In a few short hours, it will mark the 6 month date of when we lost Baby Will. My therapist told me a few visits ago that she had heard that it's something about the 6 month anniversary of a loss that seems to be the first hardest milestone to get through.
She wasn't lying...I've most definitely been bitchier this week, and it doesn't help that I'm PMSing, either.
One of mine & James' shows is Hell's Kitchen, comes on Wednesday nights. This past Wednesday night, it was at the end, and Chef Ramsay was getting ready to eliminate one of the final four. As it seemed he was getting ready to, he instead surprised the final four with family members and friends who were in town for a visit. The last family to come in was a husband with his infant son...maybe around 7-8 months or so...around the same age Will would be. I watched, and I just cried and cried and cried. Right now, thinking about all the women who had children within the same few months after Will was born is the hardest part. All the milestones they're getting to watch...rolling over, crawling, walking, first words...we never get to have those with him. We never get to have those with him, and it kills me to think about it.
My therapist told me at my last visit that she would identify the emotion that's at the forefront of my thinking to be jealousy. And, she's right...I would never ever wish this on anyone, but I am so beyond jealous about all the things that other mothers get to experience right now that I should be, and I'm not. And I hate it, and it's not fair, and there's nothing that can make it okay...and I think I hate that piece the most.
Did I mention that the PMS part REALLY doesn't help things?
I was sad earlier this evening because I tried earlier today to remember that feeling of holding him close and cuddling him while I sat on the couch after work, and I couldn't remember it. I couldn't recall that feeling. Now, as I sit here, that feeling almost suffocates me. And this certainly isn't how I'm doing most of the time, but tonight, it is. Tonight, my heart aches, and I miss my son.
Always & forever, baby boy...<3
Friday, December 3, 2010
Monday, November 15, 2010
Beliefs & letting go
Wow...it's been a while, eh?
So, October was SIDS awareness month, and October 15th was specifically the national day of recognition for pregnancy & infant loss. We went to a couple of candle-lighting ceremonies, and while I can appreciate the thought and the meaning behind them, it just didn't feel like it did the moment or the recognition justice.
At one of them, I listened to a woman who'd had an abortion when she was younger talk to another woman who'd lost her infant son about finding peace and forgiveness and just remembering that Christ was there to take all of us in his arms and hold us close and love us and bring us comfort.
Really??
Are you kidding me??
Don't get me wrong, I do consider myself a Christian, as devout as I've ever been. I still believe in God the Creator...I'm just not really on speaking terms with Him right now. Since we lost Baby Will, I've heard 2 different takes on the situation. I've heard people say that it was part of God's will, and I've heard people say it was an accident. I feel there are good and bad things about both.
On the side of it being part of God's will, the pro is that there is/was a larger purpose for it. There's a reason why it happened, and it was meant to be. The con side is what kind of a loving God would have that in His great plan? What kind of a loving God would deem it meant to be for parents to lose their child?
On the side of it being an accident & not part of God's great plan, the pro side is that it wasn't part of some greater plan, and it wasn't the work of a loving God. Of course, the con side of that is that if it wasn't part of a greater plan, what's the meaning behind it? Why did it happen?
Obviously, I'm still dealing with some anger issues...
I spoke to a close friend of mine this past weekend who's been a little MIA through this whole thing. Not to the point of not being supportive, but just having his own thing going on. He admitted, during our conversation, that one of the main reasons he'd been MIA is because he'd had no idea of what to say, any advice to give or any words of comfort to offer. And it made me think...those people who I feel haven't been supportive of all of this, the ones who seem to shy away from talking about it or mentioning it at all...maybe it's not that they don't care. Maybe it's because they were so terrified of saying or doing the wrong thing, they just didn't say or do anything. And I get that, but getting that blurs the lines of where my anger is focused. It would be so much simpler to have been able to continue the separation in my mind of the people who were wonderful and supportive and the people who weren't. And without that, a place to focus my anger and feelings of betrayal kind of disappears. And I don't know that I'm ready for it to be gone yet.
I've started watching One Tree Hill lately, catching up from season 1. I'm a little bit in lust with Chad Michael Murray, and since his stint on Gilmore Girls was short-lived, I've moved on to his next show. At the end of season 2, there's a voiceover quote that says: "And Hansel said to Gretel: Let us drop these bread crumbs so that together we can find our way home. Because losing our way would be the most cruel of things. This year I lost my way. And losing your way on a journey is unfortunate. But losing your reason for the journey...is a fate more cruel. The journey lasted eight months. Sometimes I traveled alone. Sometimes there were others who took the wheel...and took my heart. But when the destination was reached, it wasn't me who'd arrived. It wasn't me at all. And once you lose yourself, you have two choices: Find the person you used to be or lose that person completely. Because sometimes you have to step outside of the person you’ve been and remember the person you were meant to be. The person you wanted to be. The person you are."
I've been trying and trying and reaching to hold on to the person I was before all this happened...to not lose myself. But the reality is that I will never be that person again. Too much has happened, and I can't go back. It took me 28 years to get to the point where I was anywhere close to being comfortable in my own skin, being comfortable with who I am. And, now I feel like I have to get to know that person all over again. I feel like I spend so much time trying to take care of myself and focusing on myself that I don't really have the energy to focus on others and what's going on with them...at least, not the way I did before. But maybe that's what it's going to take, at least for a while, to become comfortable in my own skin and to know myself again.
So, October was SIDS awareness month, and October 15th was specifically the national day of recognition for pregnancy & infant loss. We went to a couple of candle-lighting ceremonies, and while I can appreciate the thought and the meaning behind them, it just didn't feel like it did the moment or the recognition justice.
At one of them, I listened to a woman who'd had an abortion when she was younger talk to another woman who'd lost her infant son about finding peace and forgiveness and just remembering that Christ was there to take all of us in his arms and hold us close and love us and bring us comfort.
Really??
Are you kidding me??
Don't get me wrong, I do consider myself a Christian, as devout as I've ever been. I still believe in God the Creator...I'm just not really on speaking terms with Him right now. Since we lost Baby Will, I've heard 2 different takes on the situation. I've heard people say that it was part of God's will, and I've heard people say it was an accident. I feel there are good and bad things about both.
On the side of it being part of God's will, the pro is that there is/was a larger purpose for it. There's a reason why it happened, and it was meant to be. The con side is what kind of a loving God would have that in His great plan? What kind of a loving God would deem it meant to be for parents to lose their child?
On the side of it being an accident & not part of God's great plan, the pro side is that it wasn't part of some greater plan, and it wasn't the work of a loving God. Of course, the con side of that is that if it wasn't part of a greater plan, what's the meaning behind it? Why did it happen?
Obviously, I'm still dealing with some anger issues...
I spoke to a close friend of mine this past weekend who's been a little MIA through this whole thing. Not to the point of not being supportive, but just having his own thing going on. He admitted, during our conversation, that one of the main reasons he'd been MIA is because he'd had no idea of what to say, any advice to give or any words of comfort to offer. And it made me think...those people who I feel haven't been supportive of all of this, the ones who seem to shy away from talking about it or mentioning it at all...maybe it's not that they don't care. Maybe it's because they were so terrified of saying or doing the wrong thing, they just didn't say or do anything. And I get that, but getting that blurs the lines of where my anger is focused. It would be so much simpler to have been able to continue the separation in my mind of the people who were wonderful and supportive and the people who weren't. And without that, a place to focus my anger and feelings of betrayal kind of disappears. And I don't know that I'm ready for it to be gone yet.
I've started watching One Tree Hill lately, catching up from season 1. I'm a little bit in lust with Chad Michael Murray, and since his stint on Gilmore Girls was short-lived, I've moved on to his next show. At the end of season 2, there's a voiceover quote that says: "And Hansel said to Gretel: Let us drop these bread crumbs so that together we can find our way home. Because losing our way would be the most cruel of things. This year I lost my way. And losing your way on a journey is unfortunate. But losing your reason for the journey...is a fate more cruel. The journey lasted eight months. Sometimes I traveled alone. Sometimes there were others who took the wheel...and took my heart. But when the destination was reached, it wasn't me who'd arrived. It wasn't me at all. And once you lose yourself, you have two choices: Find the person you used to be or lose that person completely. Because sometimes you have to step outside of the person you’ve been and remember the person you were meant to be. The person you wanted to be. The person you are."
I've been trying and trying and reaching to hold on to the person I was before all this happened...to not lose myself. But the reality is that I will never be that person again. Too much has happened, and I can't go back. It took me 28 years to get to the point where I was anywhere close to being comfortable in my own skin, being comfortable with who I am. And, now I feel like I have to get to know that person all over again. I feel like I spend so much time trying to take care of myself and focusing on myself that I don't really have the energy to focus on others and what's going on with them...at least, not the way I did before. But maybe that's what it's going to take, at least for a while, to become comfortable in my own skin and to know myself again.
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Taking a Chance
I almost hesitate to write this, and if it wasn't for the need to get all of this out of my head and out in writing, whether that be actual or electronic writing, I probably wouldn't. I guess it all depends on who actually reads this, and I'm taking a chance on who does and who doesn't.
I learned back in college that it's not always the best idea to honestly express yourself through venues like blogs, facebook, livejournal, opendiary, etc. because nothing is private and almost nothing is truly anonymous online. I must admit, though, that as much as I detest confrontation, there's a part of me that wants the people this concerns to read it...almost...
At least I'll keep names out of this...
To you...it recently hit me where things started to separate where our friendship is concerned, or where I felt they started to separate. A few days, a week, 2 weeks after I came back to work, I received a text from you telling me that you were available to listen, but you were giving me my space. At the time, I respected that, and I understood, but that started to bother me in a way that I didn't have the words or explanations to express at the time. I understand that I'm not good at asking people for what I need. This situation has, unfortunately, not changed that. However, in understanding that about myself, the absolute last thing I ended up needing was space. All that did was make me feel even more alone and isolated than I already felt.
What I needed were the people who surrounded me with love and support, who said, “We don’t know what to do or what to say, but we can listen, and we can be there, and we can give you love, and we aren’t going to leave you feeling isolated and alone.” The sad part of this, of course, is that the damage has been done, and it can’t be undone, & it can’t be taken back. We’ll continue to speak and be polite, talk about shallow subjects, like work and the weather, but it’ll never again be like it was before all this happened.
And to you...yesterday morning, you came in and started to read the piece I had written with quotes from C.S. Lewis’s “A Grief Observed.” I cringed the whole time, because I feel that at some point, the elephant in the room will have to be addressed. I know that at some point, the fact that I spend more time with some people instead of others will come up. And, I know that when it does, I will have no choice but to tell you that the reason I’m with them so much is because they didn’t leave me feeling abandoned and isolated and left alone. Hell, at this point, I almost feel like saying the wrong thing would be preferable over saying nothing, preferable over overlooking it and wanting to deny or forget that it ever happened.
Halfway through reading, you turned, and I explained that I had written it right after everything happened and printed it out because I needed to remember, and because I felt it was one of the better pieces I had written. You read for a few more moments, then said, “I’m not in the right headspace for this right now," and walked away. The incredibly selfish, bitchy part of me wanted to look at you and say, “I wish it was that easy for me. 'I'm not in the right headspace for this right now, so I’ll just walk away'.” If I could take a picture of a moment that illustrates why I feel the way I've felt when I'm around you...or you...or you, it would be that moment.
The dust has begun to settle, and as it continues to, I don't know...I hate to be that person who writes people off as real friends because this wasn't in the realm of situations they were capable of handling...but what choice do I really have? Loyalty speaks volumes in my life. In my darkest moments, when I needed people to be there the most, I know who was there, who fell off along the way and who wasn't anywhere close to begin with.
I learned back in college that it's not always the best idea to honestly express yourself through venues like blogs, facebook, livejournal, opendiary, etc. because nothing is private and almost nothing is truly anonymous online. I must admit, though, that as much as I detest confrontation, there's a part of me that wants the people this concerns to read it...almost...
At least I'll keep names out of this...
To you...it recently hit me where things started to separate where our friendship is concerned, or where I felt they started to separate. A few days, a week, 2 weeks after I came back to work, I received a text from you telling me that you were available to listen, but you were giving me my space. At the time, I respected that, and I understood, but that started to bother me in a way that I didn't have the words or explanations to express at the time. I understand that I'm not good at asking people for what I need. This situation has, unfortunately, not changed that. However, in understanding that about myself, the absolute last thing I ended up needing was space. All that did was make me feel even more alone and isolated than I already felt.
What I needed were the people who surrounded me with love and support, who said, “We don’t know what to do or what to say, but we can listen, and we can be there, and we can give you love, and we aren’t going to leave you feeling isolated and alone.” The sad part of this, of course, is that the damage has been done, and it can’t be undone, & it can’t be taken back. We’ll continue to speak and be polite, talk about shallow subjects, like work and the weather, but it’ll never again be like it was before all this happened.
And to you...yesterday morning, you came in and started to read the piece I had written with quotes from C.S. Lewis’s “A Grief Observed.” I cringed the whole time, because I feel that at some point, the elephant in the room will have to be addressed. I know that at some point, the fact that I spend more time with some people instead of others will come up. And, I know that when it does, I will have no choice but to tell you that the reason I’m with them so much is because they didn’t leave me feeling abandoned and isolated and left alone. Hell, at this point, I almost feel like saying the wrong thing would be preferable over saying nothing, preferable over overlooking it and wanting to deny or forget that it ever happened.
Halfway through reading, you turned, and I explained that I had written it right after everything happened and printed it out because I needed to remember, and because I felt it was one of the better pieces I had written. You read for a few more moments, then said, “I’m not in the right headspace for this right now," and walked away. The incredibly selfish, bitchy part of me wanted to look at you and say, “I wish it was that easy for me. 'I'm not in the right headspace for this right now, so I’ll just walk away'.” If I could take a picture of a moment that illustrates why I feel the way I've felt when I'm around you...or you...or you, it would be that moment.
The dust has begun to settle, and as it continues to, I don't know...I hate to be that person who writes people off as real friends because this wasn't in the realm of situations they were capable of handling...but what choice do I really have? Loyalty speaks volumes in my life. In my darkest moments, when I needed people to be there the most, I know who was there, who fell off along the way and who wasn't anywhere close to begin with.
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Fixed
I feel like some of my days are almost bipolar in nature...extreme highs and lows...if the day sucks, there's a good chance the evening will be good. If the day's good, there's a good chance the evening will suck.
Today has been one of those days.
Had a conversation with a co-worker this morning about our department and the changes people are trying to bring about, and we touched on the topic of feeling appreciated. It is my deep seated belief that, while I don't think anyone in the department needs to be petted or praised constantly, per se, people who pour a lot of energy and heart and soul into their jobs need to have that energy replenished somehow. They have to know that what they're doing makes a difference, that they're appreciated. However, if the focus is on what's going wrong and what they're doing wrong without having anything positive to counterbalance that, what you end up having is a lot of bitter, resentful employees. And, I know that if any of us are coming to work expecting for...certain...other...disciplines or for upper management to understand or appreciate what we do, we're all going to leave disappointed and pissed off every single day. I really think we take for granted that everyone in our department knows that the other people appreciate them, supervisors included.
For me, the patients I work with are about 90% of why I haven't gone to another job. Today, I had one patient tell me that I was doing a great job, and he was glad I was working there. I could have cried, it touched my heart so much.
That...was the bright point of the day...
I really should've learned my lesson by now. Every situation like this, I walk out of pissed off at myself because I know better. I know there are people you can talk to who will genuinely listen, and I know there are people who will start off acting like they're listening to you, but then it either starts to turn to wanting to fix it or an entirely different focus than what the original topic was in the first place.
I am not in a good place...to the people who really know me and support me, there's no use in even trying to pretend I'm in a good place. I can say that, for the most part, I'm in a better place than I was 3 months ago, but it's still not a good place. I know this is a hard thing for other people to handle or for other people to know how to handle. I know that people who I used to be close friends with can't necessarily provide me with what I need right now. I also know that I don't have the strength or the energy to put into making things easier for other people. I can be selfish, just like everyone can, but I feel like I've spent a good portion of my life being the strong one and the listener and the supporter for other people. I've smiled, and I've been tolerant, and I've been patient, and I just don't have it in me to focus on being sensitive to how hard this is for everyone else.
I'm not unfixable, but this also isn't going to be anywhere close to a quick fix. All I really need, most of the time, is for someone to be willing to listen and tell me I'm not crazy for thinking what I'm thinking or feeling what I'm feeling*. Is that really such a hard thing to do?
*For everyone who already does this, I love you and thank you...you all are the reason that any part of my sanity is still intact.
Today has been one of those days.
Had a conversation with a co-worker this morning about our department and the changes people are trying to bring about, and we touched on the topic of feeling appreciated. It is my deep seated belief that, while I don't think anyone in the department needs to be petted or praised constantly, per se, people who pour a lot of energy and heart and soul into their jobs need to have that energy replenished somehow. They have to know that what they're doing makes a difference, that they're appreciated. However, if the focus is on what's going wrong and what they're doing wrong without having anything positive to counterbalance that, what you end up having is a lot of bitter, resentful employees. And, I know that if any of us are coming to work expecting for...certain...other...disciplines or for upper management to understand or appreciate what we do, we're all going to leave disappointed and pissed off every single day. I really think we take for granted that everyone in our department knows that the other people appreciate them, supervisors included.
For me, the patients I work with are about 90% of why I haven't gone to another job. Today, I had one patient tell me that I was doing a great job, and he was glad I was working there. I could have cried, it touched my heart so much.
That...was the bright point of the day...
I really should've learned my lesson by now. Every situation like this, I walk out of pissed off at myself because I know better. I know there are people you can talk to who will genuinely listen, and I know there are people who will start off acting like they're listening to you, but then it either starts to turn to wanting to fix it or an entirely different focus than what the original topic was in the first place.
I am not in a good place...to the people who really know me and support me, there's no use in even trying to pretend I'm in a good place. I can say that, for the most part, I'm in a better place than I was 3 months ago, but it's still not a good place. I know this is a hard thing for other people to handle or for other people to know how to handle. I know that people who I used to be close friends with can't necessarily provide me with what I need right now. I also know that I don't have the strength or the energy to put into making things easier for other people. I can be selfish, just like everyone can, but I feel like I've spent a good portion of my life being the strong one and the listener and the supporter for other people. I've smiled, and I've been tolerant, and I've been patient, and I just don't have it in me to focus on being sensitive to how hard this is for everyone else.
I'm not unfixable, but this also isn't going to be anywhere close to a quick fix. All I really need, most of the time, is for someone to be willing to listen and tell me I'm not crazy for thinking what I'm thinking or feeling what I'm feeling*. Is that really such a hard thing to do?
*For everyone who already does this, I love you and thank you...you all are the reason that any part of my sanity is still intact.
Friday, September 10, 2010
Raw
Where do I even begin?
Went to therapy this week, told her about the day that both James and I had last week. She thought it was a big step and a necessary one on the road to healing and growing. I started telling her about this week...how a lot of nights, right before I go to bed, vivid memories of that night come to me, and in an effort to fight them back, I stay up later and try to think of more pleasant things because I sure as hell don't want that to be my last thought before going to sleep. She told me that it sounded like I was getting ready to enter the hardest stage of dealing with grief...the search for meaning and closure and being able to somewhat let go. She said that I had established healthy coping skills and a strong support system for getting through the initial part of the 5 stages, and I had been able to somewhat hold the memories, and the deeper feelings associated with those, at bay. But that now, the more I tried to fight them, the more they were going to break through and make it even harder and more painful to deal with. She suggested writing down all the details from that night, everything I remember, as a means to letting it go. Definitely not a bad idea.
I had a close friend take that one step further and say that not only did I need to write it down, but that I should be completely honest, no holds barred, and write it down with the intent for no one else to see it but me.
Real, true, raw honesty...
I'm not even sure I know what that looks like anymore.
Even here, where I feel is a safer place than, say, facebook or myspace or another more public site, to express what I'm feeling, I still couldn't honestly say that I let out everything I'm feeling on here. I type something, and I read it, and I think of all the people who are aware of this blog who might read it, and I either erase it, or I make it sound nicer and more diplomatic. Logic might tend to say that if I need a place to unleash my innermost thoughts, just make this private, but I don't think I can do that, either. I need feedback and validation from friends that, even though I feel like I'm slowly losing my mind and on a train that's quickly leading to a mental and emotional breakdown, I'm not crazy for feeling what I'm feeling or thinking what I'm thinking.
And here comes the raw honesty part...
This friend also said that I needed to get to the point where I stopped viewing my reactions to feelings as being strong vs. weak. That I don't need to view crying and breaking down as being weak, that I was spending energy I don't have on trying to keep up a strong facade and that I need to just let that go.
But can I really do that?
As I've written in previous blogs, there are a few amazing people I work with who have been (and continue to be) supportive and encouraging and protective. For the most part, though, especially now that the initial part of everything has come and gone, I feel like I shouldn't break down...I shouldn't cry...or maybe that I just shouldn't let people see that. I feel, even moreso now, that for the majority of the people I work with, I have to keep that facade up. Because if I don't, they don't know what to do, how to fix it, how to make it better. They don't know how to deal with me. And I hate feeling like I'm something to be dealt with. I hate feeling like I, &/or what I'm going through is a burden to someone else. And I've seen it happen right in front of my eyes...someone stops by the office to ask me how I'm doing or how things are going, their eyes and face bright with positivity, and at first, I would answer honestly, thinking that since everything had happened, they wanted an honest answer. Then I started noticing that people's eyes and faces would just fall, and I refuse to be the downer for someone else's day. So, now it's just easier if I just smile a smile that never quite reaches my eyes and tell them I'm fine, doing okay, hanging in there, etc. It's not like I can just avoid these people, either. I don't really have a choice but to see them and interact with them on a daily basis.
So, what do I do?
I can't really let the facade go, and I can't time the breakdowns I'm going to have with when I'm close enough to my office to dash in and allow the tears to fall.
I need a solution...because holding everything in until I leave work to come home and crying my eyes out on the way home every day isn't it.
Went to therapy this week, told her about the day that both James and I had last week. She thought it was a big step and a necessary one on the road to healing and growing. I started telling her about this week...how a lot of nights, right before I go to bed, vivid memories of that night come to me, and in an effort to fight them back, I stay up later and try to think of more pleasant things because I sure as hell don't want that to be my last thought before going to sleep. She told me that it sounded like I was getting ready to enter the hardest stage of dealing with grief...the search for meaning and closure and being able to somewhat let go. She said that I had established healthy coping skills and a strong support system for getting through the initial part of the 5 stages, and I had been able to somewhat hold the memories, and the deeper feelings associated with those, at bay. But that now, the more I tried to fight them, the more they were going to break through and make it even harder and more painful to deal with. She suggested writing down all the details from that night, everything I remember, as a means to letting it go. Definitely not a bad idea.
I had a close friend take that one step further and say that not only did I need to write it down, but that I should be completely honest, no holds barred, and write it down with the intent for no one else to see it but me.
Real, true, raw honesty...
I'm not even sure I know what that looks like anymore.
Even here, where I feel is a safer place than, say, facebook or myspace or another more public site, to express what I'm feeling, I still couldn't honestly say that I let out everything I'm feeling on here. I type something, and I read it, and I think of all the people who are aware of this blog who might read it, and I either erase it, or I make it sound nicer and more diplomatic. Logic might tend to say that if I need a place to unleash my innermost thoughts, just make this private, but I don't think I can do that, either. I need feedback and validation from friends that, even though I feel like I'm slowly losing my mind and on a train that's quickly leading to a mental and emotional breakdown, I'm not crazy for feeling what I'm feeling or thinking what I'm thinking.
And here comes the raw honesty part...
This friend also said that I needed to get to the point where I stopped viewing my reactions to feelings as being strong vs. weak. That I don't need to view crying and breaking down as being weak, that I was spending energy I don't have on trying to keep up a strong facade and that I need to just let that go.
But can I really do that?
As I've written in previous blogs, there are a few amazing people I work with who have been (and continue to be) supportive and encouraging and protective. For the most part, though, especially now that the initial part of everything has come and gone, I feel like I shouldn't break down...I shouldn't cry...or maybe that I just shouldn't let people see that. I feel, even moreso now, that for the majority of the people I work with, I have to keep that facade up. Because if I don't, they don't know what to do, how to fix it, how to make it better. They don't know how to deal with me. And I hate feeling like I'm something to be dealt with. I hate feeling like I, &/or what I'm going through is a burden to someone else. And I've seen it happen right in front of my eyes...someone stops by the office to ask me how I'm doing or how things are going, their eyes and face bright with positivity, and at first, I would answer honestly, thinking that since everything had happened, they wanted an honest answer. Then I started noticing that people's eyes and faces would just fall, and I refuse to be the downer for someone else's day. So, now it's just easier if I just smile a smile that never quite reaches my eyes and tell them I'm fine, doing okay, hanging in there, etc. It's not like I can just avoid these people, either. I don't really have a choice but to see them and interact with them on a daily basis.
So, what do I do?
I can't really let the facade go, and I can't time the breakdowns I'm going to have with when I'm close enough to my office to dash in and allow the tears to fall.
I need a solution...because holding everything in until I leave work to come home and crying my eyes out on the way home every day isn't it.
Thursday, September 2, 2010
525,600 Minutes...
One year ago today, the pregnancy test turned positive, and our lives were turned upside down.
"In diapers, report cards, in spoked wheels, in speeding tickets, in contracts, dollars, in funerals, in births..525,600 minutes, how do YOU measure a year on Earth?"
A year ago...some days, it feels like it's flown by, and others, it feels like 10 years have passed in the span of 1.
Today started out tearful but ended up being SO much better than yesterday was. Amazing what can turn the day around to something more positive. In all honesty, the days leading up to significant dates are usually more emotionally taxing than the actual day itself.
Something else I struggle with (and struggled with long before all this ever happened) is being extremely hard on myself. I embody the phrase: "My own worst critic." When other people are upset and/or crying, I have no problem with that, but when it's myself, I view it as showing weakness. I feel weak and vulnerable when I cry, and because of that, there are actually very few people in this world who I let see that side of me. It starts off as something making me upset, then I go through the analysis of whether or not what happened warrants me really being upset. If it feels like something petty, I berate myself for getting upset in the first place, which only makes me more upset, and here starts the whole cycle again which becomes a downward spiral. These past 3 months have only brought that out more and more.
Some days I feel like I'm wallowing and having a pity party, and others, I feel like I'm not sad enough.
A beyond wonderful friend of mine suggested last night that rather than mark the significant dates as how many months it's been since his birth & death, instead look at it as "how far have I come in X number of months?" It's an excellent idea, and I think I'll start that this coming Saturday. For the rest of today, though, I think I'll allow myself to remember and be sad and remind myself that I don't always have to be the strong one.
"In diapers, report cards, in spoked wheels, in speeding tickets, in contracts, dollars, in funerals, in births..525,600 minutes, how do YOU measure a year on Earth?"
A year ago...some days, it feels like it's flown by, and others, it feels like 10 years have passed in the span of 1.
Today started out tearful but ended up being SO much better than yesterday was. Amazing what can turn the day around to something more positive. In all honesty, the days leading up to significant dates are usually more emotionally taxing than the actual day itself.
Something else I struggle with (and struggled with long before all this ever happened) is being extremely hard on myself. I embody the phrase: "My own worst critic." When other people are upset and/or crying, I have no problem with that, but when it's myself, I view it as showing weakness. I feel weak and vulnerable when I cry, and because of that, there are actually very few people in this world who I let see that side of me. It starts off as something making me upset, then I go through the analysis of whether or not what happened warrants me really being upset. If it feels like something petty, I berate myself for getting upset in the first place, which only makes me more upset, and here starts the whole cycle again which becomes a downward spiral. These past 3 months have only brought that out more and more.
Some days I feel like I'm wallowing and having a pity party, and others, I feel like I'm not sad enough.
A beyond wonderful friend of mine suggested last night that rather than mark the significant dates as how many months it's been since his birth & death, instead look at it as "how far have I come in X number of months?" It's an excellent idea, and I think I'll start that this coming Saturday. For the rest of today, though, I think I'll allow myself to remember and be sad and remind myself that I don't always have to be the strong one.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Isolation
Have you ever wished for death as a temporary reprieve from the chaos of your life?
Just a few moments of rest in the whirlwind, but even that's a Catch 22. Staying busy is completely physically, mentally & emotionally exhausting, but moments of silence are too painful, too raw...too real.
If there was ever a day that would cause someone to start back smoking, today was that day. Everything going wrong, but not wrong enough to warrant an emotional breakdown. Feeling close to one, anyway, and not feeling like an explanation to anyone would make any kind of sense. Instead, I end up in my office, crying, alone, because I don't want to bring anyone else down into my dark place.
Feeling isolated is something I've struggled with for most of my life. I've kinda always felt like I never really fit anywhere I was or, to an extent, with the people who were there. (*Don't get me wrong...I do count myself as an exceptionally lucky person that I've been able to take the people who do accept me unconditionally from those places that at one point or another were pretty unbearable & still carry them with me in life after those places.*) In fact, when it's gotten really bad, I've run from every single one. High school to college, college to grad school, grad school to New York and New York to North Carolina. Here is the first place I've felt like I fit more often than not since we've been here. But here is not without those moments. There are days that I go into work, and most of the time, I like to be social with my co-workers who are also my friends, like most people there, but some days (like today) I just feel like I don't quite fit where I feel like I should. Days like today make me wonder if the reason I feel isolated is because of other people or because of me.
I want time off...I need time away from all the busyness of work life, but at the same time, I don't know that it's exactly a good thing for me to be alone with my thoughts, either. I need a vacation from my own life.
I would also like to apologize to several facebook friends who have sent messages over the past few weeks & months. Most of the time, I stay ridiculously busy, and when I'm not busy, I won't lie...I'm in a pretty dark place. I do, however, plan to respond to everyone's messages at some point...eventually.
Another blog to follow tomorrow...
Just a few moments of rest in the whirlwind, but even that's a Catch 22. Staying busy is completely physically, mentally & emotionally exhausting, but moments of silence are too painful, too raw...too real.
If there was ever a day that would cause someone to start back smoking, today was that day. Everything going wrong, but not wrong enough to warrant an emotional breakdown. Feeling close to one, anyway, and not feeling like an explanation to anyone would make any kind of sense. Instead, I end up in my office, crying, alone, because I don't want to bring anyone else down into my dark place.
Feeling isolated is something I've struggled with for most of my life. I've kinda always felt like I never really fit anywhere I was or, to an extent, with the people who were there. (*Don't get me wrong...I do count myself as an exceptionally lucky person that I've been able to take the people who do accept me unconditionally from those places that at one point or another were pretty unbearable & still carry them with me in life after those places.*) In fact, when it's gotten really bad, I've run from every single one. High school to college, college to grad school, grad school to New York and New York to North Carolina. Here is the first place I've felt like I fit more often than not since we've been here. But here is not without those moments. There are days that I go into work, and most of the time, I like to be social with my co-workers who are also my friends, like most people there, but some days (like today) I just feel like I don't quite fit where I feel like I should. Days like today make me wonder if the reason I feel isolated is because of other people or because of me.
I want time off...I need time away from all the busyness of work life, but at the same time, I don't know that it's exactly a good thing for me to be alone with my thoughts, either. I need a vacation from my own life.
I would also like to apologize to several facebook friends who have sent messages over the past few weeks & months. Most of the time, I stay ridiculously busy, and when I'm not busy, I won't lie...I'm in a pretty dark place. I do, however, plan to respond to everyone's messages at some point...eventually.
Another blog to follow tomorrow...
Thursday, August 19, 2010
A true friend...
So, earlier today, I had this whole angst-ridden, emotionally charged post writing itself in my head, but going to a beer tasting and spending some quality time with James makes it kinda difficult to hold on to the original feeling that was fueling this.
Then again, sometimes it's easier than I realize to get back there.
The part I hate the most about all of this are the moments and the days that just completely blindside you.
Every month, at least for the first year, I already know the 28th and the 4th after it will suck. Just a fact of life right now. Those I understand.
When women talk about their pregnancies or their babies or their children or about trying to have another child, of course that's immediately where my mind goes. Just another fact, and those I understand.
But, it's the moments you don't see coming. The dates that don't have any significance in the grand scheme of things, and the thoughts and memories that seem to come out of nowhere. Those are the ones that totally and completely kick my ass. Because, to me, there has a be a reason for things and what makes them happen, cause and effect...you can't have the effect without the cause.
It really would be so much easier if you could see those moments coming. If you could see the bad days, the hard moments, the tragedy, the heartache, because at least then, you'd have an opportunity to prepare yourself for it...put your crash helmet on.
Needless to say, today was one of those days. When I got to work this morning, I could already feel myself pulling away from the people I'm the closest to. At first, I wondered why I was doing that, and then I found the quote on my facebook page: "A true friend is someone who sees the pain in your eyes while everyone else believes the fake smile."
Oh, yeah...that's why...
On days like this, I tend to go back and forth between 2 sides... I either want to be around other people as a distraction, or I want to be by myself. It's so much easier to try and hide the pain behind the fake smile to people who don't know you, but it's the people who really know you who will come up and question the pain behind your eyes. And, I don't kid myself...I know that as much as I would sometimes like to believe otherwise, I'm no mystery, and I kind of suck as an actress when I'm trying to hide my emotions. To those who know me, I'm pretty much an open book. I wear my heart on my sleeve.
As much as days like this suck, though, on occasion, life sends a person (or people) who crosses your path and says just the right thing at just the right time.
*In updated life news, so far, it's been 4 days without a cigarette and 4 days that James has been home in the evenings. And no bloodshed or desires to kill anyone...yet...*
Then again, sometimes it's easier than I realize to get back there.
The part I hate the most about all of this are the moments and the days that just completely blindside you.
Every month, at least for the first year, I already know the 28th and the 4th after it will suck. Just a fact of life right now. Those I understand.
When women talk about their pregnancies or their babies or their children or about trying to have another child, of course that's immediately where my mind goes. Just another fact, and those I understand.
But, it's the moments you don't see coming. The dates that don't have any significance in the grand scheme of things, and the thoughts and memories that seem to come out of nowhere. Those are the ones that totally and completely kick my ass. Because, to me, there has a be a reason for things and what makes them happen, cause and effect...you can't have the effect without the cause.
It really would be so much easier if you could see those moments coming. If you could see the bad days, the hard moments, the tragedy, the heartache, because at least then, you'd have an opportunity to prepare yourself for it...put your crash helmet on.
Needless to say, today was one of those days. When I got to work this morning, I could already feel myself pulling away from the people I'm the closest to. At first, I wondered why I was doing that, and then I found the quote on my facebook page: "A true friend is someone who sees the pain in your eyes while everyone else believes the fake smile."
Oh, yeah...that's why...
On days like this, I tend to go back and forth between 2 sides... I either want to be around other people as a distraction, or I want to be by myself. It's so much easier to try and hide the pain behind the fake smile to people who don't know you, but it's the people who really know you who will come up and question the pain behind your eyes. And, I don't kid myself...I know that as much as I would sometimes like to believe otherwise, I'm no mystery, and I kind of suck as an actress when I'm trying to hide my emotions. To those who know me, I'm pretty much an open book. I wear my heart on my sleeve.
As much as days like this suck, though, on occasion, life sends a person (or people) who crosses your path and says just the right thing at just the right time.
*In updated life news, so far, it's been 4 days without a cigarette and 4 days that James has been home in the evenings. And no bloodshed or desires to kill anyone...yet...*
Monday, August 9, 2010
On Edge
And here's the unresolved anger part of grieving...
I feel like it's a constant day in and day out effort to not let my anger spill over onto unsuspecting people. Part of the book I just got finished reading (On Grief and Grieving) talks about being so emotionally overwhelmed and raw that your emotions start spilling over into other situations and interactions with people on a day-to-day basis. For the most part, I consider myself to be a person who has always kept most of my emotions in check. When something happens that upsets me, rather than go with my first knee-jerk reaction, I run through questions in my mind, i.e., is there something else that's coloring my reaction? Am I overly tired? Am I PMSing? Then if the answer to all of those is 'no,' I move forward with my rational anger at the situation/occurrence.
Admittedly, it's a little harder to do with this...
I picked up smoking (temporarily) again on the day that all of this happened. What was supposed to have lasted until I went back to work is now carrying over to a week from today. James has very graciously understood and allowed me to keep this vice until he switches to day shift. And, I have to say that in my worst moments, it helps take the edge off and makes me feel more in control of my emotions, or at least, where they're directed.
Yep, that's right...I said it...I'm smoking again.
Judge me for it...I dare you...
I went to counseling today, and it allowed me to give a voice and direction to my anger and everything I'm angry at and about, no matter how irrational it may be. Another thing she pointed out to me is that most people in my life represent the idea that life should be moving on by now, that we (I) should be doing better, that things should've started getting back to normal. The incredible group of supportive people who surround me, though, seem to understand that no matter how okay I may seem at times during the day, that I'm still allowed those low moments to express what I'm feeling or cry or scream or be by myself, whatever I need, no questions asked and no judgements cast. So, because I have support from awesome people, I have come to regard that as the norm, and the others as being insensitive, when really, the others are the norm, and the supportive people are the amazing and extraordinary.
I feel like it's a constant day in and day out effort to not let my anger spill over onto unsuspecting people. Part of the book I just got finished reading (On Grief and Grieving) talks about being so emotionally overwhelmed and raw that your emotions start spilling over into other situations and interactions with people on a day-to-day basis. For the most part, I consider myself to be a person who has always kept most of my emotions in check. When something happens that upsets me, rather than go with my first knee-jerk reaction, I run through questions in my mind, i.e., is there something else that's coloring my reaction? Am I overly tired? Am I PMSing? Then if the answer to all of those is 'no,' I move forward with my rational anger at the situation/occurrence.
Admittedly, it's a little harder to do with this...
I picked up smoking (temporarily) again on the day that all of this happened. What was supposed to have lasted until I went back to work is now carrying over to a week from today. James has very graciously understood and allowed me to keep this vice until he switches to day shift. And, I have to say that in my worst moments, it helps take the edge off and makes me feel more in control of my emotions, or at least, where they're directed.
Yep, that's right...I said it...I'm smoking again.
Judge me for it...I dare you...
I went to counseling today, and it allowed me to give a voice and direction to my anger and everything I'm angry at and about, no matter how irrational it may be. Another thing she pointed out to me is that most people in my life represent the idea that life should be moving on by now, that we (I) should be doing better, that things should've started getting back to normal. The incredible group of supportive people who surround me, though, seem to understand that no matter how okay I may seem at times during the day, that I'm still allowed those low moments to express what I'm feeling or cry or scream or be by myself, whatever I need, no questions asked and no judgements cast. So, because I have support from awesome people, I have come to regard that as the norm, and the others as being insensitive, when really, the others are the norm, and the supportive people are the amazing and extraordinary.
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
From the most unlikely people and places
2 months tomorrow...and it falls on my birthday. For the first time in years, I dread my birthday. For the people who won't understand why my birthday is so hard to get through, and for the people who won't remember what the date signifies.
I know that, in reality, people can only handle and deal with emotionally what they can, but most of the time, it feels like the people I thought would be there and provide an unending wave of support are the same people who would rather avoid me. For many people, I feel like I'm something to be dealt with, something to fix, and right now, I can't be either. It's not healthy to hold back emotions, and I hold very much that the world would be a much happier and emotionally healthy place if we all allowed ourselves to feel what we're feeling in the moment, rather than pushing it back because it's too hard to deal with or even because we don't feel like we're in a place or around people with whom we can express those feelings.
Why are we so afraid of letting ourselves feel things? Even the negative things? Don't get me wrong, positivity and positive thinking are both good things, but as a former patient once pointed out to me, you have to be in a place where you're ready to start accepting those positive thoughts first. Otherwise, they're annoying and empty words and do you no good.
In this whole situation, there have been people who know me better than I know myself who will probably know and understand the smallest of triggers and the emotional chain of events that follows those, no matter when they happen. But I have to say that, here, there has been the most outpouring of love and support from people I didn't really even talk to all that much before this happened. They are the ones who understand that I and this can't be fixed. They are the ones who understand that the smallest of things can trigger me to go from happy and okay to sad to bitchy in a matter of moments. They are the ones who will allow me to cry and be mad and feel what I'm feeling without judgement and without trying to make me see "the bright side," whatever that may be in all of this. For those people, "Thank You," is not enough...
I know that, in reality, people can only handle and deal with emotionally what they can, but most of the time, it feels like the people I thought would be there and provide an unending wave of support are the same people who would rather avoid me. For many people, I feel like I'm something to be dealt with, something to fix, and right now, I can't be either. It's not healthy to hold back emotions, and I hold very much that the world would be a much happier and emotionally healthy place if we all allowed ourselves to feel what we're feeling in the moment, rather than pushing it back because it's too hard to deal with or even because we don't feel like we're in a place or around people with whom we can express those feelings.
Why are we so afraid of letting ourselves feel things? Even the negative things? Don't get me wrong, positivity and positive thinking are both good things, but as a former patient once pointed out to me, you have to be in a place where you're ready to start accepting those positive thoughts first. Otherwise, they're annoying and empty words and do you no good.
In this whole situation, there have been people who know me better than I know myself who will probably know and understand the smallest of triggers and the emotional chain of events that follows those, no matter when they happen. But I have to say that, here, there has been the most outpouring of love and support from people I didn't really even talk to all that much before this happened. They are the ones who understand that I and this can't be fixed. They are the ones who understand that the smallest of things can trigger me to go from happy and okay to sad to bitchy in a matter of moments. They are the ones who will allow me to cry and be mad and feel what I'm feeling without judgement and without trying to make me see "the bright side," whatever that may be in all of this. For those people, "Thank You," is not enough...
Sunday, August 1, 2010
I Carry You
I carry you with me in my head...
Sometimes the thought of you feels like a dream
Sometimes it feels like this entire past year has been reset
Almost as if it never happened
As if I didn’t carry you for 8 months
As if I didn’t hold you for 10 weeks
And other times, the thought of you is so present,
There’s no way I can deny that you were real
That you’re still real, though not in the physical sense, here with us
I carry you with me in my heart...
A heart-shaped locket, close to my own heart,
Decorated with butterflies and your name engraved on the back
I wear it most hours of the day
During the hardest moments, I grasp it and kiss it
Like I used to kiss your tiny cheeks and forehead
I carry you with me in my memory...
Oh, how I want to both remember and forget all in the same breath!
Your whole life, short though it was, plays in my mind like a movie,
From the first moment they placed you on my chest, and you looked into my eyes,
And in one moment, I fell in love and was instantly wrapped around your tiny finger,
All the way through to that early nightmarish morning
As painful as it is, and to some extent, will always be,
You will live in my memory for the rest of my life.
I carry you with me in my head, my heart, my memory...forever...
You will always be a part of me, of us
You will never be forgotten
Our little butterfly baby
Our little angel
Gone from this world, but never from our hearts
William Coe Bagley
“Wilco”
3/28/10-6/4/10
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
A Bereaved Parent's Wish List
A Bereaved Parent's Wish List
Author Unknown (But if anyone knows who wrote this originally, I would love to credit them with it in this note)
1. I wish my child hadn't died. I wish I had him back.
2. I wish you wouldn't be afraid to speak my child's name. My child lived and was very important to me. I need to hear that he was important to you as well.
3. If I cry and get emotional when you talk about my child, I wish you knew that it isn't because you have hurt me. My child's death is the cause of my tears. You have talked about my child, and you have allowed me to share my grief. I thank you for both.
4. Being a bereaved parent is not contagious, so I wish you wouldn't shy away from me. I need you more than ever.
5. I need diversions, so I do want to hear about you; but I also want you to hear about me. I might be sad and I might cry, but I wish you would let me talk about my child, my favorite topic of the day.
6. I know that you think of and pray for me often. I also know that my child's death pains you, too. I wish you would let me know things through a phone call, a card or a note, or a real big hug.
7. I wish you wouldn't expect my grief to be over in six months. These first months are traumatic for me, but I wish you could understand that my grief will never be over. I will suffer the death of my child until the day I die.
8. I am working very hard in my recovery, but I wish you could understand that I will never fully recover. I will always miss my child, and I will always grieve that he is dead.
9. I wish you wouldn't expect me "not to think about it" or to "be happy". Neither will happen for a very long time so don't frustrate yourself.
10. I don't want to have a "pity party," but I do wish you would let me grieve. I must hurt before I can heal.
11. I wish you understood how my life has shattered. I know it is miserable for you to be around me when I'm feeling miserable. Please be as patient with me as I am with you.
12. When I say, "I'm doing okay," I wish you could understand that I don't feel okay and that I struggle daily.
13. I wish you knew that all of the grief reactions I'm having are very normal.
14. Depression, anger, hopelessness and overwhelming sadness are all to be expected. So please excuse me when I'm quiet and withdrawn or irritable and cranky.
15. Your advice to "take one day at a time" is excellent. I wish you could understand that I'm doing good to handle life an hour at a time.
16. I wish you understood that grief changes people. When my child died, a big part of me died with him. I am not the same person I was before my child died, and I will never be that person again.
17. I wish very much that you could understand - understand my loss and my grief, my silence and my tears, my void and my pain. But I pray daily that you will never understand.
I have come to realize a few things in the past few days:
One, working out is one of the most therapeutic activities I've found for grief.
Two, sometimes it's the people who you never expected to be there who are some of the most supportive and understanding people ever.
Three, I feel that there are some people in my life who would love nothing more than to "fix this" or even sweep it under the rug and pretend that we never had a son, and/or that he never died. At this point, I don't need to be around people who want to sweep it under the rug and pretend that it never happened. I also don't need to be around people who are going to perpetually try to fix this or try to do something to make it better. I need to be around people who understand that they can't. Those seem to be the people who "get" most of all that letting me talk about him, about my anger and my depression and specific triggers for both does me more good than almost anything else can.
I want to end this with an extremely heartfelt thank you...beyond thank you, actually...to all the people who know that this can't be fixed and are perfectly willing to just let me talk and get it out; to the people who are my workout buddies and share in my "active therapy" each week; to the people who understand that this will be an ongoing process for probably the rest of our lives, and we will never truly be "over" it; and to the people who periodically check in each week, 2 weeks, truly asking how we're doing and wanting to hear the real answer to that question. We have amazing family and friends, and even in all the lowest moments we have, not having the support we have would make all of this so much worse.
Author Unknown (But if anyone knows who wrote this originally, I would love to credit them with it in this note)
1. I wish my child hadn't died. I wish I had him back.
2. I wish you wouldn't be afraid to speak my child's name. My child lived and was very important to me. I need to hear that he was important to you as well.
3. If I cry and get emotional when you talk about my child, I wish you knew that it isn't because you have hurt me. My child's death is the cause of my tears. You have talked about my child, and you have allowed me to share my grief. I thank you for both.
4. Being a bereaved parent is not contagious, so I wish you wouldn't shy away from me. I need you more than ever.
5. I need diversions, so I do want to hear about you; but I also want you to hear about me. I might be sad and I might cry, but I wish you would let me talk about my child, my favorite topic of the day.
6. I know that you think of and pray for me often. I also know that my child's death pains you, too. I wish you would let me know things through a phone call, a card or a note, or a real big hug.
7. I wish you wouldn't expect my grief to be over in six months. These first months are traumatic for me, but I wish you could understand that my grief will never be over. I will suffer the death of my child until the day I die.
8. I am working very hard in my recovery, but I wish you could understand that I will never fully recover. I will always miss my child, and I will always grieve that he is dead.
9. I wish you wouldn't expect me "not to think about it" or to "be happy". Neither will happen for a very long time so don't frustrate yourself.
10. I don't want to have a "pity party," but I do wish you would let me grieve. I must hurt before I can heal.
11. I wish you understood how my life has shattered. I know it is miserable for you to be around me when I'm feeling miserable. Please be as patient with me as I am with you.
12. When I say, "I'm doing okay," I wish you could understand that I don't feel okay and that I struggle daily.
13. I wish you knew that all of the grief reactions I'm having are very normal.
14. Depression, anger, hopelessness and overwhelming sadness are all to be expected. So please excuse me when I'm quiet and withdrawn or irritable and cranky.
15. Your advice to "take one day at a time" is excellent. I wish you could understand that I'm doing good to handle life an hour at a time.
16. I wish you understood that grief changes people. When my child died, a big part of me died with him. I am not the same person I was before my child died, and I will never be that person again.
17. I wish very much that you could understand - understand my loss and my grief, my silence and my tears, my void and my pain. But I pray daily that you will never understand.
I have come to realize a few things in the past few days:
One, working out is one of the most therapeutic activities I've found for grief.
Two, sometimes it's the people who you never expected to be there who are some of the most supportive and understanding people ever.
Three, I feel that there are some people in my life who would love nothing more than to "fix this" or even sweep it under the rug and pretend that we never had a son, and/or that he never died. At this point, I don't need to be around people who want to sweep it under the rug and pretend that it never happened. I also don't need to be around people who are going to perpetually try to fix this or try to do something to make it better. I need to be around people who understand that they can't. Those seem to be the people who "get" most of all that letting me talk about him, about my anger and my depression and specific triggers for both does me more good than almost anything else can.
I want to end this with an extremely heartfelt thank you...beyond thank you, actually...to all the people who know that this can't be fixed and are perfectly willing to just let me talk and get it out; to the people who are my workout buddies and share in my "active therapy" each week; to the people who understand that this will be an ongoing process for probably the rest of our lives, and we will never truly be "over" it; and to the people who periodically check in each week, 2 weeks, truly asking how we're doing and wanting to hear the real answer to that question. We have amazing family and friends, and even in all the lowest moments we have, not having the support we have would make all of this so much worse.
Monday, July 26, 2010
What started out...
What started out to be a blog about my journey through my 1st pregnancy has now turned into a blog about our journey through grief. Two months and 1 week after giving birth to a beautiful baby boy, he was taken from us in the early morning hours by SIDS.
The past almost 2 months have been an emotional roller coaster ride. Some okay moments followed by extreme lows. We've run the gamut of the grief stages and back again. Even now, almost 2 months later, there's some occasional denial that I was ever pregnant, much less had/have a beautiful son; some anger at God, at other people for seeming to not care what we're still going through, anger at ourselves that we didn't have the power to change what happened, even some irrational anger that so many other people have babies who have passed the main time frame for the most danger when it comes to SIDS; bargaining that with the next child we have, we'll be more focused on us and him/her than other people, we'll take more time, enjoy the process more, not get as upset or impatient when he/she cries, ask for more help...and the list goes on and on; depression over the silence that pervades our home where coos and grunts and cries used to be, over the fact that even though he lives on in our memory and our hearts, he isn't physically here to hold and hug and cuddle and kiss and watch; and even some acceptance mixed in with everything else, that maybe there was/is a bigger reason for all of this...maybe his soul wasn't ready yet, and he came too early, and about a million other maybes that give us some comfort and hope for the future.
In closing, this was the change of a lifetime...we are both forever changed by the small angel we were allowed to have and hold for a short time, and he will forever be a part of us.
The past almost 2 months have been an emotional roller coaster ride. Some okay moments followed by extreme lows. We've run the gamut of the grief stages and back again. Even now, almost 2 months later, there's some occasional denial that I was ever pregnant, much less had/have a beautiful son; some anger at God, at other people for seeming to not care what we're still going through, anger at ourselves that we didn't have the power to change what happened, even some irrational anger that so many other people have babies who have passed the main time frame for the most danger when it comes to SIDS; bargaining that with the next child we have, we'll be more focused on us and him/her than other people, we'll take more time, enjoy the process more, not get as upset or impatient when he/she cries, ask for more help...and the list goes on and on; depression over the silence that pervades our home where coos and grunts and cries used to be, over the fact that even though he lives on in our memory and our hearts, he isn't physically here to hold and hug and cuddle and kiss and watch; and even some acceptance mixed in with everything else, that maybe there was/is a bigger reason for all of this...maybe his soul wasn't ready yet, and he came too early, and about a million other maybes that give us some comfort and hope for the future.
In closing, this was the change of a lifetime...we are both forever changed by the small angel we were allowed to have and hold for a short time, and he will forever be a part of us.
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