The week before her birthday is a morbid countdown for me. Even though I have tried really hard this year to make February more positive, I still can't escape this. I can't stop myself from remembering - from reliving.
I was swollen and my blood pressure was high. I had contractions for days, but I didn't know it. She was twisting herself into oblivion, but I didn't know it. Work threw me a baby shower and I felt her move for what would be the last time. I spent the day before her birthday wrapping teal and green ribbon around the base of her crib, but she was already gone.
This week brings me back to that hard, raw pain. This week forces me to remember the noise of my own screams and the silence of where hers should have been. I thought maybe running this half marathon would somehow distract me enough where it wouldn't hurt so much, but I was wrong. The last week in February will always be my own personal Hell Week. I suppose the only difference this year is I have some sort of personal success to look forward to. The anticipation of that achievement has to carry me through.
This week is when I need my strength the most. It's the week where I am holding all the ropes I have with all of my might to keep myself from shattering. I can feel myself breaking apart inside. I can feel the holes where she is missing opening up even wider, the walls of my heart weakening around them. As I tumble through this week, I am constantly on the verge of tears, perched precariously upon the edge of a spiral into darkness. Granted, I get better at holding myself together as each year passes, but the point remains I still have to. That will not change.
The desperation in this song reiterates how I feel in trying to power through this week - how I will feel every final week of February until my life runs out of them.