Afraid of the Dark

I needed to go feed Addalee and go to bed like an hour ago.  I need the sleep, and she needs the milk.  But I can’t bring myself to go upstairs into the dark quiet of bedtime.  I’m not afraid of the dark, per se, I’m afraid of what my mind does in those empty moments before sleep blurs my thoughts.  I’m afraid to relive.  I’m afraid to regret.  I’m afraid to think of how badly I miss her.  I’m afraid to strain to remember her face, her smell.  I’m afraid to panic when I think I’ve forgotten a single detail.  I’m afraid.

Life has been a little heavy lately.  My heart has been filled with such joy and sadness, it’s so completely sad, and yet blissful at the same moment.  Caroline has been so present on my mind.  Each day, she’s in the forefront.  I’m constantly thinking of that darling girl.  How could this really be our story?  How could she really be real? But she is real.  She was a perfect and beautiful baby girl; a baby girl that I would still give my very life to have.

I don’t want to wallow.  That’s not helpful in any shape, form, or fashion.  But I’m just so freaking sad.  I can’t lie about it.  I can’t pretend that it isn’t killing me right now.  Because it’s weighing me down.  I don’t want to cry.  I don’t want this.  I just don’t.

I’m just about to force myself up those dark stairs.  I’ve almost worked up enough nerve.  And like a scared child, I will run to the safety of my bed (after I feed my little happy girl), and hide under the covers, and pray for all I’m worth until I fall asleep.  And tomorrow, the sun will come up, and the weight will seem more manageable.  But tonight…tonight, I’m afraid of the dark.