Back Home Part 2

7th entry - Motherhood & Pregnancy in Wartime Series

December 19 2024

Settling back in has been… unsettling. It feels like trying to force a puzzle piece into the wrong spot. Like swimming underwater, occasionally coming up for air, and when that first gulp of breath feels so good, you want to drink it all in - but you just end up drowning again. It’s like trying to care for a plant you've had forever, only to watch it wither away. The blanket of death still feels like it’s covering us all. Everywhere I look, everything I see, everything I do, I’m reminded of it. Scrolling through Instagram, walking down the street, talking to people - it’s all there, on the tip of our tongues, in the incessant drone buzzing in the air. It’s too close for comfort, especially with a recent death in the family. At the funeral, I found myself hugging my belly, almost as if I could shield my baby from the sadness that seems to surround.

You try to claw your way past it, try to live life the way you used to, but it’s so hard. I heard an ad on the radio for a Christmas market, where "the atmosphere will be filled with hope and joy." And that's what we’re all trying to do, isn’t it? Inject that joy and hope into every plan, dinner, opening, outing, meet-up, pop-up, catch-up. Trying to inject it into the very air we breathe. I wish I could get one of those IV drips, but instead of vitamins and nutrients, it’s packed with a potent cocktail of all the good stuff, joy and hope included, and have it pumped straight into my veins. We're all desperately trying to chip away at the heaviness, wanting light to break through, but it feels like we're pushing against a massive boulder, not sure how long it will take or what toll it’ll really have along the way. And then we wonder why we break down crying every other day.

That’s not to say I haven’t laughed or smiled - because I have. I’ve had those moments when the spark, that high, that lightness, flickers through. I’ve laughed at something Imad said, felt that excitement when the baby kicked. I just want to hold onto these moments for longer, make them happen more often. One minute I’m laughing, the next I’m crying over a scene from Rivals, where everyone’s dancing at a party, so carefree and light, and I ache for it.

It’s hard to find my footing again, wondering if I’m traumatizing my child, alienating my husband, or failing my unborn baby. But there’s no perfect way back. Life is now a balance between small pockets of happiness and the weight of everything we’ve been through. Swaying between moments of normalcy and those that remind me of just how much has changed. Even though it’s exhausting, I know I have to keep moving forward.

Maybe it’s fitting that today is my birthday. I’m still here, and I want to live again, feel alive again - even if it’s just a little at a time.