Six Weeks...

And then *bam* it hit me.

I'm angry.

There I said it.  I'm angry.

I'm angry that it still hurts six weeks out.

I'm angry that I'm not over it.

I'm angry I still can't talk about it without tearing up.

I'm angry that I counted down the weeks to my October 8th due date on my work calendar.  In pen.

I'm angry that I don't have a new baby to look forward to.

I'm angry at myself because always thought I could reason my way through this.

I'm angry because everyone (including me) wants to sweep this under the rug, and I just...can't.

I'm angry that I know it was a boy because I keep picturing another little Banner.  I see two little boys playing together.  Growing up together.  Brothers.

I'm angry because I keep envisioning a life that will never be.

I'm angry because I'll never know why that little heart ceased to beat.

I'm angry because I know I'll never believe it wasn't somehow my fault.

I'm angry because no one talks about miscarriage.

I'm angry because someone who I thought loved me told me I make them miserable, to get over myself and that they are done feeling sorry for me.  And that was only three weeks after what happened, happened.

I'm angry because I feel the same way.  I don't want to be around me, either.

I'm angry that I can't look at Facebook without tearing up because so many people I know are expecting.  I want so badly to be happy for them, and hate myself that I can't.  Especially the ones that are due in October.  Their posts are like knives, but because I want to be excited for them, I can't look away.  It hurts, it hurts, it hurts no matter how much I want it not to.

I'm angry because I feel like I am mourning alone.

I'm angry because I know I'd be feeling the first movements about now, and we'd be going in for our twenty week sonogram early next week.

I'm angry that I've been avoiding my friends.  Especially the ones I know are trying to start families.  Because I don't want them to tell me they are pregnant in person.  I don't know how I'll react, and that makes me hate me.

I'm angry because another mother in the mommy-and-me swim class is due five days before I was, and I can't look at her without choking up.  I don't think I've ever truly been jealous of someone before.

I'm angry because I've been a terrible wife lately.

I'm angry because I know Trevor is losing patience with me, and I can't say I blame him.  I'm losing patience with me.

I'm angry that I'm so sensitive lately that I can't tell if someone is kidding or not.

I'm angry I can't even watch the TODAY SHOW without seeing a pregnant Savannah Guthrie.

I'm angry that all of the mothers at day care seem to be pregnant right now, and I can't go anywhere without pregnancy chatter and baby bumps.

I'm angry at my body for taking so long to physically recuperate and get back to normal.  I'm tired of the aches, the infection and the hormonal roller coaster.

I'm angry that I hesitate when people who don't know I miscarried ask if we want more children.  And then I feel horrible if the hesitation is noticed and I end up telling them the truth.  Because nothing kills a conversation like, "Oh, yeah.  I just had miscarriage".

I'm angry that Trevor never hesitates.  He happily tells anyone who will listen that we want more children.  He never dwells on what what we lost.  People like talking to him.

I'm angry because I know it could have been so much worse, and I have no reason to still be feeling like this.  I read about someone whose term baby girl was stillborn and another who lost her eleven month old to SIDS.  Compared to that kind of loss, mine is nothing.

And, yet...the anger is still there.  Or maybe it is just sadness?  I'm not even sure I know anymore.