The mask I have worn for the past 8 months has been a fright mask. One contorted in pain, tracks of tears visible down my face. One that looks as if I'm screaming in silence.
Sure I've covered the mask with my "I'm fine, look, I'm wearing pants!" mask.
The other night I had a conversation with a very wise man. One who, in the beginning didn't understand why my pain was eating me alive. Didn't understand exactly what the last 8 months have been like. During our conversation, which had me in tears, I explained to him that our daughter had died in my womb, that my body had failed her. That we labored and delivered our child, the one who's bones were broken. The one who's ribs were all fractured. We delivered her into silence. I think he understood why I am the broken one now. I think he got it.
He picked his words carefully and with great weight and meaning. He told me I need to open my heart, and let her go. Not forget her. Just let her go. I have been desperatly holding onto Leta, this child that I never met, this child of my body. I have been clinging to her. I need pray, and I need to let her be in peace.
Now anyone else saying this to me would have fighting words. It would have raised my hackles and I would have POUNCED. But this man, is a wise one. I respect his words, his truth, his peace. So I listened.
What I took away was there will be a time that I am ready to say goodbye to Leta Blue. To "Let her go" To give her to a higher power. That time is not now, but I feel that it will be soon, has to be soon.
So my mask will remain, both of them will. The terrible scary heartbroken one that I show only to a few. And the "I'm okay, lookatme i'm wearing pants" one that I show to everyone else.
I do see, in the future the mask that I will wear. I see the peace on her face. I see the acceptance. I see the faith. However, that mask will come complete with an empty baby shaped spot in my heart. I can let her go, but I can never, ever forget her. My baby. My Leta Blue.