Welcome to the Club

(April 5, 2011)

We had a tragedy in the family this weekend. When I heard about it on Saturday night, I was sad. I was disappointed. I felt awful for David and Lauren.

But I went on with my evening plans.

I woke Sunday morning and laid in bed for a while, thinking. Still the peripheral, "that's such a shame," but with an added element of "what can I do?" So when Mike groggily rolled over and asked what I had planned for the day, I had a lot: I was going to grocery shop not just for dinner tonight but for several days worth for Lauren (and Barb, who was coming down to stay for the week with her). I was going to make a big meal that could be dropped off at their house tonight, and prep Monday night's dinner for them. Maybe I'd make a pie if I had time.

And that's exactly how I spent my day, sitting when I could, but letting the exhaustion of doing something distract me. I focused on the check list.

We packed up the groceries, pulled the sausage and meatballs off the stove, and headed over. I was naively unprepared.

I walked in, not yet "showing," but definitely bigger than my pre-pregnancy self. I hugged Lauren. Then I embraced her. Then I clung to her, like I've never done before.

What washed over me was an unexpected flood of sorrow, grief, relief, guilt, fear and so much more. It was like hitting a wall, or a wall hitting me. It was an electric shock. I couldn't breath.

It was my first true realization: I am a member of this club now.

I couldn't sleep Sunday night. I blamed it on the exhaustion. On the fact that every muscle in my body ached (hey, trips to two different malls, grocery shopping for two families, a formal-attire party with lots of small talk, and a day in the kitchen is a lot in a weekend for a woman in her first trimester). I went to work on Monday and went through the motions. I felt numb. I left "early" at 5:30 p.m., and sat through an hour and a half of Cherry Blossom traffic.

At 15th and E, in front of the Hotel Washington, and about 35 minutes into the drive, I began to cry. By 15th and Pennsylvania, it was a good thing the traffic was barely crawling, because I couldn't see anything through the streaming tears. By the time I finally got home, they were body-shaking, out-loud, hide-my-head-in-a-pillow, sobs.

I am a member of this club, now. And I am scared to death.