two months and sticky spaghetti

Today is exactly two months since our baby died. I feel no worse than most other days. And many other days have been worse than this one. Last month was much harder. Maybe because the dates and days of the week lined up perfectly. Maybe it's just time, starting to do its thing. Either way, I'm grateful not to be in that extraordinary and now all-too-familiar pain.
Maybe it was all the sunshine I got this weekend out here. But I'm able to say that I feel a little better without feeling desperate and guilty and profoundly separated from my little girl. Brian says she wants me to feel better and I'm not ready to wrap my head around that one, but still... My sister, wisewoman and doula for all things (even poop!), has pointed out that there is some spaghetti sticking to the wall.

Meaning that my approach to surviving this has, of necessity, been utterly haphazard (because one is never prepared for this.) We describe it as "throwing spaghetti at the wall to see what sticks," what helps. So here is some sticky spaghetti of the last two months:

- melantonin (for sleep)
- amazing and almost daily support from my sisters
- physical and emotional closeness with brian*
- family time with my sister and her kids, or with my mom*
- someone else cooking and putting food in front of my face*
- sunshine*
- rescue remedy spray
- a large rose quartz loaned by a friend (snuggled at night or carried in my purse)
- herbal tea goodness
- epsom salt baths*
- chocolate in all forms
- learning to knit
- generous donations of healing sessions from healers in my life
- hiking**
- red sox games**
- knowing that i am (really i am, i am) moving to the mountains in a year**
- clearing some benchmarks: bringing her ashes home, passing the one month mark, getting her autopsy report, etc.
- doing and planning small memorials for her: see here, here, here, and maybe here

* not always readily available due to winter/tax season/distance
** new to the rotation

It's also been interesting to see what spaghetti does not stick. Like most of the ways I used to take care of myself: spending lots of time alone, meditation, yoga, self-reiki, therapy, journaling, cooking healthy food. I don't know why. It may be too much work. It may be too much my past.

But regardless, some spaghetti is sticking. I look at myself and I see that I am down, but not out. I can see a future. We are gathering information about trying again. We are planning hikes for every weekend of the spring and summer. We are planning house-hunting trips to the Berkshires. Brian is making business plans, to earn money for our move. We are trending westward, where there are things that I love. Mountains and waterfalls and quiet. Where I can feel better even when I don't feel better. So there is movement, and there is hope for change, for better living, for another chance.

I'm grateful for every piece of that spaghetti. But skeptical too. I'm not in the deep throes of a grief wave now. At this moment. But more will come. Will the spaghetti help then? 10 days ago I was talking about going on antidepressants. How long will this state of somewhat okay last? Am I possibly channeling my sadness into anger right now, anger that is showing up as energy, as house projects, exercise, job search, and hopefully, a move? Will I crash soon? How many resumes can I send out before that happens?

It's a strange sort of okay that this spaghetti has cooked up for me. Full of uncertainty and nothing like the okay of two or even six months ago. (Who was that girl? I can tell when I talk to anyone who is not family just how not normal my new normal is.) But I am breathing. I am not under the covers. I am not on the floor of the shower. I am sad. I am standing. I am going to watch a Red Sox game with Brian and see what tomorrow brings.