The Bubble

I have to be honest. Much of this last year has been like living in a giant bubble that you can see through and hear a bit in, but everything is distorted. My mind feels like molasses, my memory is pretty much nonexistent some days.

I know it is par for the course. It is not unusual for women or their husband on infant loss boards or real life groups to lose jobs. Performance goes down. A month or two goes by and everything should be better, the employer thinks. Apparently it happens so much that some infant loss charities raise funds to help cover expenses when families lose jobs.

I am thankful that we are surrounded by good people that have patience. But I did get the gentle talk about details.

I didn't say anything. How can you say, "It's not that I do not want to do better or know better, it's just that ever since my baby died I have more difficulty holding on to things in my mind." So I didn't say anything. My mind combined with the experience of using a half functioning thin client, has me wondering at times if I am losing it. Did I do that or the quasi computer? You write it down on a piece of paper and lose or forget the paper. I try to use lists. It helps a little.

The good thing about being a firefighter is that at least your crew can get to the point they read you a bit. You look out for each other and there is a second set of eyes to help pick out details. Another person to say to "please remind me of this in the morning". But office work removes you from that.

One thing I really like though is my double screen. I can hide in my little spot and cry sometimes. Maybe they think I'm addicted to facebook- really sometimes I don't care. The tears come a lot when I am alone driving.

But I do a better job now hiding things I think. I can say I am ok without my tone giving me away. I tell strangers that I have two children and leave it at that without crying- they don't look too closely at eyes.

I don't always cry. I have better days. But I also have worse sometimes.

I hate fall. It reminds me that less than a year ago I was still primarily happy. I hate anything having to do with the time change, which comes up remarkedly often with fire safety as a way to remember when to change your batteries in your smoke detectors.

Who would have thought that smoke detectors and batteries could trigger memories? But they do sometimes.

I just want my old life back with all its flaws.