I Don't Want To Be Comforted Like You Do

You seem to think that there's something positive to be found in all of this. You are clearly under the impression that there's a silver lining, that there's a happy moment that makes it better.

"It wasn't meant to be."
So apparently my pain was meant to be? Nice. 

"At least you didn't get too attached to her."
Yes, I know - that's the tragedy. I never had the chance to get to know my daughter.

"There must have been something wrong with her."
Well, we'll never know that, will we? Thanks for the reminder.

"She's in a better place now."
No, the best place is in my arms.

"Everything happens for a reason."
... What the hell ... ?

Don't you see? The words that you think make this easier or better are the very essence of what makes this painful. If you don't try to comfort me with what comforts you, then I won't try to make you grieve like I grieve. Do you really want to? Do you? Fine then, go ahead, take a look at Kyla's pictures again:

Hear her clinical silence.

Feel her arms droop on yours.

See a small chunk of skin missing from her finger and wonder if you did that or if it was already like that.

Hold her in your hands and accidentally let her head fall backwards and feel that shameful thought as you realize it doesn't matter if you support her neck or not.

Feel her beauty strangle the back of your throat and flood the inside of your chest and incinerate your eyes.

Feel it.

Embrace it.

Let it control you.

Let your mind lose track of where you are and who you are and what's being said and done around you.

Let it consume your weakest moments and darken your happiest thoughts.

Don't you see? You don't want that. Trust me, you really don't. You may wonder what it's like and you may wish you could understand it better, but you don't actually want it. You want to keep thinking that everything in your life will be pretty good. You want to be able to wake up and have the freedom to enjoy your life, unhaunted. You want to be able to look at a stranger's baby and smile, not nearly burst into tears and have a scraping desire to hold that baby and care for her. I know, because I used to be you. I used to trust in the healing power of nice words and positive thoughts and even prayer. I used to believe that time heals the pain. But perhaps now you'll understand me a little better when I say that I don't want to be comforted like you do. You want to tell yourself and me that everything is going to be okay. You want to reassure me that it's all for a reason. And it all sounds nice, but you just don't get it. I don't want to turn away. I don't want to shield my heart from the pain. I want to run towards it. I want to eat it. I want to dive straight into the middle of it and drown. I want to be tortured by it. I want to be buried in every ounce of my pain and my grief. Because at the end of the day, it's all I have left of her.