Time.

One thing I have learned the past few weeks is life around you continues, whether you choose to be present for it or not.  For me, time has stood still from the moment I saw my baby's still heart on the ultrasound machine.  I've lost all concept of time.  Even days and nights are sometimes interchangeable.  There is a clear divide in my life now - before Nicolai and after Nicolai.

It's been 3 weeks and 6 days since I last felt him kicking in my belly.  3 weeks and 4 days since he was born.  3 weeks and 3 days since I left the hospital and saw him for the very last time.  2 weeks and 3 days since his memorial service.   1 week and 2 days since I stopped bleeding.

The minutes seem like hours seem like days seem like months.  Time passes so slowly now.  I make it an hour at a time.  Each click of the minute hand on the clock is a small accomplishment that I have made it through yet another minute of post-Nicolai life.   

It's hard to talk to people.  I don't know what's going on in the world right now.  The election came and went without me even realizing it.  We could be having World War III around us, and I don't think I would even take notice.  I am a terrible conversationalist, I can't make small talk.  What can you talk about, really?  There is always the huge elephant in the middle of the room that nobody wants to acknowledge.  People don't want to talk about dead babies.  It's uncomfortable, awkward.  Other parents avoid you like the plague, as if losing a baby was contagious to them.  Nobody wants to think that these happen to normal people.  It's easier to just avoid at all costs and look the other way.   

I hide statuses and wall posts on Facebook from friends and family that have babies, pregnancies, baby pictures, anything that makes me remember what my life should resemble right now.  My news feed is down to a few repeating, non-triggering friends.  It's sad.  I used to be so excited to read about these milestones.

And life goes on around me.  Daily routines slowly try weaving their way back to normalcy.  People continue the holiday bustle of shopping and decorating for Christmas.  Bills continue to arrive.  Television series continue week after week.  I just want to go outside and scream at the top of my lungs to the world, "My baby is dead - how can you go on like nothing happened?!"

It's been harder since my husband has gone back to work.  I can't distract myself.  When left to my own devices, the 'what if's' consume me.  From the minute I awaken until the minute I go to sleep, I am online reading.  Searching.  Seeking.  For anyone or anything that could give me answers as to why my little one is dead and not in my arms right now.  I've read every research article, every study, every blog from babylost moms and dads around the world that I can find, every message board, every support group thread.  Even Google can't seem to keep up with me.  It's become my obsession, my compulsion.  And it's eating me alive.

I need answers.  I need my doctors to run blood panels on me to see if I have anything wrong that may have caused this - blood clots, autoimmune disorders, etc.  I need a clear and conclusive cause of death.  I need a referral to a geneticist to make sure that the problem wasn't chromosomal or genetic.  I need every test known to mankind to be performed on us so that I can know that no stone was left unturned.  I need my period to come this week so that I can know that my physical body is returning to normal levels of functioning.  I need things to happen now.    I am not patient.  I was patient for long enough.  And the minutes are ticking by slower than ever.