This is my 3rd Mothers Day as a mama with a child here in my arms. And I still feel emotional and disjointed and just... yucky about this day. I am so grateful for Jack. SO grateful I don't even know how to express it and when I think about it too much I tear up. And I miss Petey. And when I think about it too much I tear up. (And now I am fighting back tears at a sidewalk cafe with happy people walking by. Dammit.) I hate that I still feel so effected by this day. I try not to make it a loaded day but it still is. I fight the depressive feelings. I fight the memories and the what-ifs. I fight the feeling that I'm somehow a fraud as I hold my one child in my arms on this day and have no way to hold my other child. (And now I'm not even fighting back the tears; crying in public - not a first for me unfortunately.) I don't know what to do with myself on this day besides just wishing for I t to pass. Hubs got up with Jack this morning and let me sleep in. Then I took a loooong shower and it was glorious. That's exactly what I said I wanted for Mothers Day. And that's what I got. But what I truly want is to somehow change the past. I want to have both my babies in my arms. I want to not have gone through what we went through. I want to not have a day that reminds me every second of what I am missing. I want to really truly feel at peace. Hubs can't give me that. And he doesn't even know I feel like this. We rarely talk about Petey anymore. I haven't said his name out loud since August when I told it to my friend for the first time on the anniversary of his due date and I can't even remember the last time Hubs and I said it to each other. I don't know where he stands on grieving our first child. There's so much to do and think about and focus on now with our living child. And I wouldn't change that for the world. I just wish I could change the past. To clarify: not the decision to terminate, as I still know that was the right decision for us, just to change what happened, period. But I can't and I never will and I have to find a way to live with that. Most days I do okay. Today is not one of those days. Today the tears are slowly rolling down my cheeks as all the sweet happy families pass me by. And that's my reality right now. That's how Mothers Day effects me. Maybe before next Mothers Day I'll find a way to figure out how to not let the past take over my present.
Showing posts with label Grief. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Grief. Show all posts
Sunday, May 14, 2017
Thursday, September 17, 2015
To the woman who called me a despicable human being
I have been thinking about writing this for months now so I finally did. I usually make a point to stay out of the pro-choice/pro-life debate but it had been eating at me and I felt the need for my voice to be heard. I wrote it with the intention of submitting it as an article...somewhere
I am interested in your (my trusty readers) honest opinions and critiques of this "article" if you are willing. Here goes:
*****All the trigger warnings. Seriously.*****
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
To the woman who called me a despicable human being
Well, not to my face. And not even to me specifically. But that didn't keep me from letting those words eat at me for months.
The words were spewed from behind the safety of her computer screen in an online thread about abortion. Heartless! Monsters! Anyone who could even think about having an abortion is a despicable human being!
Well, I had an abortion. A year and a half ago. At age 32. Happily married and financially secure. After struggling through years of infertility. After enduring in vitro fertilization to finally become pregnant. Never would I have thought I would have an abortion. Becoming pregnant at long last was my dream. It was what my husband and I had tried so hard for and prayed so much for. It was the happiest few months of my life.
Until it wasn't.
Until the doctors told us that this child whom we loved so much was so deformed he likely would not survive; that he would die in my womb and I would deliver a stillborn. And that if he somehow continued to grow enough to reach a very premature delivery he would need immediate brain surgery, spinal surgery, experimental procedures. There was very little chance his small, not yet fully developed body would be able to endure that. And he would suffer. It would be painful. And then, if he somehow miraculously defied all odds and survived he would be severely mentally and physically disabled. Permanently paralyzed. Likely unable to live even a shred of a normal life.
We couldn't cause that pain to our child. Or to ourselves, watching that happen. Or to his future siblings should he defy all odds. To sentence our child to a "life" like that would have been worse than death. We chose instead to terminate. We chose for him to pass away peacefully in his mother's womb, never knowing pain or surgery, never gasping for air that his underdeveloped lungs wouldn't be able to process, never feeling trapped in his jail of a body (if indeed he could think or feel at all). Instead we chose compassion. We chose love. And it was the hardest thing I have ever done.
I hate calling it an abortion. "Abortion" generates thoughts of women abusing the procedure, uncaring, using it as a form of birth control. But an abortion it was; and a late-term one at that. And I am thankful we had the law on our side and could make the choice that we did. My husband and I chose to suffer so that our child wouldn't have to. We certainly didn't make our decision lightly and we didn't make it because we didn't want a child with special needs. In fact, as I hold my second baby in my arms, an amazing little boy who has special needs due to a genetic condition that some choose to terminate for, I feel that we made the right choices for both of our children. We have had hard decisions to make but I feel at peace with them. I was not a monster for terminating that pregnancy. And I am certainly not a despicable human being. Heartless? Absolutely not. I feel the loss of my first child every day. I mourn him every day. And I love him every day.
I am a mother. I made the most difficult decision a mother should (n)ever have to make. But I made it out of love.
So to the woman who called me a despicable human being: Be grateful. Grateful that you have been lucky enough in life to be blissfully ignorant of how wrong your words are and how deeply they hurt. Be grateful that you don't know what it's like to walk in this woman's shoes.
I am interested in your (my trusty readers) honest opinions and critiques of this "article" if you are willing. Here goes:
*****All the trigger warnings. Seriously.*****
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
To the woman who called me a despicable human being
Well, not to my face. And not even to me specifically. But that didn't keep me from letting those words eat at me for months.
The words were spewed from behind the safety of her computer screen in an online thread about abortion. Heartless! Monsters! Anyone who could even think about having an abortion is a despicable human being!
Well, I had an abortion. A year and a half ago. At age 32. Happily married and financially secure. After struggling through years of infertility. After enduring in vitro fertilization to finally become pregnant. Never would I have thought I would have an abortion. Becoming pregnant at long last was my dream. It was what my husband and I had tried so hard for and prayed so much for. It was the happiest few months of my life.
Until it wasn't.
Until the doctors told us that this child whom we loved so much was so deformed he likely would not survive; that he would die in my womb and I would deliver a stillborn. And that if he somehow continued to grow enough to reach a very premature delivery he would need immediate brain surgery, spinal surgery, experimental procedures. There was very little chance his small, not yet fully developed body would be able to endure that. And he would suffer. It would be painful. And then, if he somehow miraculously defied all odds and survived he would be severely mentally and physically disabled. Permanently paralyzed. Likely unable to live even a shred of a normal life.
We couldn't cause that pain to our child. Or to ourselves, watching that happen. Or to his future siblings should he defy all odds. To sentence our child to a "life" like that would have been worse than death. We chose instead to terminate. We chose for him to pass away peacefully in his mother's womb, never knowing pain or surgery, never gasping for air that his underdeveloped lungs wouldn't be able to process, never feeling trapped in his jail of a body (if indeed he could think or feel at all). Instead we chose compassion. We chose love. And it was the hardest thing I have ever done.
I hate calling it an abortion. "Abortion" generates thoughts of women abusing the procedure, uncaring, using it as a form of birth control. But an abortion it was; and a late-term one at that. And I am thankful we had the law on our side and could make the choice that we did. My husband and I chose to suffer so that our child wouldn't have to. We certainly didn't make our decision lightly and we didn't make it because we didn't want a child with special needs. In fact, as I hold my second baby in my arms, an amazing little boy who has special needs due to a genetic condition that some choose to terminate for, I feel that we made the right choices for both of our children. We have had hard decisions to make but I feel at peace with them. I was not a monster for terminating that pregnancy. And I am certainly not a despicable human being. Heartless? Absolutely not. I feel the loss of my first child every day. I mourn him every day. And I love him every day.
I am a mother. I made the most difficult decision a mother should (n)ever have to make. But I made it out of love.
So to the woman who called me a despicable human being: Be grateful. Grateful that you have been lucky enough in life to be blissfully ignorant of how wrong your words are and how deeply they hurt. Be grateful that you don't know what it's like to walk in this woman's shoes.
Friday, March 27, 2015
1 Year: Petey's Angelversary
March 27th. It's been 1 year since we said goodbye to Petey. I cannot believe it. I've said it before and I'll say it again: this has been both the longest and the fastest year of my life.
At this time last year I wrote in a blog post:
Things have certainly changed since that moment 1 year ago. But I wouldn't say that I am "myself again". I find that most parts of myself have come back and I feel like a whole person again but I have changed. That is undeniable. There is no way to have an experience like this and not be a changed person.
And today I feel bad. I feel guilty. I want to pretend this isn't the anniversary. I don't even want to think about it. I don't want to go back and read the posts I wrote at this time last year and feel all those feelings again and let myself remember that awful time so vividly again. I want to bury it deep down inside because there are so many conflicting emotions I am already dealing with due to our current baby: labor is imminent, we just learned Jack has dwarfism, we have so many questions and concerns about this baby's health now... One person can only handle so much. I think I need to forgive myself for that. I am SURE that Petey forgives me for that...
I think of him now not as a baby but as a perfect little angel who is warm and comfortable and content; who understands all of my thoughts and feelings and loves me regardless. A little angel who is always with me and rooting for me/our family and hoping for the best for us all. Maybe that's silly but that's what he's become in my mind. And it gives me a sense of peace.
I think today I will write Petey a letter. It helps me to get my honest and uncensored feelings out. It helps with my sadness and grief. It helps me forgive myself and "move on" when I am missing him so badly it physically hurts.
One year later I can say that the pain of losing a child will never go away. It does lessen. The days do get easier. But I will never "get over it". I will always be a loss-mama. I will always miss him. I will always wish he was in my arms.
Here is Petey's butterfly (a small needlepoint I made) that now resides in the nursery. It's perched on the shelf over the chair where Jack and I will spend a lot of time breastfeeding. It makes me feel good that we are all together. It makes me feel safe to sit under it. It makes me feel loved.
At this time last year I wrote in a blog post:
I'm very worried about the future... I don't know how we'll get over this and move on. I try to remind myself that this is hopefully the hardest time. That every day will get slightly better and slightly easier and though I'll never forget, I'll be able to be myself again someday. There's no way I can picture that yet but I hope that in a year I'll be able to come back to this post and think about how much things have changed since this moment.
Things have certainly changed since that moment 1 year ago. But I wouldn't say that I am "myself again". I find that most parts of myself have come back and I feel like a whole person again but I have changed. That is undeniable. There is no way to have an experience like this and not be a changed person.
And today I feel bad. I feel guilty. I want to pretend this isn't the anniversary. I don't even want to think about it. I don't want to go back and read the posts I wrote at this time last year and feel all those feelings again and let myself remember that awful time so vividly again. I want to bury it deep down inside because there are so many conflicting emotions I am already dealing with due to our current baby: labor is imminent, we just learned Jack has dwarfism, we have so many questions and concerns about this baby's health now... One person can only handle so much. I think I need to forgive myself for that. I am SURE that Petey forgives me for that...
I think of him now not as a baby but as a perfect little angel who is warm and comfortable and content; who understands all of my thoughts and feelings and loves me regardless. A little angel who is always with me and rooting for me/our family and hoping for the best for us all. Maybe that's silly but that's what he's become in my mind. And it gives me a sense of peace.
I think today I will write Petey a letter. It helps me to get my honest and uncensored feelings out. It helps with my sadness and grief. It helps me forgive myself and "move on" when I am missing him so badly it physically hurts.
One year later I can say that the pain of losing a child will never go away. It does lessen. The days do get easier. But I will never "get over it". I will always be a loss-mama. I will always miss him. I will always wish he was in my arms.
Here is Petey's butterfly (a small needlepoint I made) that now resides in the nursery. It's perched on the shelf over the chair where Jack and I will spend a lot of time breastfeeding. It makes me feel good that we are all together. It makes me feel safe to sit under it. It makes me feel loved.
I miss you Petey. I love you.
Wednesday, December 31, 2014
Reflections
2014.
What a year.
What an amazing and devastating year this has been for me and my husband. The highs have been so high and the lows so crushingly low I don't even know how to describe them.
At this time last year I was finally pregnant for the first time due to IVF. All I felt was hope and happiness. I had "beaten" infertility and only saw smooth sailing in my future. But my path took a much different turn than I ever would have expected and thrust me into a whole new community: the Loss community; the TFMR community. Groups I never would have wanted to be a part of but groups where I found strength, and support, and love. And I hope I was able to offer that to some of those incredibly strong women as well. Though I'm no longer very active with these groups I still think of these women and their children almost every day.
Three days really stand out in my mind this year: March 19, March 27, August 5.
March 27th, the day we said goodbye to Petey, was one of the hardest days of my life. But harder still was the day we found out we would need to say goodbye: March 19th. That horrible day that I will never forget in that doctor's office. I've never written about it in detail but that day is and will remain one of the most vivid memories of my life. Sitting there, hunched over on the edge of that ultrasound bench in that hot, darkened U/S room, crying harder than I ever knew was possible while we received wave after wave of horrible news about this little baby I was carrying that we worked SO hard for and loved SO much but would never get to see or bring home or watch grow. I disassociated partway through it and found myself looking down on the scene, watching myself slumped there, crying so so hard into my husband's chest; crying out every last ounce of hope I had for our future and trust I had in the world. It was... animalistic. It was without a shred of self-consciousness. It was the day that prompted the perinatologist to write in my medical history: "This couple is devastated." That we were, Doc. That we were. Losing Petey was the hardest thing I have ever had to go through.
Heh, it sounds so simple to write that: It was hard. Yeah, hard. But that word, in no way, can describe what it is like to experience a loss like this. To have to make a choice like this and then have to live with the consequences and the guilt and the pain and the sadness every single day. There is no way to describe it unless you have been there. This is something that changes you forever and gives you a different perspective forever. I can understand why this breaks some people. Why they never "get over it". I feel lucky actually. Lucky that I am "okay". That I have been able to find ways to move on in healthy ways and that, though I love and miss my Petey and ache to hold him in my arms every single day, I am able to have perspective on my loss and my grief and be able to still live a happy and grateful life.
And I am grateful. Not for what we went through but for where we are now. I am so happy to be 6 months pregnant with this little boy. I cannot wait to meet him and love him and raise him. HE is my unbelievable high for the year.
Which brings me to my third unforgettable date: August 5th. Not the day I found out I was pregnant again and amazingly, without infertility treatments this time (that was actually the following morning), but the day I saw my rainbow and felt hope for my future again. That day was a turning point for me in my grieving process and gave me strength to move forward. I still struggle each day with being able to trust that everything will be okay but I have learned that there really is no other option. What will be will be, good or bad, and I just need to live and be thankful for what I have.
I miss my Petey, my first baby, and I love him.
I am excited about this new healthy little baby I'm now carrying and I love him.
My relationship with my husband is stronger than I thought possible as a result of everything we have gone through together.
I have hope for the future.
What's better than that?!
The new year also marks my 2-year blogiversary; 2 years, 268 posts, 1487 comments, and more than 70 THOUSAND pageviews (that absolutely blows my mind)!
Wow.
This blog has meant a LOT to me over the last 2 years: It has helped keep me sane through infertility and pregnancy and loss and grief; it has helped me sort out and come to terms with my feelings and move forward; it has connected me to some incredible, strong, and supportive women who have become real friends.
THANK YOU to everyone who has been a part of my journey. It has been a rocky road and your unwavering support and friendship has meant more to me than I know how to express.
Here's hoping that the hope and excitement I felt at this time last year and what I feel now will be my reality in 2015. Happy New Year! :-)
What a year.
What an amazing and devastating year this has been for me and my husband. The highs have been so high and the lows so crushingly low I don't even know how to describe them.
At this time last year I was finally pregnant for the first time due to IVF. All I felt was hope and happiness. I had "beaten" infertility and only saw smooth sailing in my future. But my path took a much different turn than I ever would have expected and thrust me into a whole new community: the Loss community; the TFMR community. Groups I never would have wanted to be a part of but groups where I found strength, and support, and love. And I hope I was able to offer that to some of those incredibly strong women as well. Though I'm no longer very active with these groups I still think of these women and their children almost every day.
Three days really stand out in my mind this year: March 19, March 27, August 5.
March 27th, the day we said goodbye to Petey, was one of the hardest days of my life. But harder still was the day we found out we would need to say goodbye: March 19th. That horrible day that I will never forget in that doctor's office. I've never written about it in detail but that day is and will remain one of the most vivid memories of my life. Sitting there, hunched over on the edge of that ultrasound bench in that hot, darkened U/S room, crying harder than I ever knew was possible while we received wave after wave of horrible news about this little baby I was carrying that we worked SO hard for and loved SO much but would never get to see or bring home or watch grow. I disassociated partway through it and found myself looking down on the scene, watching myself slumped there, crying so so hard into my husband's chest; crying out every last ounce of hope I had for our future and trust I had in the world. It was... animalistic. It was without a shred of self-consciousness. It was the day that prompted the perinatologist to write in my medical history: "This couple is devastated." That we were, Doc. That we were. Losing Petey was the hardest thing I have ever had to go through.
Heh, it sounds so simple to write that: It was hard. Yeah, hard. But that word, in no way, can describe what it is like to experience a loss like this. To have to make a choice like this and then have to live with the consequences and the guilt and the pain and the sadness every single day. There is no way to describe it unless you have been there. This is something that changes you forever and gives you a different perspective forever. I can understand why this breaks some people. Why they never "get over it". I feel lucky actually. Lucky that I am "okay". That I have been able to find ways to move on in healthy ways and that, though I love and miss my Petey and ache to hold him in my arms every single day, I am able to have perspective on my loss and my grief and be able to still live a happy and grateful life.
And I am grateful. Not for what we went through but for where we are now. I am so happy to be 6 months pregnant with this little boy. I cannot wait to meet him and love him and raise him. HE is my unbelievable high for the year.
Which brings me to my third unforgettable date: August 5th. Not the day I found out I was pregnant again and amazingly, without infertility treatments this time (that was actually the following morning), but the day I saw my rainbow and felt hope for my future again. That day was a turning point for me in my grieving process and gave me strength to move forward. I still struggle each day with being able to trust that everything will be okay but I have learned that there really is no other option. What will be will be, good or bad, and I just need to live and be thankful for what I have.
I miss my Petey, my first baby, and I love him.
I am excited about this new healthy little baby I'm now carrying and I love him.
My relationship with my husband is stronger than I thought possible as a result of everything we have gone through together.
I have hope for the future.
What's better than that?!
The new year also marks my 2-year blogiversary; 2 years, 268 posts, 1487 comments, and more than 70 THOUSAND pageviews (that absolutely blows my mind)!
Wow.
This blog has meant a LOT to me over the last 2 years: It has helped keep me sane through infertility and pregnancy and loss and grief; it has helped me sort out and come to terms with my feelings and move forward; it has connected me to some incredible, strong, and supportive women who have become real friends.
THANK YOU to everyone who has been a part of my journey. It has been a rocky road and your unwavering support and friendship has meant more to me than I know how to express.
Here's hoping that the hope and excitement I felt at this time last year and what I feel now will be my reality in 2015. Happy New Year! :-)
Wednesday, November 26, 2014
Thursday: The last milestone
Thursday is Thanksgiving.
On Thursday we will be spending time with family, giving thanks, eating deliciousness, and celebrating my little miracle rainbow with a lot of excited people.
But Thursday is also the 27th of the month. I hate the 27th. It will be exactly 8 months since we said goodbye to Petey.
Thursday is also the 27th of November: Exactly one year to the day that we got pregnant with Petey. The day I finally became PUPO. A day of hope. The day that started a chain of events that led to an unbelievably difficult year for me: A year of extreme happiness and extreme sadness. A year that has changed me forever.
Last but not least, on Thursday I will be 19weeks 6days pregnant: The exact day when my last pregnancy ended. The day we had to say goodbye to Petey. The hardest day I have ever had to endure.
How will I feel on Thursday?
I want to be able to celebrate. Our family is going to be overjoyed with our news. I want to be able to enjoy that and to feel the excitement. But I also want to honor what this day means for Petey and for us. I don't know how to do both.
This will be our last milestone. By Friday it will be over. On Friday I will be 20 weeks pregnant: Half baked. One day more pregnant than I have ever been. On Friday the comparisons with this pregnancy to Petey's pregnancy will stop because I will have nothing else to compare. I will be entering uncharted territory.
I think I'm a little afraid to let go and move on. Now that there will be no way to compare, does this mean I will just need to simply trust? I'm always afraid now to trust that things will be okay (though I am constantly working on that), and don't know how to feel about this new blank slate that's about to be stretched out in front of me. This blank slate should signify hope and excitement and anticipation for the future. But it's not truly blank because fear encroaches on the edges. My therapist (Amy) calls FEAR: False Experiences Appearing Real. And she's right. I had a very bad experience with Petey's pregnancy. But everything I now fear with this pregnancy is false. None of it has happened, and none of it is likely to happen. I need to stop focusing on my fear.
During my last therapy appointment, Amy gave me a pair of little plastic children's binoculars and told me to look through them and focus on something in the room. I chose a funny little toy animal on the windowsill and described to her every tiny magnified detail that I could see: the silly feet and googly eyes and orange afro and polka dots. Then I described everything else I could see through the binoculars: The plant that was sitting next to the toy and part of the book that was propped up behind it and the top of the pillow resting against the sill. She then told me to turn the binoculars around and look again - to change my perspective. This time the little toy was still there. I could still see each detail if I looked closely but it was further away. And it was placed amongst a greater context of items. This time I could see the whole windowsill, with the sun streaming in and all of the plants and all of the books and the fishbowl and the ottoman in front of the sill holding the 2 smooshy pillows. I couldn't see any of that before when I was so focused on that one little toy. That one detail. That pain and fear. Changing my perspective and placing the pain of my loss and my fear with this pregnancy in a greater context doesn't mean that it's not still there or that I'm not still affected by it but it allows me to not amplify it quite so much. It allows me to enjoy other things in my life instead of only focusing on the sadness.
I think on Thursday I need to grant myself permission to be happy. To enjoy where we now find ourselves and to truly celebrate our good news. It doesn't mean the pain isn't still there but it would mean that I'm not allowing myself to let that pain overtake something else that is also important, and is positive, and is exciting.
I love my Petey and I miss him every single day. But I am also happy and I love this little baby boy I am carrying. I am going to try to allow myself to celebrate and be THANKFUL for that on Thursday.
On Thursday we will be spending time with family, giving thanks, eating deliciousness, and celebrating my little miracle rainbow with a lot of excited people.
But Thursday is also the 27th of the month. I hate the 27th. It will be exactly 8 months since we said goodbye to Petey.
Thursday is also the 27th of November: Exactly one year to the day that we got pregnant with Petey. The day I finally became PUPO. A day of hope. The day that started a chain of events that led to an unbelievably difficult year for me: A year of extreme happiness and extreme sadness. A year that has changed me forever.
Last but not least, on Thursday I will be 19weeks 6days pregnant: The exact day when my last pregnancy ended. The day we had to say goodbye to Petey. The hardest day I have ever had to endure.
How will I feel on Thursday?
I want to be able to celebrate. Our family is going to be overjoyed with our news. I want to be able to enjoy that and to feel the excitement. But I also want to honor what this day means for Petey and for us. I don't know how to do both.
This will be our last milestone. By Friday it will be over. On Friday I will be 20 weeks pregnant: Half baked. One day more pregnant than I have ever been. On Friday the comparisons with this pregnancy to Petey's pregnancy will stop because I will have nothing else to compare. I will be entering uncharted territory.
I think I'm a little afraid to let go and move on. Now that there will be no way to compare, does this mean I will just need to simply trust? I'm always afraid now to trust that things will be okay (though I am constantly working on that), and don't know how to feel about this new blank slate that's about to be stretched out in front of me. This blank slate should signify hope and excitement and anticipation for the future. But it's not truly blank because fear encroaches on the edges. My therapist (Amy) calls FEAR: False Experiences Appearing Real. And she's right. I had a very bad experience with Petey's pregnancy. But everything I now fear with this pregnancy is false. None of it has happened, and none of it is likely to happen. I need to stop focusing on my fear.
During my last therapy appointment, Amy gave me a pair of little plastic children's binoculars and told me to look through them and focus on something in the room. I chose a funny little toy animal on the windowsill and described to her every tiny magnified detail that I could see: the silly feet and googly eyes and orange afro and polka dots. Then I described everything else I could see through the binoculars: The plant that was sitting next to the toy and part of the book that was propped up behind it and the top of the pillow resting against the sill. She then told me to turn the binoculars around and look again - to change my perspective. This time the little toy was still there. I could still see each detail if I looked closely but it was further away. And it was placed amongst a greater context of items. This time I could see the whole windowsill, with the sun streaming in and all of the plants and all of the books and the fishbowl and the ottoman in front of the sill holding the 2 smooshy pillows. I couldn't see any of that before when I was so focused on that one little toy. That one detail. That pain and fear. Changing my perspective and placing the pain of my loss and my fear with this pregnancy in a greater context doesn't mean that it's not still there or that I'm not still affected by it but it allows me to not amplify it quite so much. It allows me to enjoy other things in my life instead of only focusing on the sadness.
I think on Thursday I need to grant myself permission to be happy. To enjoy where we now find ourselves and to truly celebrate our good news. It doesn't mean the pain isn't still there but it would mean that I'm not allowing myself to let that pain overtake something else that is also important, and is positive, and is exciting.
I love my Petey and I miss him every single day. But I am also happy and I love this little baby boy I am carrying. I am going to try to allow myself to celebrate and be THANKFUL for that on Thursday.
Friday, October 24, 2014
Depression
I am a horrible employee. I've done a handful of hours of work in the last week. I work from home a lot so it's way too easy to slack off. I just don't care. I don't care how much is on my plate or how many pressing things I have to do. When I turn on my computer for work it is all immediately pushed to the backburner and instead, I spend my hours trolling the internet. Reading the TFMR board, reading the PG after TFMR board, and the Loss Board and the PgAL board, and my PAIF group and IDOB and SAIF. Reading through women's stories of loss and others blogs and even back through my own blog posts... Hours and hours leading to days and days are just wasted away like this and I don't even care. I don't care that I'm a shitty employee now. I don't care that I have no passion for my work; that I have no passion for my life really.
My husband doesn't know I spend my days like this; sitting on the couch in my pajamas, sometimes showering, sometimes not, just lost inside my computer, often giving myself a headache from all the crying (which I then blame on the pregnancy). When he asks me how my day was I say busy. He thinks I work all day. My boss and coworkers think I work all day - how I've managed to pull the wool over their eyes for this long I really don't know.
And I don't even know what I get out of all of this internet searching. I am not learning anything new, it's not making me feel any better... Each night when I lay in bed thinking about what I have to do the next day I make a promise to myself to just NOT open those forums or blogs or links. To start right in on my work and have tunnel vision and not allow myself to stray. But I always do. My life revolves around my loss, my fear with this new pregnancy, and my internet world. I live that life all day and then I dream about it all night.
I know this is not healthy. I know I'm depressed. Having constant nausea and fatigue for the last few months has not helped either since I can't exercise. I used to go to Zumba 3x/week. It made me feel good - the movement, the endorphins, the weight loss, the schedule, the reason to get out of the house and interact with people... I don't do that anymore. I also don't reach out to my friends and when they (rarely) reach out to me to get together I always make up an excuse. I isolate myself. It's easier this way.
Since we received the results last week from my screening I haven't been able to picture any other future besides loss. I no longer picture myself with a baby. Any amount of connection I felt with this pregnancy has pretty much dwindled down to nothing. All I can picture now is going through all the same pain we went through with Petey. And this time, I can't picture myself being strong and moving forward. All I can picture is it breaking me.
And that is how I feel: Broken and useless and just... sad.
In the past I've felt like this blog has been my therapy. But it's no longer helping. I think it's time to go see an actual Therapist. I haven't wanted to because I just haven't wanted to talk about it. When I focus on all of this it makes it worse. If I can distract myself it is better. But I've been unable to distract myself lately. Maybe this is a sign that I'm doing a worse job than I thought working through my grief and my fear.
Finally opening up about this and typing it all out is making me see just how mentally unhealthy I really am right now. I think it's time to admit that I need some help.
My husband doesn't know I spend my days like this; sitting on the couch in my pajamas, sometimes showering, sometimes not, just lost inside my computer, often giving myself a headache from all the crying (which I then blame on the pregnancy). When he asks me how my day was I say busy. He thinks I work all day. My boss and coworkers think I work all day - how I've managed to pull the wool over their eyes for this long I really don't know.
And I don't even know what I get out of all of this internet searching. I am not learning anything new, it's not making me feel any better... Each night when I lay in bed thinking about what I have to do the next day I make a promise to myself to just NOT open those forums or blogs or links. To start right in on my work and have tunnel vision and not allow myself to stray. But I always do. My life revolves around my loss, my fear with this new pregnancy, and my internet world. I live that life all day and then I dream about it all night.
I know this is not healthy. I know I'm depressed. Having constant nausea and fatigue for the last few months has not helped either since I can't exercise. I used to go to Zumba 3x/week. It made me feel good - the movement, the endorphins, the weight loss, the schedule, the reason to get out of the house and interact with people... I don't do that anymore. I also don't reach out to my friends and when they (rarely) reach out to me to get together I always make up an excuse. I isolate myself. It's easier this way.
Since we received the results last week from my screening I haven't been able to picture any other future besides loss. I no longer picture myself with a baby. Any amount of connection I felt with this pregnancy has pretty much dwindled down to nothing. All I can picture now is going through all the same pain we went through with Petey. And this time, I can't picture myself being strong and moving forward. All I can picture is it breaking me.
And that is how I feel: Broken and useless and just... sad.
In the past I've felt like this blog has been my therapy. But it's no longer helping. I think it's time to go see an actual Therapist. I haven't wanted to because I just haven't wanted to talk about it. When I focus on all of this it makes it worse. If I can distract myself it is better. But I've been unable to distract myself lately. Maybe this is a sign that I'm doing a worse job than I thought working through my grief and my fear.
Finally opening up about this and typing it all out is making me see just how mentally unhealthy I really am right now. I think it's time to admit that I need some help.
Wednesday, October 15, 2014
October 15th
Today is Pregnancy, Infant and Child Loss Awareness Day.
I posted on FB about it saying that "today I am remembering my sweet baby and all the little ones to whom so many of us have had to say goodbye too soon", with this picture:
In a way I have been dreading this day. I've been having a bit of a hard time with October because this issue is more public this month so it brings my emotions more to the forefront.
There's just an ever-present layer of sadness that blankets my life now. I am so sad about these past 2.5 years of IF and about the past 7 months in particular. I am sad that so many of my IRL relationships have changed; that so many friends that used to be a huge part of my life no longer are; that I have to live with this jealousy and anger and pain while others carry on blissfully unaware; that I am now a part of this group.
But this is just my reality now and I live with it, day in and day out.
I feel like I'm failing myself and my sweet little Rainbow because the sadness (and fear) outweighs the happiness and excitement. I love this baby but I can't get out of my own way to enjoy this pregnancy and move on from the past. I don't want to forget Petey and I never will but I do want this black cloud to fade.
Tonight at 7pm I will be joining the International Wave of Light and lighting a candle to remember and say a prayer for Petey and Rowan and Conner and Ben and Jack and so so many more little loves, both named and unnamed, that so many of us have lost. I will be thinking of them all and of all the families whose lives they touched and changed forever.
This is a hard reality and my love goes out to anyone who also has to endure this.
<3
I posted on FB about it saying that "today I am remembering my sweet baby and all the little ones to whom so many of us have had to say goodbye too soon", with this picture:
In a way I have been dreading this day. I've been having a bit of a hard time with October because this issue is more public this month so it brings my emotions more to the forefront.
There's just an ever-present layer of sadness that blankets my life now. I am so sad about these past 2.5 years of IF and about the past 7 months in particular. I am sad that so many of my IRL relationships have changed; that so many friends that used to be a huge part of my life no longer are; that I have to live with this jealousy and anger and pain while others carry on blissfully unaware; that I am now a part of this group.
But this is just my reality now and I live with it, day in and day out.
I feel like I'm failing myself and my sweet little Rainbow because the sadness (and fear) outweighs the happiness and excitement. I love this baby but I can't get out of my own way to enjoy this pregnancy and move on from the past. I don't want to forget Petey and I never will but I do want this black cloud to fade.
Tonight at 7pm I will be joining the International Wave of Light and lighting a candle to remember and say a prayer for Petey and Rowan and Conner and Ben and Jack and so so many more little loves, both named and unnamed, that so many of us have lost. I will be thinking of them all and of all the families whose lives they touched and changed forever.
This is a hard reality and my love goes out to anyone who also has to endure this.
<3
Wednesday, September 24, 2014
6 months without
I realized that last Friday's appointment at my OB office was exactly 6 months to-the-day that Hubs and I last stepped foot in there; the day we received the horrible news about Petey; the day I collapsed with grief in the parking lot on the way back to the car; the day we were forced to make that heartbreaking decision. MAN I'm glad I realized that after the fact and not before I went for my appointment. I couldn't keep myself from crying in the waiting room as it was!
So that means that this Saturday is 6 months since we said goodbye. Six months without our Petey. It feels like both an eternity and like it was yesterday. I cannot believe it has been half a year. I also cannot believe how long this half a year has been for me.
I am not the same anymore. I know I've lost a little bit of my light, and my lightheartedness. I don't laugh or joke quite as easily anymore and there are still many many triggers. I'm okay though. My little rainbow has helped. I still struggle with the guilt and the feeling that this baby is "replacing" Petey but overall I can separate my feelings for and about Petey from my feelings about this baby. I am happy about this baby and I love it. I love it so much that I don't know what I would do if it were taken from me as well.
I am so sad that we don't have our little 1 1/2 month old in our arms. I still have to ignore those twinges of jealousy I get when I see pictures of others' sweet snuggly babies. I still feel robbed and I think I always will. It's true what they say: A little part of me will always be missing.
Yesterday I made the mistake(?) of reading through my medical records. The OB's online portal makes everything accessible which is both wonderful and a curse. I didn't let myself read anything since our loss because I thought it would be too difficult to see in black and white. Yesterday I read everything. Every note from every doctor. Every bit of technical jargon. Every awful thing that was physically wrong with our baby that we loved so much and worked so hard to create. It was definitely difficult. I was right that in my grief and shock I didn't retain everything from our appointments with the specialists. There was more wrong with Petey than I let myself remember. He had no chance. I am so sad for his little soul. And I know that we made the right decision for him and for us. It is hard to come to terms with the truth though. And it was hard to see that amongst all the professional dialogue from doctor to doctor, there were little snippets that got to me:
I don't know where I'm going with this... I just need to get it out of my head. It's all so sad and it sucks and I hate that this happened to us and to our baby. I am sick of being the one with this sad story. I just hope and pray that I won't have any new sad tales to write about with this current pregnancy.
On Friday I see my midwife again for the first time since Petey. I already know it's going to be emotionally exhausting but I cannot wait for it. I will get to hear the heartbeat again and it cannot come soon enough. Please be healthy, baby.
So that means that this Saturday is 6 months since we said goodbye. Six months without our Petey. It feels like both an eternity and like it was yesterday. I cannot believe it has been half a year. I also cannot believe how long this half a year has been for me.
I am not the same anymore. I know I've lost a little bit of my light, and my lightheartedness. I don't laugh or joke quite as easily anymore and there are still many many triggers. I'm okay though. My little rainbow has helped. I still struggle with the guilt and the feeling that this baby is "replacing" Petey but overall I can separate my feelings for and about Petey from my feelings about this baby. I am happy about this baby and I love it. I love it so much that I don't know what I would do if it were taken from me as well.
I am so sad that we don't have our little 1 1/2 month old in our arms. I still have to ignore those twinges of jealousy I get when I see pictures of others' sweet snuggly babies. I still feel robbed and I think I always will. It's true what they say: A little part of me will always be missing.
Yesterday I made the mistake(?) of reading through my medical records. The OB's online portal makes everything accessible which is both wonderful and a curse. I didn't let myself read anything since our loss because I thought it would be too difficult to see in black and white. Yesterday I read everything. Every note from every doctor. Every bit of technical jargon. Every awful thing that was physically wrong with our baby that we loved so much and worked so hard to create. It was definitely difficult. I was right that in my grief and shock I didn't retain everything from our appointments with the specialists. There was more wrong with Petey than I let myself remember. He had no chance. I am so sad for his little soul. And I know that we made the right decision for him and for us. It is hard to come to terms with the truth though. And it was hard to see that amongst all the professional dialogue from doctor to doctor, there were little snippets that got to me:
"Patient is having difficulties with news and will be given time to process before follow up tomorrow."That last one kills me a little. Yes, that's correct. We were devastated. That wasn't an opinion, it was stated as a medical fact in my record. ::deep breath::
"Conversation was held amongst much tears and grief."
"Patient is understandably upset but asking appropriate questions."
"This couple is devastated."
I don't know where I'm going with this... I just need to get it out of my head. It's all so sad and it sucks and I hate that this happened to us and to our baby. I am sick of being the one with this sad story. I just hope and pray that I won't have any new sad tales to write about with this current pregnancy.
On Friday I see my midwife again for the first time since Petey. I already know it's going to be emotionally exhausting but I cannot wait for it. I will get to hear the heartbeat again and it cannot come soon enough. Please be healthy, baby.
Sunday, August 17, 2014
Milestone: Passed.
Petey's due date on Friday was okay. The first thing I did when I woke up was sit and write a letter to him. I had more to say than I knew. It took a long time. But it gave me a bit of a sense of relief too. I just wrote and wrote and didn't think. I got it all out of my head and when finished I folded it up and tucked it into my pocket instead of burying it under his tree like I had intended. I'm not sure why.
Then I went to the butterfly sanctuary. I wasn't sure if this was a good plan or not (especially when I pulled in and saw so many parents with small children) but I went in and I am SO GLAD I did. I don't really know how to explain the experience except to say that it felt magical. It was like walking into another world. It was so lush and humid with all kinds of beautiful and exotic plants and flowers, a koi pond with waterfall, the sun streaming through the glass ceiling, and the butterflies. There were SO MANY butterflies. They were all around, fluttering and dipping and diving and chasing each other. They just seemed so happy and carefree. I got choked up a few times while I was there, not thinking just about Petey but about all the little angels to whom so many of us have had to say goodbye. There were two beautiful butterflies in particular that were a vivid blue and kept catching my attention. They were chasing one another and seemed to be playing together and I just could not get Krystal's boys, Conner and Ben, out of my head every time I saw them. I like to think that maybe all our angels are playing together: Petey and Rowan and Ninja and Conner and Ben and Jack and Lexus' Ben and Ana and Colton and Serenity and so so many others that we have lost. I like to think they are happy and carefree now like the butterflies seemed to be.
I thought about taking pictures while I was there but in the end I decided it was more about me having the experience and living in the moment than about capturing/documenting it so here is the one picture I took:
It was a nice experience.
On the way out I bought a few little momentos including a butterfly kite. I thought maybe when we have a rainbow someday it would be nice to fly this kite with her/him every year on Petey's special day.
After that I did end up going to BuyBuyBaby. I walked around a lot and touched little baby things, thinking of Petey, seeing items that I had intended to buy for him or that were already on the registry I had created for him. I looked for pictures and toys and other things with butterflies and/or rainbows but nothing felt quite right to me. In the end I didn't leave with anything but that's okay. It was still kind of nice to just walk around and remember how I felt the previous times I was there when I was PG with Petey and shopping for him.
By that point I was starving so I decided I'd have "Petey's lunch". When I was pregnant with him I craved hamburgers and lemonade all day every day so I decided I would have those in his honor. It was not good, hahaha! Apparently I am not craving those things with this baby (yet - or maybe never) but it was nice to have that last meal "with him" while thinking of him and remembering.
Afterwards I had planned to go get a pedicure and have them paint a butterfly on my toe. I never made it. As I was driving, I passed a big ball field/park that's not too far from my house and made the snap decision to pull in and fly the butterfly kite I had bought earlier. The whole park was deserted which was A) surprising as it is usually packed and B) perfect because I wanted this time to feel connected to Petey and feel my feelings without other people around. I'm so glad I chose to do this. This was the best experience of the day. It was just breezy enough for the kite to fly and I have to say, I had FUN. I spent a good amount of time running around as fast as possible trying to get (and then keep) that kite up in the air, laughing and panting.... At one point my pants fell down while I was running so it was a very good thing I was alone! Haha! It was fun. I felt connected to Petey and felt like we were doing this together. Every time I would encourage that kite to go higher and higher it was like I was encouraging him to climb higher and higher. Even though I was alone I truly did feel like his spirit was with me and I was very grateful for the experience. When I finally went back to the car I caught my reflection in the window and saw a red, sweaty face, crazy fly-away hair and a big smile.
Thank you for a fun time, Petey.
When I climbed back into the car I let my breathing return to normal and thought about what had just happened. I felt like that was the only time he and I (Mother and child) actually played together and had fun together. Like we connected and I was able to do something for him that both he and I appreciated. Maybe that's hard for anyone who has not experienced a loss like this to understand but it was powerful for me and made me very emotional. I decided to take out the note I wrote to him earlier and read it aloud to him and to the open field. I cried while reading it aloud and then sobbed for a long time when I finished. It was powerful. I wasn't really conscious of what I was writing while I wrote it but reading and hearing it aloud made it real. It was painful and beautiful and inspired and raw and true. I hope he heard it. I hope he knows how much I love him and how sorry I am for everything.
After that, I was completely wiped out so I went home and napped for a couple hours. Hubs woke me at dinnertime. We had planned to go out to dinner that night in memory/celebration but I wasn't feeling it anymore so we ordered in and just watched some TV the rest of the night. It ended up being a pretty good day. Emotional and difficult but also peaceful.
I'm glad that this milestone has passed. Even though I am now PG with a different baby, I have still felt like this entire time since March has belonged to Petey since his EDD hadn't arrived yet. He still deserved this time to be celebrated and mourned and focused upon. Now his EDD has passed. I feel like a phase of my grief has ended. I do feel a bit of closure. In my letter, I asked Petey to help me be okay while I now start to focus on the future and look towards our rainbow. I hope he heard me.
~*~* Finally, I know I say this a lot but I just want to say again how truly THANKFUL I am for all of you. The love and support I have received from my IDOB and Loss and Blog and SAIF ladies has lifted and carried me over these past 4 months. I am so grateful to you all for continuing to let me know that you care and that you remember Petey. It means so much every day but especially on this extremely difficult day. You are wonderful and I am so lucky to have you in my life. Thank you. *~*~
Then I went to the butterfly sanctuary. I wasn't sure if this was a good plan or not (especially when I pulled in and saw so many parents with small children) but I went in and I am SO GLAD I did. I don't really know how to explain the experience except to say that it felt magical. It was like walking into another world. It was so lush and humid with all kinds of beautiful and exotic plants and flowers, a koi pond with waterfall, the sun streaming through the glass ceiling, and the butterflies. There were SO MANY butterflies. They were all around, fluttering and dipping and diving and chasing each other. They just seemed so happy and carefree. I got choked up a few times while I was there, not thinking just about Petey but about all the little angels to whom so many of us have had to say goodbye. There were two beautiful butterflies in particular that were a vivid blue and kept catching my attention. They were chasing one another and seemed to be playing together and I just could not get Krystal's boys, Conner and Ben, out of my head every time I saw them. I like to think that maybe all our angels are playing together: Petey and Rowan and Ninja and Conner and Ben and Jack and Lexus' Ben and Ana and Colton and Serenity and so so many others that we have lost. I like to think they are happy and carefree now like the butterflies seemed to be.
I thought about taking pictures while I was there but in the end I decided it was more about me having the experience and living in the moment than about capturing/documenting it so here is the one picture I took:
It was a nice experience.
On the way out I bought a few little momentos including a butterfly kite. I thought maybe when we have a rainbow someday it would be nice to fly this kite with her/him every year on Petey's special day.
After that I did end up going to BuyBuyBaby. I walked around a lot and touched little baby things, thinking of Petey, seeing items that I had intended to buy for him or that were already on the registry I had created for him. I looked for pictures and toys and other things with butterflies and/or rainbows but nothing felt quite right to me. In the end I didn't leave with anything but that's okay. It was still kind of nice to just walk around and remember how I felt the previous times I was there when I was PG with Petey and shopping for him.
By that point I was starving so I decided I'd have "Petey's lunch". When I was pregnant with him I craved hamburgers and lemonade all day every day so I decided I would have those in his honor. It was not good, hahaha! Apparently I am not craving those things with this baby (yet - or maybe never) but it was nice to have that last meal "with him" while thinking of him and remembering.
Afterwards I had planned to go get a pedicure and have them paint a butterfly on my toe. I never made it. As I was driving, I passed a big ball field/park that's not too far from my house and made the snap decision to pull in and fly the butterfly kite I had bought earlier. The whole park was deserted which was A) surprising as it is usually packed and B) perfect because I wanted this time to feel connected to Petey and feel my feelings without other people around. I'm so glad I chose to do this. This was the best experience of the day. It was just breezy enough for the kite to fly and I have to say, I had FUN. I spent a good amount of time running around as fast as possible trying to get (and then keep) that kite up in the air, laughing and panting.... At one point my pants fell down while I was running so it was a very good thing I was alone! Haha! It was fun. I felt connected to Petey and felt like we were doing this together. Every time I would encourage that kite to go higher and higher it was like I was encouraging him to climb higher and higher. Even though I was alone I truly did feel like his spirit was with me and I was very grateful for the experience. When I finally went back to the car I caught my reflection in the window and saw a red, sweaty face, crazy fly-away hair and a big smile.
Thank you for a fun time, Petey.
When I climbed back into the car I let my breathing return to normal and thought about what had just happened. I felt like that was the only time he and I (Mother and child) actually played together and had fun together. Like we connected and I was able to do something for him that both he and I appreciated. Maybe that's hard for anyone who has not experienced a loss like this to understand but it was powerful for me and made me very emotional. I decided to take out the note I wrote to him earlier and read it aloud to him and to the open field. I cried while reading it aloud and then sobbed for a long time when I finished. It was powerful. I wasn't really conscious of what I was writing while I wrote it but reading and hearing it aloud made it real. It was painful and beautiful and inspired and raw and true. I hope he heard it. I hope he knows how much I love him and how sorry I am for everything.
After that, I was completely wiped out so I went home and napped for a couple hours. Hubs woke me at dinnertime. We had planned to go out to dinner that night in memory/celebration but I wasn't feeling it anymore so we ordered in and just watched some TV the rest of the night. It ended up being a pretty good day. Emotional and difficult but also peaceful.
I'm glad that this milestone has passed. Even though I am now PG with a different baby, I have still felt like this entire time since March has belonged to Petey since his EDD hadn't arrived yet. He still deserved this time to be celebrated and mourned and focused upon. Now his EDD has passed. I feel like a phase of my grief has ended. I do feel a bit of closure. In my letter, I asked Petey to help me be okay while I now start to focus on the future and look towards our rainbow. I hope he heard me.
~*~* Finally, I know I say this a lot but I just want to say again how truly THANKFUL I am for all of you. The love and support I have received from my IDOB and Loss and Blog and SAIF ladies has lifted and carried me over these past 4 months. I am so grateful to you all for continuing to let me know that you care and that you remember Petey. It means so much every day but especially on this extremely difficult day. You are wonderful and I am so lucky to have you in my life. Thank you. *~*~
Thursday, August 14, 2014
Petey's Day
Thank you so much to Cici and Jen (<3) for making such a thoughtful picture that means so much to me.
Thank you to all my IDOB sisters and every single one of you who has been such a huge support through everything.
Thank you for not forgetting my little Petey and for always expressing that I'm not alone and that you are thinking of us.
Every word, every hug, every acknowledgment means so much more than you could know.
Tomorrow is the day we had planned to bring Petey home. The day our lives would change forever. The day we'd finally be a family. As of now, I am doing better with this than I expected. I had an extremely hard couple days at the beginning of this week but I think I'm starting to come to a place of peace when it comes to tomorrow.
I've decided that tomorrow I will be writing a special letter to Petey. I want to get everything out that I wish I could have said to him. I don't want to censor myself. I want to attempt to find a way to tell him how deeply I love and miss him. How sorry I am that I'll never get to hold him but that I will always ache to. How I'll always feel like a piece of me is missing. I'll be burying the letter under Petey's tree in our yard.
After that I'll be going to a butterfly sanctuary hoping it will make me feel connected to him.
Next I plan to go to BuyBuyBaby to buy something special for Petey or something for this new baby that will represent Petey so that (if all goes well) when this baby is in our lives, we will still have something tangible of Petey to all stay connected.
Finally, I plan to get a pedicure and have a butterfly painted on my big toe (a la Cici's Frosty Ninja <3)
I feel good about my plan. I feel like it's a good way for me to honor my little Nugget. It will be meaningful to me and I hope it will give me a bit of a sense of closure so I can stop focusing so fully on the past and my grief and begin to start looking towards the future and my little rainbow. I feel like that's what Petey would want too.
Thank you all for your love and for remembering <3
Tuesday, August 12, 2014
I won't lie...
...I am a mess right now.
I can't decide if I'm happy or sad. One minute I'll be thrilled about this pregnancy and the next minute I won't be able to stop crying because a) it's not Petey and b) Petey's EDD is this week. I can't sleep, I can't concentrate on work, I can't get the anxieties out of my head, I can't decide how I feel.
I am coming apart at the seams more and more with each hour that brings me closer to Petey's EDD (this Friday 8/15). I am dreading it. I took the day off but I have no idea what I am going to do with myself. Hubs and I were planning to go away for a long weekend to distract ourselves but that didn't feel quite right so I kept stalling and we never made any plans.
Most loss mamas celebrate this day. I don't know if I can celebrate. I don't know what will feel right. What I do know is that I don't want to find myself waking up on Fri AM with no plans and spending the entire day in bed sobbing. I feel frozen with inaction as I just stare at this monster approaching closer and closer.
I try to remind myself that it's just a day. The percentage of women who actually give birth on their EDD is so small that it's unlikely I would have actually had Petey on Friday... maybe this could make Friday a little easier for me. But it also makes this week leading up to it harder because today might have been the day we were bringing Petey home. Or tomorrow. Or Thursday...
I just miss him. I'm sad. I feel robbed. I'm mad at myself that I seem incapable of feeling as much happiness as I should right now about this new pregnancy. And I'm upset that, as I anticipated, I feel guilty about Petey when I feel happiness about this pregnancy, and I feel guilty about this new baby when I feel sad about Petey. Lose-lose. But as someone on TB Loss board said: "This new baby won't take away my love for [Petey]". I need to remember that.
After writing this I'm now thinking that I really should take this opportunity to do something meaningful for Petey this Friday. Maybe I could find a way to feel a little bit of closure and allow myself to look forward to the future and to this new pregnancy. I've already decided I want to write Petey a letter, shred it and bury it under his tree. Besides that I just don't know.
Any ideas from you all out in the bloggy world?
Update: I found a butterfly sanctuary that's only about 45 mins away from me. As you know, I think of Petey when I see butterflies so I think I may go there on Friday.
I can't decide if I'm happy or sad. One minute I'll be thrilled about this pregnancy and the next minute I won't be able to stop crying because a) it's not Petey and b) Petey's EDD is this week. I can't sleep, I can't concentrate on work, I can't get the anxieties out of my head, I can't decide how I feel.
I am coming apart at the seams more and more with each hour that brings me closer to Petey's EDD (this Friday 8/15). I am dreading it. I took the day off but I have no idea what I am going to do with myself. Hubs and I were planning to go away for a long weekend to distract ourselves but that didn't feel quite right so I kept stalling and we never made any plans.
Most loss mamas celebrate this day. I don't know if I can celebrate. I don't know what will feel right. What I do know is that I don't want to find myself waking up on Fri AM with no plans and spending the entire day in bed sobbing. I feel frozen with inaction as I just stare at this monster approaching closer and closer.
I try to remind myself that it's just a day. The percentage of women who actually give birth on their EDD is so small that it's unlikely I would have actually had Petey on Friday... maybe this could make Friday a little easier for me. But it also makes this week leading up to it harder because today might have been the day we were bringing Petey home. Or tomorrow. Or Thursday...
I just miss him. I'm sad. I feel robbed. I'm mad at myself that I seem incapable of feeling as much happiness as I should right now about this new pregnancy. And I'm upset that, as I anticipated, I feel guilty about Petey when I feel happiness about this pregnancy, and I feel guilty about this new baby when I feel sad about Petey. Lose-lose. But as someone on TB Loss board said: "This new baby won't take away my love for [Petey]". I need to remember that.
After writing this I'm now thinking that I really should take this opportunity to do something meaningful for Petey this Friday. Maybe I could find a way to feel a little bit of closure and allow myself to look forward to the future and to this new pregnancy. I've already decided I want to write Petey a letter, shred it and bury it under his tree. Besides that I just don't know.
Any ideas from you all out in the bloggy world?
Update: I found a butterfly sanctuary that's only about 45 mins away from me. As you know, I think of Petey when I see butterflies so I think I may go there on Friday.
Tuesday, August 5, 2014
Gone too soon.
~*~*~*~ Trigger warning for well, everyone: Loss mamas, pregnant women, mothers with babies..........................Loss Mentioned.............................~*~*~*~
I can't sleep. Today was not a good day. Today I found out that my coworker lost her sweet beautiful healthy perfect 4 month old son over the weekend. They don't know what happened but suspect SIDS. He was found unresponsive last Friday and died at the hospital over the weekend with his loving and heartbroken parents by his side.
WHY does this happen?! And WHY does it happen to such good people?!
When I got to work this morning my boss was waiting at my desk. She pulled me immediately into her office before I could even turn on my computer and told me the news. I fucking lost it. I was a blubbering mess. She apologized profusely for not calling me this morning before I left for work. She told me she knew I would take this hard and said she couldn't stop thinking about me when she heard the news. She said she remembered that I was approaching my due date. It made me cry harder that she cared enough to remember that.
This coworker is a friend. She and I were pregnant at the same time but she was 4 months ahead of me. She and I had talked about our pregnancies and she shared with me tips and ideas and things to expect. Her son was born on the day that we found out Petey was going to die. After that it was hard for me to see her or think about her son. Once she was back from maternity leave I avoided her in the hallways. She was always all smiles on her way to the Mother's Room to pump and I would greet her but then pass on by quickly like I was on my way to a meeting in order to shield myself from the pain. I so regret that now. I so wish I had listened to her talk. I wish I had granted her the time to tell me how happy her child made her and about all of his little milestones and all the poop and all the breastfeeding and all the kisses. I wish I hadn't been so selfish. She will never again be able to talk about her baby with pure happiness. She will be different now.
There is SO MUCH I want to say to her. Advice to give her, ways to help her cope, things for her to expect. I want to tell her:
Lean on your husband now, be gentle with each other and don't let yourselves drift too far apart or you may never be able to come back together. Realize you WILL grieve differently and it will be painful and you will feel alone and not understood and may even resent each other but that you have to work through it no matter how tough it may be.
Lean on your friends and family now, accept their help and don't be too proud or pretend you can do it all. You can't. You need them. They love you and want to help you and you should let them. It will make both of you feel better.
Don't forget how much love and support surrounds you. You are not alone in this and there are many people who love and care about you and are thinking about you - more than you could know.
Try not to be surprised when people say and do insensitive things. They are just trying to help and don't realize they are being insensitive. It's unfair to ask this of you right now but you will need to somehow find a way to grow a thick skin lest the comments eat you up inside.
You will have many many sleepless nights when you lay awake tormented by your thoughts. You will simultaneously wish for daylight to come and wish it would never come so you won't have to figure out how to make it through another long day. Eventually you will sleep again.
You will blame yourself. Even though it's no one's fault and you couldn't have prevented it, you will blame yourself and will struggle to not hate yourself.
This is the worst time and you will have to push the thoughts out of your head that it would be better to be dead than to deal with this pain. It will not always be like this. There are times now where you truly do not know how you will make it through the next hour but you will. Eventually the darkness will start to fade and you will survive this. You will never forget and you will always be sad but you will survive.
You will need to find a way to accept that you will never be the same again. You will change in your core and you shouldn't resist it. You will need to try like hell to keep it from making you permanently bitter.
It will be unfathomable to you how people could be going about their normal lives like everything is fine when it feels like yours has ended. This feeling will eventually fade but things will be hard for you for a long time. Silly things will be tough for you. Triggers will be everywhere. You will need to figure out a way to be okay.
You should do whatever you need to do to grieve and try to heal. You shouldn't put expectations on yourself and should always treat yourself gently.
Your baby is loved and had an impact on this world and will never be forgotten.
I want to share links to all the websites and articles and blogs and support groups that helped me during this time.
I want to give her tips on suppressing lactation because that truly is one of the most gut-wrenching parts of this whole thing; the fact that your body is doing what it is supposed to do to feed your baby even though your baby is no longer alive... it is just pure pain.
I want to reassure her that there are people who understand how awful this is. That even though she feels alone there are (sadly) many other people who are experiencing this too, even though it's not talked about.
I want her to know that I have some idea of how awful this is for her and that I am so deeply sorry.
I want her to reach out to me.
But I don't want to overwhelm her.
Instead, I told her my heart goes out to them, reminded them how much love and support they have, that they are not alone, and that their baby will never be forgotten. These were the words that helped me the most.
I now see how helpless everyone felt when we lost Petey. It's a terrible feeling. I have not stopped thinking about her for a moment since 9am Monday. I don't know when I'll stop thinking about them. I am torn apart inside. They are lovely people - so kind and generous. I am so sad they will never be the same again.
I'm also sad for me. This has brought up some serious grief in me again. And at the worst possible time (approaching Petey's EDD).
Why oh why do these things have to happen?
RIP little G. You will never be forgotten.
Sunday, August 3, 2014
Strength & Authenticity
I blog a lot on my other blog. Did you know I have another blog? It's not public. It's just for me. It's my "safe zone", where I can go when I'm feeling angry or tormented or conflicted or so sad I can't breathe. I'm glad I have it - it helps me get shit out of my head so I can start to feel like a human again and it keeps me from scaring the crap out of you all due to the intense ugly hard hateful bitter painful feelings I have to work through in order to get to the "okay" place where I now reside most days.
In ways it makes me sad that I could not seem to find a way to express some of those feelings here though because I do make a point on this blog to be authentic when I'm writing. What is not authentic though, is that I've filtered myself and my pain. I just read back through a lot of my published blog posts since we said goodbye to Petey and if I didn't know any better, if it wasn't ME who has had to make it through every day of this life since March 18th, I would think moving on was almost easy.
It wasn't. This has been the hardest thing I've ever had to do and I have no idea if it will ever end. There is no way to explain what it is like to grieve the loss of your child - to be moving along through life with trust in your heart and then to be so slapped in the face by the world that you are left dumbstruck. There is no way for others to understand how awful and heart-wrenching and lonely and exhausting it all is. And since it's so exhausting I don't have to energy to try to explain it. It's easier for me to just focus on living and trying to remain positive and trying to keep myself facing away from the dark hole that is always waiting there, ready to swallow me up. One slight misstep, one unexpected trigger, one day spent thinking too much and not distracting myself enough, and I'm falling again. Sometimes I can claw my way out of it by the next day. Other times I sit alone on the floor of that dark hole for weeks and don't even have the energy to look up to see how close or far away I may be from the light.
I have written some raw posts on my other blog. Sometimes I want to share them. Sometimes I want to show you all exactly what this is like so you can know how life is for me now but I don't want to do that to you. I appreciate the love and support so much more than you could ever know and the last thing I would want to do is alienate you. As much as you care about me and may be thinking to yourself right now that I shouldn't feel like I need to censor myself, trust me when I say that you're better off not knowing. I hope you never will know what this is like. And truth be told, I really am in an okay place most of the time.
I am proud of myself for consistently exercising and now really focusing on my health. That feels like a success to me. Just three months ago even driving down the street to pick up milk was a success. I have come a long way. This part of me is what you mainly see on my blog - it's no wonder why people keep saying I'm so strong. I have felt like this is not strength, it's merely survival. Then I found this quote:
Based on this definition it's true that sometimes I am strong. But I've mostly only been showing you my strength because it's too hard for me to find a way to share all the times when I choose to cry instead of move forward. So this is me, sharing:
Sometimes I'm an absolute mess.
Sometimes I am weak and overwhelmed and unable to cope with life.
Sometimes I have no hope and am angry and bitter and hate everyone and everything.
Sometimes I waste away entire days in bed, scouring the internet for other women's stories of loss searching and searching and searching for something I can't even identify.
But then there are the other times; times when I "choose to smile and take another step forward instead". I think I write about those times because they make me feel good. It is a constant battle to try to feel positive so I spend my time writing about those instances instead of sharing things that will just make me (and you) feel worse. But it doesn't mean those times aren't there. They definitely are. And they're probably not going away anytime soon. I hope that if I continue to choose to take steps forward they will slowly start to fade into the background and then this blog will be authentic again. I hope there will come a day when I won't have to filter through the bad to write about the good any longer because there will be so much good.
I hope.
In ways it makes me sad that I could not seem to find a way to express some of those feelings here though because I do make a point on this blog to be authentic when I'm writing. What is not authentic though, is that I've filtered myself and my pain. I just read back through a lot of my published blog posts since we said goodbye to Petey and if I didn't know any better, if it wasn't ME who has had to make it through every day of this life since March 18th, I would think moving on was almost easy.
It wasn't. This has been the hardest thing I've ever had to do and I have no idea if it will ever end. There is no way to explain what it is like to grieve the loss of your child - to be moving along through life with trust in your heart and then to be so slapped in the face by the world that you are left dumbstruck. There is no way for others to understand how awful and heart-wrenching and lonely and exhausting it all is. And since it's so exhausting I don't have to energy to try to explain it. It's easier for me to just focus on living and trying to remain positive and trying to keep myself facing away from the dark hole that is always waiting there, ready to swallow me up. One slight misstep, one unexpected trigger, one day spent thinking too much and not distracting myself enough, and I'm falling again. Sometimes I can claw my way out of it by the next day. Other times I sit alone on the floor of that dark hole for weeks and don't even have the energy to look up to see how close or far away I may be from the light.
I have written some raw posts on my other blog. Sometimes I want to share them. Sometimes I want to show you all exactly what this is like so you can know how life is for me now but I don't want to do that to you. I appreciate the love and support so much more than you could ever know and the last thing I would want to do is alienate you. As much as you care about me and may be thinking to yourself right now that I shouldn't feel like I need to censor myself, trust me when I say that you're better off not knowing. I hope you never will know what this is like. And truth be told, I really am in an okay place most of the time.
I am proud of myself for consistently exercising and now really focusing on my health. That feels like a success to me. Just three months ago even driving down the street to pick up milk was a success. I have come a long way. This part of me is what you mainly see on my blog - it's no wonder why people keep saying I'm so strong. I have felt like this is not strength, it's merely survival. Then I found this quote:
Based on this definition it's true that sometimes I am strong. But I've mostly only been showing you my strength because it's too hard for me to find a way to share all the times when I choose to cry instead of move forward. So this is me, sharing:
Sometimes I'm an absolute mess.
Sometimes I am weak and overwhelmed and unable to cope with life.
Sometimes I have no hope and am angry and bitter and hate everyone and everything.
Sometimes I waste away entire days in bed, scouring the internet for other women's stories of loss searching and searching and searching for something I can't even identify.
But then there are the other times; times when I "choose to smile and take another step forward instead". I think I write about those times because they make me feel good. It is a constant battle to try to feel positive so I spend my time writing about those instances instead of sharing things that will just make me (and you) feel worse. But it doesn't mean those times aren't there. They definitely are. And they're probably not going away anytime soon. I hope that if I continue to choose to take steps forward they will slowly start to fade into the background and then this blog will be authentic again. I hope there will come a day when I won't have to filter through the bad to write about the good any longer because there will be so much good.
I hope.
Friday, May 16, 2014
Open mouth, insert foot
Yesterday at the gym after Zumba class, a woman I've started getting friendly with asked me if I had children.
Win! Great convo, Chickin. Way to scare off a potential new friend and probably make her feel really really bad. Normally I'd see her again tomorrow morning and we'd chat but my guess is that she will probably try to hide from me on the other side of the room. And I really wouldn't blame her.
Me thinks I should make a plan for how I'll answer this question the next time it comes up so I don't scare away every single new person.
Me: "Ummmm..... sort of....."
Her: confused face
Me: "Uh..." stalling, still trying to figure out what to say
Her: .....
Me: "Well, I did, but he died."
Her: look of horror
Me: Complete verbal diarrhea while starting to cry talking about how that's why I started coming here to do something positive for myself and try not to think about it, and it's so hard to have all this extra baby weight, and blah blah sadness blah.
Her: looking like she wants to run away: "Oh my god I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have asked."
Me: "No, no, it's okay I have to learn how to deal with stuff like this."
And then I think I mumbled something incoherent about Mother's Day which made sense in my mind but probably just confused her and made her feel worse. Then I ran away.
Win! Great convo, Chickin. Way to scare off a potential new friend and probably make her feel really really bad. Normally I'd see her again tomorrow morning and we'd chat but my guess is that she will probably try to hide from me on the other side of the room. And I really wouldn't blame her.
Me thinks I should make a plan for how I'll answer this question the next time it comes up so I don't scare away every single new person.
Monday, May 12, 2014
Finding my "Muchness"
I'm sure it will come as no surprise to you when I say that I've pretty much felt dead inside since finding out we were going to lose Petey. I realize it's still extremely early on so I'm cutting myself some slack on not feeling "normal" yet but honestly? I am getting sick of it. Grief is exhausting. Normally I am a happy, funny, warm, positive person who easily inspires and motivates people. People like being around me and I like being around people. I am usually fun. I am usually full of passion. I am usually full of MUCHNESS. But it feels like losing Petey stripped me of that. Honestly, I felt a lot of it slowly melting away during the seemingly endless months spent struggling with infertility but after this blow I am worried I may never again be the same person I was.
So when Lyndsey on my Loss board posted a link to a free 7-day challenge for babyloss mothers to "find their Muchness" and to see the beauty in life and in ourselves again in spite of our grief (through http://findingmymuchness.com/), I was interested.
Muchness is the energy, the life, the spark of positivity that fuels our days, our imaginations, and our confidence.~findingmymuchness.com
Lyndsey said that she was going to do this challenge as a way to honor her baby by not forgetting who she is; that while she is allowing her loss to change her, she's not allowing it to ruin her. That really spoke to me. I signed up too.
So that's what I've been doing this week: Finding my Muchness. Or, as the challenge put it, I've been using "helpful insight, inspired ideas and thoughtful support in an effort to rediscover my light and release myself from the shadows of grief".
I won't say I got all the way there or that I was even able to complete every single challenge but I did come to some helpful conclusions this week as a result of this program. Here's a summary:
- It's okay to not be sad all the time. I can allow myself to smile or laugh or have fun without feeling guilty that I am betraying or forgetting Petey.
- I need to keep myself from getting addicted to my grief because of the feeling that it keeps me connected to Petey. If I move on with my life my thoughts and memories of Petey will always be with me. They are not going anywhere and I can stop and think of him any time I need or want to.
- I can honor Petey by keeping his memory alive in intentional ways.
- Keeping busy is good for me. As soon as there is nothing to distract me my brain goes to my grief.
- Writing is good for me. Writing about positive things is even better.
- I do have the power to not let emotional triggers wreck me. I can reframe them in positive ways and use them as a way to remember my love for Petey
- There is ALWAYS something to be thankful for and a way to find my light in the darkness. It might be extremely difficult but there IS a way to find it.
Through the challenges, I was also able to look at myself in a new way and see that I am strong and courageous and determined and loving and ALIVE; I don't need to be defined by my loss and though it may take a long time and a lot of hard work, I CAN find a way to move forward even stronger.
I'm glad I took this challenge. I won't pretend that I'm magically "healed" now and bursting with light and enthusiasm or anything but it did give me some new perspectives on life and grief and some tools that I might be able to use moving forward. And it also managed to get me through this Mother's Day without a breakdown. So that alone made it worth it!
I hope my Muchness will just continue to grow and fill me up again as it did before. I'm sure it will be a slow process but in a week and a half I will be taking a giant step towards that goal; I'll be taking a long-anticipated trip to Toronto for a visit with some of my fabulously amazing IDOB sisters. I expect my Muchness meter to get a nice big headstart then and I can't friggin' wait! :-D
Friday, May 9, 2014
How 'Divergent' Helped Me Through My Loss
Yes, the movie.
I just realized I never really talked about how I physically survived those first few horrible weeks after losing Petey.
The 2 weeks-worth of dinners from my sister, parents, and coworkers fed my body when I could barely take care of myself, and all the messages of love from everyone fed my soul when I couldn't imagine how I could get through the next hour nevermind the next day. But going to the movies are what really helped me start to move on.
After spending weeks sitting in one spot on the couch all day long (and oftentimes most of the night) I knew I had to force myself out of my comfort zone and leave the house. But I was afraid. Afraid of unanticipated triggers, of breaking down, of having to make small talk, even of just seeing other people. I was surrounded by my invisible bubble of grief and shock and denial. I couldn't imagine how I would integrate back into "normal" life again.
So, I decided to go to the movies. It's dark, no one gives a shit about anyone else (aka: no small talk or even eye-contact to be made), and ideally, you can lose yourself inside the world the movie creates for you. Plus, I've always liked going to the movies alone.
Divergent had just come out and I liked The Hunger Games so I went. In fact, I went to see it in the theater three times in a matter of 2 weeks. THREE. And it wasn't even all that good. But hear me out: it wasn't about the movie, it was about DOING something. Anything. It was about figuring out a way to integrate myself back into the living, moving world again in whatever way felt possible to me. And each time it got a little bit easier.
The first time I threw on whatever dirty clothes would fit me, crying as I pulled on my maternity jeans. I cried as I drove for the first time, feeling completely overwhelmed. Once there I couldn't even look up at the teenager who sold me my ticket but I entered that dark theater and sat there and stayed and was able to immerse myself (the majority of the time) in the futuristic world within the movie.
The second time I had to wear those maternity pants again but I expected it so it didn't hurt quite so much. I cried during the car ride to the theater again but once there I was able to look at the kid who sold me my ticket, and at the girl who sold me my popcorn, and I even returned a small smile from another woman who was also washing her hands at the bathroom sink.
The third time I actually showered first, wore clean clothes, and didn't cry once during the entire trip. I even went to Five Guys Burgers and Fries afterwards for dinner. And there was a family there with small children. And I was okay. And after that, I knew I could go out in public and see people and see children and not fall apart.
It's like the movies held my hand as I got back on my feet and learned how to be in the world again. But why see the SAME move all three times, you ask? Because I knew what to expect. There were already enough variables to deal with in just getting myself there successfully; I didn't want to deal with unknowns. I knew there were no storylines with babies. I knew none of the characters were pregnant. I knew it wasn't anything that would make me feel sadness. It allowed me to "live" in that other world for 2 hours instead of in my own world of constant, swirling, all-encompassing pain. Plus, I knew when the boring part was coming so I could make a bathroom trip without missing anything good :-)
So yes, Divergent actually helped me start to move on from my loss. Regardless of the fact that I'd give the movie about a C+ this movie will always be important to me.
By the way, the first time I went I was the ONLY person in the theater up until the credits started. Then a couple walked in. WITH A BABY. Seriously?!!! I really felt like that was a cruel joke from the universe. The baby was sleeping for a while but obviously woke up partway through as I stared hearing sweet little baby noises and coos and cries during the quieter parts of the movie. It felt like such a slap in the face. As the tears streamed from my eyes I contemplated fleeing from the theater back to the comfortable safety of my couch but I didn't. I stayed. And eventually I started to be able to (sort-of) ignore the baby sounds and focus again on the movie.
That experience was extremely painful at the time but, in hindsight, it was probably the absolute BEST way I could have encountered hearing a tiny baby cry for the first time since losing Petey; in a dark, virtually empty theater where no one could see or hear me sob and I had an immediate distraction once I could focus on the movie in front of me again. Since then, I have encountered a coworker's new baby, learned that one of my good friends is pregnant with twins, have seen lots of sweet baby pics on facebook, and (now that it's nicer weather and the windows are open) I often hear the cries of my next-door neighbors' 1 yr old daughter. And although every single time I feel at a minimum, a small stab to the heart and at other times, like my world is caving in and it's hard to breathe, it doesn't break me. I am still standing and am slowly figuring out how to work towards being OK.
I just realized I never really talked about how I physically survived those first few horrible weeks after losing Petey.
The 2 weeks-worth of dinners from my sister, parents, and coworkers fed my body when I could barely take care of myself, and all the messages of love from everyone fed my soul when I couldn't imagine how I could get through the next hour nevermind the next day. But going to the movies are what really helped me start to move on.
After spending weeks sitting in one spot on the couch all day long (and oftentimes most of the night) I knew I had to force myself out of my comfort zone and leave the house. But I was afraid. Afraid of unanticipated triggers, of breaking down, of having to make small talk, even of just seeing other people. I was surrounded by my invisible bubble of grief and shock and denial. I couldn't imagine how I would integrate back into "normal" life again.
So, I decided to go to the movies. It's dark, no one gives a shit about anyone else (aka: no small talk or even eye-contact to be made), and ideally, you can lose yourself inside the world the movie creates for you. Plus, I've always liked going to the movies alone.
Divergent had just come out and I liked The Hunger Games so I went. In fact, I went to see it in the theater three times in a matter of 2 weeks. THREE. And it wasn't even all that good. But hear me out: it wasn't about the movie, it was about DOING something. Anything. It was about figuring out a way to integrate myself back into the living, moving world again in whatever way felt possible to me. And each time it got a little bit easier.
The first time I threw on whatever dirty clothes would fit me, crying as I pulled on my maternity jeans. I cried as I drove for the first time, feeling completely overwhelmed. Once there I couldn't even look up at the teenager who sold me my ticket but I entered that dark theater and sat there and stayed and was able to immerse myself (the majority of the time) in the futuristic world within the movie.
The second time I had to wear those maternity pants again but I expected it so it didn't hurt quite so much. I cried during the car ride to the theater again but once there I was able to look at the kid who sold me my ticket, and at the girl who sold me my popcorn, and I even returned a small smile from another woman who was also washing her hands at the bathroom sink.
The third time I actually showered first, wore clean clothes, and didn't cry once during the entire trip. I even went to Five Guys Burgers and Fries afterwards for dinner. And there was a family there with small children. And I was okay. And after that, I knew I could go out in public and see people and see children and not fall apart.
It's like the movies held my hand as I got back on my feet and learned how to be in the world again. But why see the SAME move all three times, you ask? Because I knew what to expect. There were already enough variables to deal with in just getting myself there successfully; I didn't want to deal with unknowns. I knew there were no storylines with babies. I knew none of the characters were pregnant. I knew it wasn't anything that would make me feel sadness. It allowed me to "live" in that other world for 2 hours instead of in my own world of constant, swirling, all-encompassing pain. Plus, I knew when the boring part was coming so I could make a bathroom trip without missing anything good :-)
So yes, Divergent actually helped me start to move on from my loss. Regardless of the fact that I'd give the movie about a C+ this movie will always be important to me.
Plus, the guy who played Four ain't bad to look at:
By the way, the first time I went I was the ONLY person in the theater up until the credits started. Then a couple walked in. WITH A BABY. Seriously?!!! I really felt like that was a cruel joke from the universe. The baby was sleeping for a while but obviously woke up partway through as I stared hearing sweet little baby noises and coos and cries during the quieter parts of the movie. It felt like such a slap in the face. As the tears streamed from my eyes I contemplated fleeing from the theater back to the comfortable safety of my couch but I didn't. I stayed. And eventually I started to be able to (sort-of) ignore the baby sounds and focus again on the movie.
That experience was extremely painful at the time but, in hindsight, it was probably the absolute BEST way I could have encountered hearing a tiny baby cry for the first time since losing Petey; in a dark, virtually empty theater where no one could see or hear me sob and I had an immediate distraction once I could focus on the movie in front of me again. Since then, I have encountered a coworker's new baby, learned that one of my good friends is pregnant with twins, have seen lots of sweet baby pics on facebook, and (now that it's nicer weather and the windows are open) I often hear the cries of my next-door neighbors' 1 yr old daughter. And although every single time I feel at a minimum, a small stab to the heart and at other times, like my world is caving in and it's hard to breathe, it doesn't break me. I am still standing and am slowly figuring out how to work towards being OK.
Thursday, May 8, 2014
Baby steps*
*The irony of this blog post title is not lost on me.
I've been trying to write blog posts over the last week. I have been unsuccessful. The words are just not coming and quite honestly, I am in a dark place. But although I am struggling sometimes to keep in my head above the water, I am not drowning. I am proud of myself that although I have been pulling away lately in the bloggy/facebook/bump world I have been able to take some positive and healthy steps for myself in the real world:
I joined a gym and have been going to Zumba 2-3 times per week. It's been good to have a schedule and something to DO and to look forward to again. I assume the endorphins couldn't hurt either.
I joined My Fitness Pal again and am back to tracking what I eat. I have been (literally) eating my grief since losing Petey and am currently the heaviest I have ever been (even heavier than when I was pregnant). I feel awful, I look awful and if I ever hope to be pregnant again someday I need to do something about this.
I've been getting back to my regular work routine with days in the office. This isn't a fun one and is still a struggle every single time but it's good to have a schedule and have a reason to get dressed and get out of the house.
I called a therapist today to make an intro appointment. This woman was recommended to me by my genetic counselor as she has experience with women who have had a loss. I'm still not sure I want to do this but I figure it can't hurt and could probably help. Sometimes I feel like all of this is just too much to handle - that it's so much bigger than I am and I really do need help to get through it in one piece. I'm beginning to think that up until now I had still been in a bit of denial but now it's hit me. It's real life and it's unbelievably painful and I will never be the same again. This is my reality and I need to find healthy ways to cope with that so I can begin to rebuild my life again.
I've been trying to write blog posts over the last week. I have been unsuccessful. The words are just not coming and quite honestly, I am in a dark place. But although I am struggling sometimes to keep in my head above the water, I am not drowning. I am proud of myself that although I have been pulling away lately in the bloggy/facebook/bump world I have been able to take some positive and healthy steps for myself in the real world:
I joined a gym and have been going to Zumba 2-3 times per week. It's been good to have a schedule and something to DO and to look forward to again. I assume the endorphins couldn't hurt either.
I joined My Fitness Pal again and am back to tracking what I eat. I have been (literally) eating my grief since losing Petey and am currently the heaviest I have ever been (even heavier than when I was pregnant). I feel awful, I look awful and if I ever hope to be pregnant again someday I need to do something about this. I've been getting back to my regular work routine with days in the office. This isn't a fun one and is still a struggle every single time but it's good to have a schedule and have a reason to get dressed and get out of the house.
I called a therapist today to make an intro appointment. This woman was recommended to me by my genetic counselor as she has experience with women who have had a loss. I'm still not sure I want to do this but I figure it can't hurt and could probably help. Sometimes I feel like all of this is just too much to handle - that it's so much bigger than I am and I really do need help to get through it in one piece. I'm beginning to think that up until now I had still been in a bit of denial but now it's hit me. It's real life and it's unbelievably painful and I will never be the same again. This is my reality and I need to find healthy ways to cope with that so I can begin to rebuild my life again.
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