I Will Not Bleed Today

I got up early this morning to run (which sounds a lot cooler than ” jog at a pace barely faster than walking”). As I stepped out onto the porch, my breath fogged in the cool air. The world was still, no wind to shake the trees. The sun was lifting herself up out of bed, stretching a morning stretch before rising to her perch in the sky. The wheat fields aglow with a solar kiss, hints of orange and pink caressing the tips of the stalks.

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I decided to own today.

Today, I will be happy by choice, not by chance.

Today was the first day of school for students (not for my class, mind you. Kindergarten begins later).  I busied myself with prep work. I snuck out to greet the grade one students, my guys from last year. Suddenly they’ve all grown so tall and important, professionally carrying notebooks and pencil cases to class, stopping for sincere hugs in the halls. I drank a heavenly iced chai on my coffee break, trying not to covet the blazing sunshine outside.

At lunch, I contentedly ate my salad, discussed new enrollments and even chatted comfortably with ‘the coworker‘.  The lunch break neared it’s end, teachers woefully gathered themselves to head back to excited students. One staff member announced that a certain student wouldn’t be present for a few days because her mother was pregnant and just lost the baby.

Everyone looked at me.

I looked at my food.

A crowd of people stare at me at these words, ‘lost the baby’. They turn their heads to the wounded woman in the room, whose scars have been public. They glance awkwardly at the scathed soul whose tears have fallen, hot and anguished, behind closed doors in this very building. They watch the reaction of the burdened almost-mother whose absence in June is remembered at the sight of the absence of a baby bump.

I am the welted and wounded soul. I am the one with scraped skin and bruises, with careful words and a cautious smile. I am the one whose scars show a violent crimson red on my skin.

But I will not break on cue this time. I will not bleed today.

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Today, I embraced the morning sun, I felt cool air seeping into my lungs and my cheeks. I absorbed the dawn with a smile and centered myself within myself. Today, I held the morning in my palms and had the strength to make a choice: happiness, today.

Who knows about tomorrow, but today is mine.

 

“The world breaks every one and afterward many are strong at the broken places.”

Ernest Hemingway, A Farewell to Arms

(on a side note, I found it hugely inappropriate that this staff member thought it her place to announce to an entire room of people the struggle and loss of this mother in question. Grrr. Some people have the sensitivity of a stick).

 

 

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5 Responses to I Will Not Bleed Today

  1. Oh, you give me hope that I’ll make it there one day. Back at school, choosing happiness, at least some of the days. Thank you.

    And yes, super inappropriate. That’s a school staff room for you.

    • CGsaysstuff says:

      It didn’t come easily, and for so so many weeks, I didn’t have the strength to make that choice. Be kind to yourself, you deserve just as much sadness and just as many tearful conversations as you need right now.
      Losing Ezra will impact you forever, and even if you find that you do have the strength to make that choice one day, I think it’s still OK to choose sadness sometimes.
      But, that being said, I’m sending healing thoughts your way and I hope you can find more and more moments of peace in your days.

      Thanks so much for reading. 🙂

      As far as inappropriate, yikes, there’s always someone who has no common sense about sensitive subjects and something that this mother may not want spread around to essential strangers. The speaker, of course, is a woman who has never had children nor been pregnant. Go figure.

  2. cynning says:

    I notice that people walk on egg shells around me. Afraid to say anything about babies. Makes it worse that my sister in law is pregnant. When anything is mentioned about loss or having more babies or anything around those lines I get stared at like they are waiting for me to react. makes me feel terrible and always asking myself what is wrong with me.. Your posts are always beautifully written. I appreciate them

  3. Pingback: “What hath night to do with sleep?” | Hang Your Hopes From Trees

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