Owen would be three months old today. I thought about that this morning as I wrote 07/01/14 on a form for a patient. It wasn’t my first thought when I woke up this morning like it has been for his one and two month birthdays. I felt guilty when I realized that I hadn’t acknowledged his day upon awakening. (For clarification, he would also be 13 weeks old.)
Today was also my first day in a new position at work. I got a promotion, and I’m now working exclusively with teens and also supervising some other allied health professionals. It hasn’t escaped my notice that, on my dead baby’s 3 month birthday, I am doing something that I absolutely never would have had he lived. I’m happy about the new job. I love the work, and it’s closer to home. But I wanted to be getting back from maternity leave today, not advancing in my career. Hell, I would’ve been happy to be sitting in a hospital teaching Owen how to eat without a feeding tube today. I’m happy, I am, but what I wouldn’t give to be happy for so many other reasons.
I met Zach for lunch (another perk of my new job), and on the way back to my office I started bobbing my head to that happy Pharrell song. If you sat next to me at a red light, I wouldn’t look like a grieving mother.
I don’t know what to make of myself in this new (old) life. Sometimes I almost forget. Is that okay to say? Am I really allowed to put it on paper that sometimes I almost forget I had a baby and he died? I will absolutely never, ever forget Owen. But sometimes I forget how sad I am. Sometimes the grief sits so far beneath the surface that I can bob my head like a fool while I’m driving around town.