Raw

Yesterday was our first foster/adoption training class -- and the two year anniversary of our first loss.  I didn't think anything of it, until we were fifteen minutes into the introductions and I started bawling in a room full of strangers.  I was the crazy overly-emotional infertile amidst a sea of fertiles.  Seriously -- twenty couples, ALL of whom had multiple children, except us.  I tried to introduce myself in the same casual way that they did.  I just....couldn't.  I can think about our losses without losing it.  I do it every single day.  But, apparently, I still can't talk about it.

Grief is a sneaky bastard, hiding behind those seemingly innocuous conversations and startling you with its sudden severity. Like a wound that has scabbed over and yet not quite healed -- the bleeding has been stemmed, but its still painful -- raw, even -- to the touch. And if you shake it too hard -- or god-forbid begin to pick at it -- it can bleed just as freshly as the day it first occurred.