Lonely

Life is still feeling kind of fuzzy. Still having cramps, still bleeding, still readjusting to life back in my old bedroom in my hometown.

Since the miscarriage I’ve been finding myself extra attached to my pets. Today I stopped at the pet store with Eric before he went to work. I got my mice a ball for them to roll around in as well as a few treats and toys designed to wear down their sharp little fangs. Shiro got a HUGE bone that he is sure to enjoy. Eric didn’t want me to give it to him until he got home so that he could “See the joy in his face.”
Shiro and I spent a lot of time today closed up in the bedroom watching netflix, organizing our things, and reading articles.
Shortly before writing this, we sat and shared a poptart as we watched Family Guy.

I’ve had pets before. I’ve loved them with all my heart.
November of 2011 my dearly loved husky/cocker spaniel mix, Bandit, died. I miss him everyday, I still cry sometimes. He was the only constant in my life as a child and it breaks my heart to think about it.
I love and miss Bandit more than words. My mother and I spoke of him today and we both cried together. He was wonderful, we had him for almost 12 years before he left us.
I’ve never felt such a deep loss.
Even now, the pain of miscarriage feels so miniscule compared to the pain of having lost that dog.
Still, though, I don’t know why it is, but I never referred to him as my “best friend”

Right now though, as hard as it is to get along with him sometimes, I feel that Shiro has become my best friend.
My whole life has been turned upside down and I spend a lot of my time alone. My mother no longer seems sympathetic to my loss. I feel very alone. It’s always just me and Shiro.
I don’t know that I could keep going the way I do if it weren’t for Shiro.
He needs me to get up and walk him every so often, he needs me to tend to his food and water. Sometimes he just needs affection. Those needs are sometimes the only catalyst for getting off the couch and doing something, no matter how small.
I’m glad I have him. He is my baby.

Last night, after Eric and I finished getting the last of our things out of the apartment, we headed back to my mothers.
It’s about a 30 minute drive. It was nearly midnight and the through the whole drive, things seemed very still. There was a lot of time to think.
I thought a lot about Lily.
I finally asked Eric about her.
He’s known for a couple days now that I’ve given her a name. I don’t expect him to use it.
He didn’t say much. He just listened as I explained my coping methods.

I started to cry. I told him how lonely it feels to be the only one who cares about her. To be the only one who really misses her as a person and not just an idea. The only person who feels anything.
I asked him when he was just over it. I knew he was disappointed at first, but since then, it seemed he was only sad because I was.
He admitted to still being sad about it, but seeing no point in being said and wanting to not keep worrying about it.
It was nice to know he missed her.
It would help a lot more if he were more willing to open up about it. I still feel very lonely.

I thought about getting a Peace Lily. In honor of my own peaceful Lily.
I learned, though, that they’re mildly poisonous to dogs. I could never live with myself if the memorial for my little girl harmed my little boy.
I’m also concerned that, with my black thumb, even the hardy peace lily would not survive. I can only imagine how painful it would be to see that I couldn’t even maintain the one thing that could keep her memory alive.

I’ll have to find another way.
I’d like a tattoo for her, but of course, funds make that unlikely anytime soon.
Maybe someday though.
For now I may settle on an angel pin with a diamond. The birth stone that would have applied to Lily. It would be discrete, as it would applied to both myself and her father as well.
We were hoping to be lucky enough to have her for our birthday.
She would have been the best gift.

I’m afraid for my 22nd birthday. I don’t know how painful it may be. I don’t know how much longer I can feel like this.

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