The next day

I jerk awake and realize it's the middle of the night. The tears instantly form as reality comes crashing back. I hold the pillow close to stifle my sobs, but instantly push it away to protect my aching breasts. I slowly sit up, trying to not use my stomach muscles. My incision is still so painful.

It's time to pump. The doctor told me not to because pumping will only cause more milk production. But I can't help it. The pain is too much right now. I'll try stopping in a few days.

As I sit there for the next ten minutes, I try to fight back the tears. I know that if I start crying now, I won't stop. And I don't have the energy right now for a cry-fest. I doze on and off as I pump till I'm finally comfortable enough to lie back down.

But now I can't shut my mind off. The images of the day before keep playing in my mind. It's like a horrible movie. I know the ending but it never changes. And I keep watching it over and over.

I must've fallen asleep at some point because the next time I open my eyes, there is light coming through my windows. 

It's Sunday.

I hear movement out in the kitchen but the last thing I want to do is get out of bed. I don't want to go to church. I know I should, but the thought of seeing people right now just about kills me. I don't want to try and act normal when my life is far from it.

Tyler comes through our bedroom door and makes his way to the bed. He sits by me and simply takes me in his arms. Sometimes there are no words. 

We both decide to stay home from church together. I'm grateful to have him by my side. We spend the day in bed, listening to music from the production,  "The Lamb of God," and sharing thoughts and feelings with each other. 

It turns out to be a peaceful day and for that I am grateful. I just want to hold onto this feeling. I want to bottle it up so I can use it when I'm running low.

And I know those days are coming.