We want to get back there.  We're trying our best.  I know that most people would hate sitting next to a baby on a 7 hour flight  for obvious reasons, but sitting next to a baby was a good thing for me.  Another step on this weird, winding, dark road.  On Thursday, January 13th, I was grateful to little Annabelle.