I am giving myself an early Christmas gift. I am giving myself permission to feel whatever comes and then LET IT GO.
That may involve writing about it. Between this blog and my journal I have saved hundreds of dollars in counseling fees.
So, what I'm saying is, I may write about things that are making me sad or mad at that moment, but I'm writing it to let it out - to not have to hold on to it anymore. That includes my recent feeling of thinking that no one is my friend. I'm letting that go. It is a very real feeling, but it does me no good to hold on to it. So I've decided to assume that everyone is really my friend and would talk to me if they knew how and just move on. The end.
Friday, December 11, 2009
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Words
A simple question like "how are you?" is so much harder to answer now. I want to be truthful. The answers I have been using don't feel all that truthful. I say:
"Fine" (That is not really true)
"Okay" (Not really true either)
So, what is true? In my search for words I find some to be more fitting than others. In those first few days the only word I could think of to answer this question that sounded true was "heartbroken".
These days I think of the word "bereft". It makes me think of "adrift", which is accurate too.
Of course, there is always "sad", which is more often than not true. I still cry at least twice a day, but it is not always as intense as it was in the beginning.
Even though I don't really know how to answer the "how are you?" question, I would still appreciate being asked by someone who was willing to get the real answer. I feel like when people ask me this, they are just waiting for the "fine" or the "okay". They don't really want to get into it. Most people don't ask me anything at all. In fact, most people don't talk to me at all. Or, if they do, it is a brief conversation about something else with a total avoidance of the most obvious topic. It hurts my feelings to have people talk to me without ever saying anything about this situation. It is painful to have people pretend like nothing ever happened - because something happened. Something big happened. When they ignore that, it feels like they are marginalizing the whole experience and its implications to my future. It feels so lonely, and frankly makes me feel angry. If I know someone has experienced a major loss I hope I won't go on as normal around them, acting like nothing happened and assuming that they can carry on life as usual. There is no life as usual for me anymore. I feel as if I have changed forever, and I don't know what the new me is like at all. I just know I don't want to be the same. In some way, not being normal is the only way I can acknowledge my baby who is not with us. No one else seems to want to acknowledge it, so it is left to me to act differently, to change, to show the world outwardly that I am no longer the same inside because if I don't they will never remember. They will never realize that she was here, and now she's gone, and it is so very real to me.
"Fine" (That is not really true)
"Okay" (Not really true either)
So, what is true? In my search for words I find some to be more fitting than others. In those first few days the only word I could think of to answer this question that sounded true was "heartbroken".
These days I think of the word "bereft". It makes me think of "adrift", which is accurate too.
Of course, there is always "sad", which is more often than not true. I still cry at least twice a day, but it is not always as intense as it was in the beginning.
Even though I don't really know how to answer the "how are you?" question, I would still appreciate being asked by someone who was willing to get the real answer. I feel like when people ask me this, they are just waiting for the "fine" or the "okay". They don't really want to get into it. Most people don't ask me anything at all. In fact, most people don't talk to me at all. Or, if they do, it is a brief conversation about something else with a total avoidance of the most obvious topic. It hurts my feelings to have people talk to me without ever saying anything about this situation. It is painful to have people pretend like nothing ever happened - because something happened. Something big happened. When they ignore that, it feels like they are marginalizing the whole experience and its implications to my future. It feels so lonely, and frankly makes me feel angry. If I know someone has experienced a major loss I hope I won't go on as normal around them, acting like nothing happened and assuming that they can carry on life as usual. There is no life as usual for me anymore. I feel as if I have changed forever, and I don't know what the new me is like at all. I just know I don't want to be the same. In some way, not being normal is the only way I can acknowledge my baby who is not with us. No one else seems to want to acknowledge it, so it is left to me to act differently, to change, to show the world outwardly that I am no longer the same inside because if I don't they will never remember. They will never realize that she was here, and now she's gone, and it is so very real to me.
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Thanksgiving
I am thankful to be able to type this without worrying that my tears were going to splash all over the keyboard and ruin our computer. I can actually type without crying so much that I can't see.
I am thankful that I have three adorable children who are with me everyday.
I am thankful that I got to see the one adorable little child who will not be with me for a long time.
I am thankful for Tyler who loves me so well, in all circumstances that life has brought us so far.
I am thankful to know that while so many things are out of my hands, they are in someone else's hands. She is in someone else's hands. And although I wish those hands were mine, if they can't be, I am glad they are His.
I am thankful that I have three adorable children who are with me everyday.
I am thankful that I got to see the one adorable little child who will not be with me for a long time.
I am thankful for Tyler who loves me so well, in all circumstances that life has brought us so far.
I am thankful to know that while so many things are out of my hands, they are in someone else's hands. She is in someone else's hands. And although I wish those hands were mine, if they can't be, I am glad they are His.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Something Every Day
I just went in the spare room to help CT find something and I saw a little book I had gotten for Amelia for her birthday that I forgot about. It is called "I'm A Big Sister". When will there be a day when I don't cry so many times? C.T. said to me "Mom! Enough of this crying! You don't like crying, remember?". Yes, I do remember. But I don't know what else to do with this sadness.
Saturday, November 21, 2009
I Know, I Know
"Losing a baby happens to so many people." " It is actually very common to lose a baby." True. I know that. But see, it's not common for me. And I'm not thinking about losing "a baby". I thinking about this baby. I am sad because I will not know her, not because she was a baby, but because she was her. I am sad to miss out on who she might have been. Truthfully, I am very surprised at how hard this is. I can't imagine this being a real part of my life forever, and yet it is. I keep posting about it because writing about it is so much easier than talking, and then if anyone is interested they can just read this instead of asking me in person. So far this grieving process has been just like everyone says it is. It comes in waves. I'll be fine for a long time and then crash, I'll fall apart. That's why I'm so reluctant to be around people. I don't want to be fine and then suddenly fall apart in groups of people. I don't want to make people feel uncomfortable. It's only been a few days. How will I make it through thousands more? Time heals, right? But time is such a slowpoke.
Friday, November 20, 2009
Update
Well, it's 27 hours after checking in at the hospital yesterday and I just got home. Everything went all right.
The nurse told me that it looks like it was an umbilical cord accident...the cord was wrapped around the baby's neck 4 times and it had a knot in it. She was 1 lb. 8 oz. and 13 inches long. I wanted to see her, so I did. So tiny. A miniature, miniature baby. A cute little nose, just like my other babies...a profile I will remember. Tiny feet with a longer second toe, just like me. I felt sad, of course, but I also felt peaceful seeing her. I'm very glad I did see her. They give a "memory box" with photos and footprints, etc., which I told the nurse I did not want to have. I have her in my mind, I don't a box sitting on a shelf to stumble across at odd times to think about it. I know many people must feel differently about that than I do, since they offer it, but I thought it was kind of weird.
I have learned a lot in the past couple of days though.
Because of how far along I was what I had was technically a stillbirth, not a miscarriage. We had to contact a funeral home and everything because the hospital won't take care of it for you if it is past 20 weeks. That is something we weren't expecting. Fortunately there is a funeral home near the hospital that offers a free option in cases like this. Still, it was an unexpected and stressful addition to the day.
The baby was delivered at about 2 o'clock in the morning. I was all by myself in a dark and quiet room. Tyler was in the car, on his way to the hospital. The nurse was out of the room. It was just me. And it was okay. It was fitting actually, because I'm feeling like so much of this is really a private thing. Just the mother has these feelings. I'm the only one who had any real contact with that baby after all. I don't know if she's mine or not mine now, but I do know that she was, is and always will be Heavenly Father's daughter, and I don't need to worry about her. I know that doesn't mean I won't be sad thinking of what might have been, or even what was for these last six months, but I KNOW that she is fine and I will be fine and life carries on for everyone.
I appreciate people's concern and love for me. I don't really want to talk to people right now, because it is all the same conversation, and it just makes me cry, and I am very tired of crying. My face is very tired of crying. Have you ever cried so much that it actually made you throw-up? It's not pleasant. Then again, nothing about this situation really is. Although, I have felt a deep sense of peace and calm at important moments, and I have felt the concern of great friends and family.
Today is Amelia's birthday, so it's off to do birthday things I go. See, life goes on. Quickly. Ready or not.
The nurse told me that it looks like it was an umbilical cord accident...the cord was wrapped around the baby's neck 4 times and it had a knot in it. She was 1 lb. 8 oz. and 13 inches long. I wanted to see her, so I did. So tiny. A miniature, miniature baby. A cute little nose, just like my other babies...a profile I will remember. Tiny feet with a longer second toe, just like me. I felt sad, of course, but I also felt peaceful seeing her. I'm very glad I did see her. They give a "memory box" with photos and footprints, etc., which I told the nurse I did not want to have. I have her in my mind, I don't a box sitting on a shelf to stumble across at odd times to think about it. I know many people must feel differently about that than I do, since they offer it, but I thought it was kind of weird.
I have learned a lot in the past couple of days though.
Because of how far along I was what I had was technically a stillbirth, not a miscarriage. We had to contact a funeral home and everything because the hospital won't take care of it for you if it is past 20 weeks. That is something we weren't expecting. Fortunately there is a funeral home near the hospital that offers a free option in cases like this. Still, it was an unexpected and stressful addition to the day.
The baby was delivered at about 2 o'clock in the morning. I was all by myself in a dark and quiet room. Tyler was in the car, on his way to the hospital. The nurse was out of the room. It was just me. And it was okay. It was fitting actually, because I'm feeling like so much of this is really a private thing. Just the mother has these feelings. I'm the only one who had any real contact with that baby after all. I don't know if she's mine or not mine now, but I do know that she was, is and always will be Heavenly Father's daughter, and I don't need to worry about her. I know that doesn't mean I won't be sad thinking of what might have been, or even what was for these last six months, but I KNOW that she is fine and I will be fine and life carries on for everyone.
I appreciate people's concern and love for me. I don't really want to talk to people right now, because it is all the same conversation, and it just makes me cry, and I am very tired of crying. My face is very tired of crying. Have you ever cried so much that it actually made you throw-up? It's not pleasant. Then again, nothing about this situation really is. Although, I have felt a deep sense of peace and calm at important moments, and I have felt the concern of great friends and family.
Today is Amelia's birthday, so it's off to do birthday things I go. See, life goes on. Quickly. Ready or not.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Things Change
There's no easy way to say this - I view it kind of like ripping off a band-aid - just get it over with fast. The baby we were expecting in February has died. We found that out for certain this afternoon, but I had a feeling about it yesterday. I knew. I hoped not. But I knew. In fact, I didn't sleep last night. I just sat on the couch trying to feel something - anything, from the baby. A flutter. A turn. Or the lottery of movements, a kick. But nothing.
It is so strange how one month ago at my appointment everything was fine and dandy and today at my appointment she is there, but not alive. I can't describe it. I am at a loss as to what to do with this loss. I know miscarriages are very common. I don't think they are as common at 26 weeks. I was on the home stretch - the last trimester. It is so surreal. Especially the part where I have to go in tomorrow and actually deliver this baby.
I told the kids no new baby will be coming home with us anymore. They had a few questions, and actually it was a good conversation. They are a little wired now though. They know the atmosphere is different and things are Not Normal. Hopefully we all just make it through tomorrow okay.
It is so strange how one month ago at my appointment everything was fine and dandy and today at my appointment she is there, but not alive. I can't describe it. I am at a loss as to what to do with this loss. I know miscarriages are very common. I don't think they are as common at 26 weeks. I was on the home stretch - the last trimester. It is so surreal. Especially the part where I have to go in tomorrow and actually deliver this baby.
I told the kids no new baby will be coming home with us anymore. They had a few questions, and actually it was a good conversation. They are a little wired now though. They know the atmosphere is different and things are Not Normal. Hopefully we all just make it through tomorrow okay.
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