Seattle has been good for us. We’ve chosen to grieve in a place that provides us solitude from our everyday distractions while giving us fun things to do between sulking sessions. Most of our long drive was spent recalling emotions from the horrific event and rehashing it from the others’ perspective. We are closer now than before. Given the time and the freedom to just speak freely has been like therapy. I don’t have to swallow the pain of the memory alone, and neither does he. It’s a miserable way to go, but it’s ultimately helpful.
It’s been interesting to notice when one of us gets into a micro-funk (a miscarriage-related funk lasting less than 30 minutes). For example, with myself, I won’t even realize what has set me off until I’m asked by my husband. Then I’ll remember it’s something stupid, like the damn kumquats at the market reminding me of all those baby-size estimates. Instead of just being upset about seeing innocuous fruit, my husband and I are able to work through it and cheer up for the next fun adventure.
I got really, irrationally depressed seeing the gum wall. And–it’s insane–but I was sad because I was reminded of the “sticky baby” term that the birth boards used to indicate a baby that stays properly put instead of miscarrying. To work through this particular funk, we bought our own gum, chewed it, united it, and stuck it on the wall–this time as a symbol for a future sticky baby. Silly, but weirdly meaningful anyway. Plus our gums had symbolic gum sex, which is as sexy as this trip is getting.
So far we’ve braved the crowds at Pike Place Market, consumed a vat of chicken schwarma, watched two improv-comedies at the Market Theater (the first was so bad, they let us stay for the second FREE!), slept in the least comfortable bed imaginable, walked along the water front, visited Magic Mouse Toys, mocked the super ugly Seattle Public Library, tried on delicious retro frocks at Diva Dollz, toured the University of Washington, napped in Gas Works park, visited the troll, and ate dinner and cupcakes in the Ballard neighborhood.
All of that AND intense, therapeutic conversations. It’s been exactly what we needed. Plus we’re having fun at least 80% of the time, so that’s pretty great. Someday I may even forgive kumquats for existing.