By reading the posts at this here old blog you'd think my life is steeped in sadness (it is) - but that's it. Sadness only says Jenn's Den. No room for anything other than tragedy.
In reality that's not the whole picture. Sometimes I go days without crying, sometimes I do actually enjoy myself, catch myself laughing, without even a hint of guilt. I'd even go so far as to say that speaking in percents and averages and other well-known and easily manipulated statistical terms, that the balances are beginning to tip in the happy direction, maybe not 90/10 but somewhere around 60/40 or 55/45 or even 70/30 on a really good day. Bad days see pendulum swings down to oh, 10/90 some of the time, but like I said, we're talking averages here.
It's just not as fulfilling, not as cathartic, to come here and write the mundane non-tragic stuff. How exciting is this - spent the morning doing puzzles with L, am very pleased with myself for cleaning the house, really got into this book I'm reading from the library, etc.
I realize that the better part of this blog involved just that kind of mundane stuff and that I was fully satisfied writing that kind of stuff for years. Now though, all I seem to be able to write about is my tragically broken heart. My in-need-of-mending soul. How cruddy it is to have to stare at a heavily pregnant woman at Walmart.
(And why, you ask, do I have to stare at a heavily pregnant woman at Walmart? Surely I could look away, right? Goodness, I wish I knew the answer to that. I wish I could will myself to stop.it.already. I go bump hunting (and baby hunting. especially newborn-ish baby boy hunting). It's ridiculous and upsets me and I have no idea why I can't stop doing it. Perhaps I should invest in a pair of horse blinders.)
*****
As previously mentioned, I loathe grocery shopping at this point in my life. Especially if I have to go by myself. You see, if hubby and L go with me then I am distracted. I can pretend I didn't see that gigundo pregnant belly or that tiny baby boy or that cute older sister, younger brother pair on the cereal aisle. I can look at L, talk to hubby, push our cart right on by and at least pretend I don't see (even when I'm hunting). When I'm by myself that is much harder. I stare at the floor and look pitiful and hurt, because I am. I find myself distracted, but not in the good way, instead I'm distracted in the way that makes me mark butter off my list but never actually put it in the cart.
Last night I had to trek to Publix all by my lonesome; L is sick and wanted to stay home to watch football with hubby. Off I went. For the last 15 minutes or so this was on constant repeat in my head - "Get me out of here. Just get me out of here." When I finally made it to the car, hot tears welled up in my eyes. On the drive home I had a mini panic attack.
*****
I am alternately soft and hard on myself. I had no good reason for being so dang upset at the grocery store, but I reason that my baby just died (did he? does almost four months out still count as "just"?) and I can act and feel however I want to. When a friend mentions in passing that she went to a baby shower on Friday night and I am stung as if just hit with a poison dart, I chide myself for being so sensitive. That woman's baby shower has nothing to do with me. Nothing. I barely even know that woman. Why does that hurt?
And so I come here to complain. To tell you all about the baby shower comment and the grocery store freak out and not about how hubby and I had a great time cheering our football team on from the stands on Saturday night or the enjoyable time I had with the poison dart flinging friend at an enormous garage sale type thing or even the new (to us) furniture we inherited and are in love with (our family room, which previously housed an incredibly uncomfortable futon, is now filled with two Lazy Boy recliner sofas - for free!).
Ah, the tragedy of it all. I don't know whether to laugh or cry. Am I being ridiculous for feeling so crappy about grocery shopping and passing baby shower comments? Should I continue to indulge myself because my baby died or is it time to pull myself up by the bootstraps and get the hell on with life? Could I even do that if I wanted to?
I know what I would tell all of you, my fellow dead baby mamas. Feel whatever you're feeling, stay away from grocery stores and pregnant woman and whatever else makes you feel badly for as long as you need to, don't push yourself to do anything you don't feel up to doing. I would comment on your blog post and tell you that it's totally understandable to flip out in the checkout line and when somebody innocently remarks about a baby shower.
Not sure why it's so hard to cut myself some slack. Even as I write this I'm thinking, maybe I've been cut enough slack as it is. Maybe I'm not grieving so much as wallowing. So much as using Micah's death as an excuse to have another glass of wine, to treat my in laws with indifference, to let L watch too much tv, to not do the dishes.
*****
Where do you draw the line? Do you draw a line?
Monday, September 27, 2010
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Feeling A Failure
This morning found L and I with some family and friends at a local park. Nice weather, finally cooling down a bit if not still humid, sun shining, kids running around and playing together. Lovely, you would say, right? Well, sure. I guess. For the first few minutes anyway, until my sister in law plops her baby (who would be the same age as my Abigail, if I hadn't miscarried her) into the swing and L and her cousin start to fight over who gets to push the baby.
I was barely able to maintain my composure enough to talk L into taking a walk with me.
She's so starved for a smaller somebody she has to fight with her cousin in order to borrow his baby sister.
She asks us to have another baby. A "not-dying baby". We have to have conversations with our three year old that revolve around explaining that not all babies die. Just some babies. Our baby.
What a fucking failure I am. Here I've had two chances to provide a sibling for her. One was lost miserably (relatively) early and she never even knew that sibling existed. The other she grew to love and dream about and wait eagerly for and damn if she didn't end up with her little heart broken.
Why can't things be different? I want them to be different so badly. Oh if only things could be different.
I was barely able to maintain my composure enough to talk L into taking a walk with me.
She's so starved for a smaller somebody she has to fight with her cousin in order to borrow his baby sister.
She asks us to have another baby. A "not-dying baby". We have to have conversations with our three year old that revolve around explaining that not all babies die. Just some babies. Our baby.
What a fucking failure I am. Here I've had two chances to provide a sibling for her. One was lost miserably (relatively) early and she never even knew that sibling existed. The other she grew to love and dream about and wait eagerly for and damn if she didn't end up with her little heart broken.
Why can't things be different? I want them to be different so badly. Oh if only things could be different.
Labels:
Abigail,
babies,
grieving,
L,
Micah,
miscarriage,
stillbirth
Saturday, September 18, 2010
Foolishness
So last year, September 18th was a Friday and I was 10 days past ovulation. This year, September 18th is a Saturday and I'm 9 days past ovulation.
Last year, we weren't really trying but also weren't preventing pregnancy. This year, the same. As it so happens, this was the first cycle we were allowed to enjoy and we very much did, if you get my drift.
And, although I was ambivalent and very zen about pregnancy and the possibility of another baby during the first half of this cycle, I am no longer so. In the little tiny place inside of me where I keep my foolish hopes, there was a hope that this morning, I would pee on a stick and get two lines.
Well I guess I did get two lines. Strictly speaking. One line on each of two tests.
Yup, took multiple tests this morning. Even though I've never gotten a positive test before 10 days past ovulation. Even though I know that and I know it's too early and I know it's unlikely especially considering my decisive temp drop this morning.
And, even with knowing all that and trying to be rational and whatnot I am so disappointed. Not sure why. Two weeks ago I wasn't even sure I wanted another baby. Ever. And now here I am reduced to tears because a pregnancy test I know I'm taking too early isn't positive.
I'm sure part (or most) (or all) of this emotion is tied up in the fact that a year ago I found out I was pregnant with Micah. I find that my yearning for a baby is often tied to how badly I'm grieving on any given day (or whether I've gone to church). And so this morning, all those tears, they were probably mostly for Micah.
Still, foolishness and all, I'm disappointed.
Last year, we weren't really trying but also weren't preventing pregnancy. This year, the same. As it so happens, this was the first cycle we were allowed to enjoy and we very much did, if you get my drift.
And, although I was ambivalent and very zen about pregnancy and the possibility of another baby during the first half of this cycle, I am no longer so. In the little tiny place inside of me where I keep my foolish hopes, there was a hope that this morning, I would pee on a stick and get two lines.
Well I guess I did get two lines. Strictly speaking. One line on each of two tests.
Yup, took multiple tests this morning. Even though I've never gotten a positive test before 10 days past ovulation. Even though I know that and I know it's too early and I know it's unlikely especially considering my decisive temp drop this morning.
And, even with knowing all that and trying to be rational and whatnot I am so disappointed. Not sure why. Two weeks ago I wasn't even sure I wanted another baby. Ever. And now here I am reduced to tears because a pregnancy test I know I'm taking too early isn't positive.
I'm sure part (or most) (or all) of this emotion is tied up in the fact that a year ago I found out I was pregnant with Micah. I find that my yearning for a baby is often tied to how badly I'm grieving on any given day (or whether I've gone to church). And so this morning, all those tears, they were probably mostly for Micah.
Still, foolishness and all, I'm disappointed.
Labels:
Alex,
grieving,
Micah,
pregnancy,
stillbirth
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Regular Plain Old Omens
As opposed to the winged kind.
Saturday will be two anniversaries for me. Sixth wedding anniversary. Six years since I married my favorite grown up in the whole world, my hubby. Known him since I was 13. Starting dating at 16. We've got such history together. I love that man so much. I'm so happy to be able to celebrate six years since we married and to look forward to so many more happy years together.
Saturday is also the one year anniversary of finding out we were pregnant with Micah. Last year, September 18 was a Friday. I peed on a cheap pregnancy test early in the morning. Ran to the store to buy a more reliable test. Yup. Still there - two lines. Happy anniversary honey!
As many couples do on their anniversary we went out to dinner that night. A double celebration, we were thrilled. Happened to run into our OB at the restaurant and shared our news.
All good omens right? Positive test on fifth wedding anniversary. Ran into OB that very night. Had treatments for issues found after last miscarriage all worked out for this pregnancy. Found out he was a boy pretty early. Got past both miscarriage marks. Shoot, made it all the way to a few days after his due date. Took him to church almost every week, swayed him and sang to him as the music played. During my prenatal massage a few weeks before his birth I spent the entire time covering him and our family in prayer. Had a good OB appointment two days before he was born.
But none of that means anything. None of it saved him. Here I sit, almost one year later with nary a baby in sight. A bedroom closet full of boxed up baby boy clothes and a wooden chest at the end of the bed full of his things. His blanket is still draped over the rocking chair. Yet where the hell is the baby?
When my daughter and I walk in the mornings I often wonder what the neighbors must think. Of course our nearby neighbors, next door and across the street, they know what happened. But the neighbors with whom we only exchange waves and hellos, what do they think? We waved and said hello to some of them every single morning during the last part of my pregnancy, my belly far too big to ignore. Do they think I've left him at home (I wish)? Or maybe he's with my mother (I wish) or for some strange reason he's at daycare even though I keep my three year old at home (I wish) or maybe we gave him up for adoption or do any of them ever think, do they ever wonder about what really happened?
Do they say to themselves, did their baby die? Did that woman go to the hospital in the middle of the night, fully expecting to deliver her (living) son in the next few hours, I mean her contractions were so close and so hard and she had just felt that little baby boy move thirty minutes before leaving and then she gets there, she moans in the hallway and can't even speak labor is moving so fast and they want her to pee in a cup, in a tiny little bathroom and then
and then
she sees him on the screen, lifeless. Still. Nothing moving. Not even his tiny precious heart. She demands of the doctor, you don't see a heartbeat do you? Finally she gets her answer, what she's known since the moment that screen flicked on. He died. Somewhere, somehow, in between feeling those three strong kicks right before leaving and being there, in that triage room, her son died.
Do you think they ever wonder about that? Nah, they probably just think he's at home with my mother (I wish).
Saturday will be two anniversaries for me. Sixth wedding anniversary. Six years since I married my favorite grown up in the whole world, my hubby. Known him since I was 13. Starting dating at 16. We've got such history together. I love that man so much. I'm so happy to be able to celebrate six years since we married and to look forward to so many more happy years together.
Saturday is also the one year anniversary of finding out we were pregnant with Micah. Last year, September 18 was a Friday. I peed on a cheap pregnancy test early in the morning. Ran to the store to buy a more reliable test. Yup. Still there - two lines. Happy anniversary honey!
As many couples do on their anniversary we went out to dinner that night. A double celebration, we were thrilled. Happened to run into our OB at the restaurant and shared our news.
All good omens right? Positive test on fifth wedding anniversary. Ran into OB that very night. Had treatments for issues found after last miscarriage all worked out for this pregnancy. Found out he was a boy pretty early. Got past both miscarriage marks. Shoot, made it all the way to a few days after his due date. Took him to church almost every week, swayed him and sang to him as the music played. During my prenatal massage a few weeks before his birth I spent the entire time covering him and our family in prayer. Had a good OB appointment two days before he was born.
But none of that means anything. None of it saved him. Here I sit, almost one year later with nary a baby in sight. A bedroom closet full of boxed up baby boy clothes and a wooden chest at the end of the bed full of his things. His blanket is still draped over the rocking chair. Yet where the hell is the baby?
When my daughter and I walk in the mornings I often wonder what the neighbors must think. Of course our nearby neighbors, next door and across the street, they know what happened. But the neighbors with whom we only exchange waves and hellos, what do they think? We waved and said hello to some of them every single morning during the last part of my pregnancy, my belly far too big to ignore. Do they think I've left him at home (I wish)? Or maybe he's with my mother (I wish) or for some strange reason he's at daycare even though I keep my three year old at home (I wish) or maybe we gave him up for adoption or do any of them ever think, do they ever wonder about what really happened?
Do they say to themselves, did their baby die? Did that woman go to the hospital in the middle of the night, fully expecting to deliver her (living) son in the next few hours, I mean her contractions were so close and so hard and she had just felt that little baby boy move thirty minutes before leaving and then she gets there, she moans in the hallway and can't even speak labor is moving so fast and they want her to pee in a cup, in a tiny little bathroom and then
and then
she sees him on the screen, lifeless. Still. Nothing moving. Not even his tiny precious heart. She demands of the doctor, you don't see a heartbeat do you? Finally she gets her answer, what she's known since the moment that screen flicked on. He died. Somewhere, somehow, in between feeling those three strong kicks right before leaving and being there, in that triage room, her son died.
Do you think they ever wonder about that? Nah, they probably just think he's at home with my mother (I wish).
Labels:
grieving,
Hubby,
Micah,
stillbirth
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Normal-ish
Surprisingly, for the past week and a half I've felt almost normal. Sad sometimes, yes, especially when triggers are around (ginormously pregnant woman at walmart, i'm looking at you). Still crying on and off here and there. Not claiming complete normalcy here.
But.
I think maybe (hopefully) I'm settling into my new normal. One in which I can control my tears (mostly) and one in which I can choose to grieve at home, in private. A normal that includes thoughts of things other than my baby is dead, my heart is broken, my life will never be the same.
It feels good.
Sometimes that makes me feel guilty. How can I be happy, and beyond happy - sometimes even content - when my baby is dead, his ashes in a box on the top shelf of my closet?
(I have an urn. It's just empty. Don't know why, I paid good money for it. Even though it is empty it sits on display in our family room.)
I don't know. I don't know how I can be happy at this point in my life, but the fact is that I am happy sometimes. All I know is that this is the life I've been given. Lots of crap is completely out of my control. I can do nothing to bring my baby back. That's it. There's nothing to be done about it. Final. Done deal. This is it, folks.
And, even with the whole dead baby thing, my life is still good. In so many ways my life is still good. I can't forget that. I live in a safe country. We have plenty of food to eat. My husband has a good job. I have a husband. I have a daughter. My best friend and I will at some point in the foreseeable future live in the same city again (that day gets closer and closer all the time). My other best friend is beating the heck out of breast cancer. I have lots of friends and family that love me and care about me. My husband is a good cook and takes out the trash and kills bugs. I've discovered surf movies. My sister in law got me a subscription to an MP3 service where I can download unlimited music. It's college football season. My local library system ain't half bad and what they don't have they'll quickly get for me.
I could go on and on.
And it's not even that all those things make losing Micah somehow better. Or easier. They don't.
It's just that what's left, what is still here after the life shattering earthquake that was Micah's death, is a good life.
I intend to (try to) enjoy it.
But.
I think maybe (hopefully) I'm settling into my new normal. One in which I can control my tears (mostly) and one in which I can choose to grieve at home, in private. A normal that includes thoughts of things other than my baby is dead, my heart is broken, my life will never be the same.
It feels good.
Sometimes that makes me feel guilty. How can I be happy, and beyond happy - sometimes even content - when my baby is dead, his ashes in a box on the top shelf of my closet?
(I have an urn. It's just empty. Don't know why, I paid good money for it. Even though it is empty it sits on display in our family room.)
I don't know. I don't know how I can be happy at this point in my life, but the fact is that I am happy sometimes. All I know is that this is the life I've been given. Lots of crap is completely out of my control. I can do nothing to bring my baby back. That's it. There's nothing to be done about it. Final. Done deal. This is it, folks.
And, even with the whole dead baby thing, my life is still good. In so many ways my life is still good. I can't forget that. I live in a safe country. We have plenty of food to eat. My husband has a good job. I have a husband. I have a daughter. My best friend and I will at some point in the foreseeable future live in the same city again (that day gets closer and closer all the time). My other best friend is beating the heck out of breast cancer. I have lots of friends and family that love me and care about me. My husband is a good cook and takes out the trash and kills bugs. I've discovered surf movies. My sister in law got me a subscription to an MP3 service where I can download unlimited music. It's college football season. My local library system ain't half bad and what they don't have they'll quickly get for me.
I could go on and on.
And it's not even that all those things make losing Micah somehow better. Or easier. They don't.
It's just that what's left, what is still here after the life shattering earthquake that was Micah's death, is a good life.
I intend to (try to) enjoy it.
Labels:
grieving,
Micah,
stillbirth
Monday, September 13, 2010
Been Away
This past week I took a break from the blogosphere. Lately I've noticed that I've been spending entirely too much time on the computer, all of L's naptime and even time in the morning during which I've been letting her lounge and watch tv.
Not saying anything about folks that are on the computer a lot or let their kids watch lots of tv, but those are not things I aspire to do. To each his own, and my own involves lots of active play, keeping control of the laundry and making sure L gets lots of outdoor time. Sitting in front of the computer for hours a day is not conducive to those things.
Also, my Google Reader has become decidedly depressing. Since Micah died I've had to filter out lots of blogs I used to read, blogs that involved pregnancies and families with siblings, in order to preserve my sanity. I've also added lots of blogs of fellow dead baby mamas. We dead baby mamas tend to veer sharply away from happy and joyous posts and as such I've found myself spending hours a day reading and commenting and digesting lots and lots of sadness, angst and heartbreaking pain.
I think it started to make things worse.
So last week I gave that up. I stayed away and it did me a lot of good. I spent lots more time actively engaged in my life and the people around me.
Today, I came back. I can't stay away for good, I've been an almost daily reader of blogs for years now and I do enjoy writing here, it's very cathartic for me right now. But I am culling my blog reader, I'm cutting back on the dead baby mama reading to just those ladies with whom I've made connections and whose writing I really enjoy. I'm slowly going to add back in blogs from other areas I used to really enjoy reading, of course with some filters as to what content is appropriate for my emotional health right now. I just can't continue to only read sadness, I've got so much of that all on my own right now that filling my days with tons of other people's sadness is not helping me to heal. It's dragging me back down into the depths and making me angst-ier than I really need to be.
I hope this is a step in the right direction, a step toward doing what I can to improve my emotional and mental health. It certainly won't fix the source of the problem, nothing can. So all I can do is change the few things I do have control over and I'm trying to work on doing just that.
Not saying anything about folks that are on the computer a lot or let their kids watch lots of tv, but those are not things I aspire to do. To each his own, and my own involves lots of active play, keeping control of the laundry and making sure L gets lots of outdoor time. Sitting in front of the computer for hours a day is not conducive to those things.
Also, my Google Reader has become decidedly depressing. Since Micah died I've had to filter out lots of blogs I used to read, blogs that involved pregnancies and families with siblings, in order to preserve my sanity. I've also added lots of blogs of fellow dead baby mamas. We dead baby mamas tend to veer sharply away from happy and joyous posts and as such I've found myself spending hours a day reading and commenting and digesting lots and lots of sadness, angst and heartbreaking pain.
I think it started to make things worse.
So last week I gave that up. I stayed away and it did me a lot of good. I spent lots more time actively engaged in my life and the people around me.
Today, I came back. I can't stay away for good, I've been an almost daily reader of blogs for years now and I do enjoy writing here, it's very cathartic for me right now. But I am culling my blog reader, I'm cutting back on the dead baby mama reading to just those ladies with whom I've made connections and whose writing I really enjoy. I'm slowly going to add back in blogs from other areas I used to really enjoy reading, of course with some filters as to what content is appropriate for my emotional health right now. I just can't continue to only read sadness, I've got so much of that all on my own right now that filling my days with tons of other people's sadness is not helping me to heal. It's dragging me back down into the depths and making me angst-ier than I really need to be.
I hope this is a step in the right direction, a step toward doing what I can to improve my emotional and mental health. It certainly won't fix the source of the problem, nothing can. So all I can do is change the few things I do have control over and I'm trying to work on doing just that.
Labels:
blog stuff,
grieving,
Micah,
stillbirth
Tuesday, September 07, 2010
Garsh
I'd like to start with some notes on my last post and finish with some complaining about my inlaws:
First, I want to say that I know a lot of my readers are not as fortunate as I am, in that they have no living children. I hope my last post didn't bother any of you and I'm sorry if it did. I find it a bit hard sometimes as I want to balance being sensitive to my readers and getting out what I need to get out, which often involves L. My current life revolves around being a mother to dead kids and a living one. I guess I'm trying to say that if it hurts you to read I'm so sorry. The last thing I want to do is cause another grieving mother more pain.
Second, I think my post may have come across more harsh than I meant it to. People have said some straight up stupid things to me but for the most part those stupid things are coming out of the mouths of people who care about me.
*****
I had the distinct non-pleasure of being surrounded by quite a few of those people Sunday evening and it ended badly. In the middle of my father in law's 65th birthday party I left, silently grabbing my purse and keys and heading to the car. I then spent half an hour driving around town crying and trying to chill out before landing at a fancy grocery store and pursuing the expensive and exotic organic fruit and wishing the folks offering the little tiny sample cups of wine would just give me the whole bottle. (Doesn't being a sad mama to a dead baby get me any perks?) Finally I went back. Turns out hubby had some words with said family members and at the time I was mortified. Now that I've had time to think on it though, stuff was said that needed to be said and I hope to be treated with more kindness and consideration from now on.
Notice the word hope - hubby's family is something else, yall. I love em all to death, but dang if they aren't often insensitive and inappropriate on a wide range of subjects, not just dead babies. I know this, I prepared for that party by having a (large) glass of wine before going, but I didn't expect it to be as bad as it was. Within thirty minutes of arriving I was in the bathroom crying and chastising myself for even coming. Obviously the wine was not enough and I should have stayed home.
Or maybe it was worth it for the things to be said that were said. It does feel good to have the air cleared, so to speak, to have had it all laid out there in brutal honesty (hubby's good at that. I'm not. I'm glad I wasn't there when this all went down) and to have his family realize the stupid crap they were doing and to have at least a little bit of hope that this crap will now end.
We'll see. Not holding my breath, though.
First, I want to say that I know a lot of my readers are not as fortunate as I am, in that they have no living children. I hope my last post didn't bother any of you and I'm sorry if it did. I find it a bit hard sometimes as I want to balance being sensitive to my readers and getting out what I need to get out, which often involves L. My current life revolves around being a mother to dead kids and a living one. I guess I'm trying to say that if it hurts you to read I'm so sorry. The last thing I want to do is cause another grieving mother more pain.
Second, I think my post may have come across more harsh than I meant it to. People have said some straight up stupid things to me but for the most part those stupid things are coming out of the mouths of people who care about me.
*****
I had the distinct non-pleasure of being surrounded by quite a few of those people Sunday evening and it ended badly. In the middle of my father in law's 65th birthday party I left, silently grabbing my purse and keys and heading to the car. I then spent half an hour driving around town crying and trying to chill out before landing at a fancy grocery store and pursuing the expensive and exotic organic fruit and wishing the folks offering the little tiny sample cups of wine would just give me the whole bottle. (Doesn't being a sad mama to a dead baby get me any perks?) Finally I went back. Turns out hubby had some words with said family members and at the time I was mortified. Now that I've had time to think on it though, stuff was said that needed to be said and I hope to be treated with more kindness and consideration from now on.
Notice the word hope - hubby's family is something else, yall. I love em all to death, but dang if they aren't often insensitive and inappropriate on a wide range of subjects, not just dead babies. I know this, I prepared for that party by having a (large) glass of wine before going, but I didn't expect it to be as bad as it was. Within thirty minutes of arriving I was in the bathroom crying and chastising myself for even coming. Obviously the wine was not enough and I should have stayed home.
Or maybe it was worth it for the things to be said that were said. It does feel good to have the air cleared, so to speak, to have had it all laid out there in brutal honesty (hubby's good at that. I'm not. I'm glad I wasn't there when this all went down) and to have his family realize the stupid crap they were doing and to have at least a little bit of hope that this crap will now end.
We'll see. Not holding my breath, though.
Friday, September 03, 2010
A Reminder I Do Not Need
I love my daughter. I am blessed. I realize this. I look around my house and see the wee sized rocking chair, the baskets of toys, the childrens books. I hold her in my arms and smell her and try to take her in, remember this, imprint it on my brain, on my heart. I lay with her at night as she falls asleep and think on all the sweet things she did that day. I know I am a lucky woman, I have what so many others will never get the chance to have - a healthy, living, breathing child. I am, actually, more aware of this now than I was before.
I do not, in fact, need to be reminded of her or reminded to love her (as if I would ever forget that) or reminded that she is a blessing.
I do not, in fact, need to be told that I shouldn't forget about her, that Micah would want me to love her, that he would want me to move on and not forget about those around me that are still living.
Contrary to what (some) others apparently believe, I haven't forgotten about her. I haven't forgotten to love her. I haven't forgotten that she is a blessing. I haven't forgotten that she is still living (trust me on this. many nights I check on her to make sure she is breathing before I go to bed).
It is patently unhelpful to tell me that I need to remember to love her. I love that girl with all my heart. She is the reason I get out of bed in the morning, she is the reason I don't spend all day crying in a corner, she is the reason I brave having to talk to the neighbors and actually go outside, she is the main reason I haven't shriveled up and died myself.
So, just to set the record straight, let me say it again: I love my daughter. Missing my son doesn't take away from the love I have for my daughter. I can be happy about my daughter while sad about her brother. It is, actually, the exact situation I find myself in all day everyday - happy and sad, all at the same time.
Glad that's cleared up.
I do not, in fact, need to be reminded of her or reminded to love her (as if I would ever forget that) or reminded that she is a blessing.
I do not, in fact, need to be told that I shouldn't forget about her, that Micah would want me to love her, that he would want me to move on and not forget about those around me that are still living.
Contrary to what (some) others apparently believe, I haven't forgotten about her. I haven't forgotten to love her. I haven't forgotten that she is a blessing. I haven't forgotten that she is still living (trust me on this. many nights I check on her to make sure she is breathing before I go to bed).
It is patently unhelpful to tell me that I need to remember to love her. I love that girl with all my heart. She is the reason I get out of bed in the morning, she is the reason I don't spend all day crying in a corner, she is the reason I brave having to talk to the neighbors and actually go outside, she is the main reason I haven't shriveled up and died myself.
So, just to set the record straight, let me say it again: I love my daughter. Missing my son doesn't take away from the love I have for my daughter. I can be happy about my daughter while sad about her brother. It is, actually, the exact situation I find myself in all day everyday - happy and sad, all at the same time.
Glad that's cleared up.
Labels:
family,
grieving,
L,
Micah,
stillbirth
Wednesday, September 01, 2010
A Strange Kind Of Loneliness
So many of the aspects of this grief I can understand. They suck. They are blood suckingly sucky. But I can understand them.
Sadness, sorrow, anger, jealously, bitterness - I get these. It's really sad that my baby died. I am sorrowful because I'll never get to mother him. I'm angry that he was taken from me. I'm jealous that other people get so easily what I don't. I'm bitter that I have to suffer all this.
I get that it can start the tears a flowing just having a quiet house. If there were a baby here my house wouldn't be quiet. I get that waking up in the middle of the night and not being needed sends a pang through me that almost hurts sometimes. Watching L with a smaller somebody, seeing what an awesome big sister she would be, I completely understand why that hurts.
But what's up with the loneliness? It's not like my almost three month old son would be providing me with adult companionship and interesting conversation. Yet a longing for those things seems to be a part of my grief. I don't really understand why all of a sudden I have such an intense desire to be around my hubby and/or my best friend, just to be near them, have them near me, just have them be here.
Me and L here all day by ourselves has become oppressive. But it's the very same arrangement I've loved (for the most part) for the better part of three years. Now it's almost too much to take some days.
I crave adult interaction like never before. But very specific adult interaction. I'm really not interested in interacting with about 99% of available adults - just an impossibly small 1%. Also, I only want to talk about what I want to talk about when I want to talk about it. Sometimes I just want somebody here so I don't feel so alone.
Maybe that's it, maybe it's more of a comfort thing than loneliness. Maybe it's comfort and a craving for distraction, something to keep my mind from wandering to where I'm starting to be tired of going, cause I'm so tired of being so unbearably sad all the time. It's really depressing.
Maybe it's that I want hubby and best friend here because they would be understanding. They would let me cry. They wouldn't be afraid of talking about Micah and they wouldn't be afraid of not talking about Micah. I could just be, but not all alone.
Sadness, sorrow, anger, jealously, bitterness - I get these. It's really sad that my baby died. I am sorrowful because I'll never get to mother him. I'm angry that he was taken from me. I'm jealous that other people get so easily what I don't. I'm bitter that I have to suffer all this.
I get that it can start the tears a flowing just having a quiet house. If there were a baby here my house wouldn't be quiet. I get that waking up in the middle of the night and not being needed sends a pang through me that almost hurts sometimes. Watching L with a smaller somebody, seeing what an awesome big sister she would be, I completely understand why that hurts.
But what's up with the loneliness? It's not like my almost three month old son would be providing me with adult companionship and interesting conversation. Yet a longing for those things seems to be a part of my grief. I don't really understand why all of a sudden I have such an intense desire to be around my hubby and/or my best friend, just to be near them, have them near me, just have them be here.
Me and L here all day by ourselves has become oppressive. But it's the very same arrangement I've loved (for the most part) for the better part of three years. Now it's almost too much to take some days.
I crave adult interaction like never before. But very specific adult interaction. I'm really not interested in interacting with about 99% of available adults - just an impossibly small 1%. Also, I only want to talk about what I want to talk about when I want to talk about it. Sometimes I just want somebody here so I don't feel so alone.
Maybe that's it, maybe it's more of a comfort thing than loneliness. Maybe it's comfort and a craving for distraction, something to keep my mind from wandering to where I'm starting to be tired of going, cause I'm so tired of being so unbearably sad all the time. It's really depressing.
Maybe it's that I want hubby and best friend here because they would be understanding. They would let me cry. They wouldn't be afraid of talking about Micah and they wouldn't be afraid of not talking about Micah. I could just be, but not all alone.
Labels:
friends,
grieving,
Hubby,
Micah,
stillbirth
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