May 11th, 2010.

Today is May 11th.
Six years ago today, Elijah died.

When I first started writing about Elijah and losing him, these days scared the hell out of me. The anticipation alone was nearly enough to order a 5150. I stumbled from his birthday (3/31) to his death day 5 weeks later, noticing little along the way but the cruel and continuous passage of time.
I was terrified of what the day might bring. What could be even remotely as awful as that day in reality? Nothing.
But anticipation of more grief is a scary thing when you are already steeped in grief. My coping skills were watered down by grief, and chipped away by an unforgiving and full-of-judgment partner.

I did anticipate this day (dead baby day) to be easier than in past years, but I wasn't sure why I expected that. A few good friends asked me yesterday how I was doing, knowing that this time of year has historically sucked for me.
When I was asked, I realized that I was actually fine, because my anticipation of today was not influenced by the fear of being mocked or berated for whatever came up for me.
In the past, if I cried or was sad or depressed on this day, (vividly remembering unsuccessful CPR attempts and images of Elijah losing his breath), then I was 'choosing to be sad' or even accused of 'being ungrateful and not appreciating my live children'.
I am allowed to grieve freely this year, and I'm not even feeling that overwhelmingly grievous.
I miss my baby, I always will, but I am resigned to it being my history. Not fighting the emotions that came with that loss.
And if I am sad today?
This will also be fine.