Today, a friend and colleague of mine, came in to work about noon. I could tell she had a bad morning, she looked good but there was just something. Our friend, and boss, filled me in briefly on what was happening. My friend, Mandi, her best friend unexpectedly lost her husband last night due to complications from a kidney failure they didn't even know existed until this past weekend. Mandi's friend has a 2 year old daughter and is 15 weeks pregnant. I do not know this family but my heart breaks for them and for my friend Mandi. I don't understand why such bad things happen to good people.
I think our hallway at work is cursed. I didn't tell Amy or Mandi that today, but I think it is. Amy lost her mom, Carrie, in February to cancer. I lost my son, Alfy, in April for unknown reasons. Mandi lost her friend early this morning. They always say bad things, including death, comes in three's, I hope it is done with us for a while. We have had to deal with more death than most people our age. Please let it be done for a while.
Tonight I will say a prayer for my friend Mandi, her friend that has suddenly lost so much and the friend she lost today.
Thursday, August 30, 2012
Thursday, August 16, 2012
I Don't Want To Go
My boss, also my friend, told us at work yesterday, or maybe Tuesday, that she wanted a list of conferences that we think we might like to go to for work by 10am today. I knew my answer almost immediately, but didn't discuss it with her until this morning. In my field and at my school, we are very fortunate to be given a travel stipend for conferences and professional memberships, so normally this is something I would jump on. In fact, I had been in Tampa, FL the week before Alfy was born attending a national conference for work. Along with the professional development side, I love that I can see and catch up with friends I have made over the years at other schools I have worked at.
I don't know which, if any, conferences I will go to this year. At times, we are asked to go by our director to represent our areas and I will try to do so if asked. But if I was given the choice today, I would choose none. The reasons I don't want to go are all over the board, but some of them surprised me.
I don't want to go to any conferences because I don't want to see all the people who last saw me pregnant. I'm guessing there are many that are not aware that we lost Alfy. I know some are, I've heard from those I was closest too. I think the majority would just assume I successfully had a child though. Today, I know that I couldn't handle "Congratulations" over and over again and the questions that follow and me explaining that our precious Alfy is no longer with us, that he was stillborn at 28 weeks. I had that experience once this week and it was hard. Today, I can not handle doing that over and over again in a matter of a few days.
I don't want to go to conferences because I irrationally relate my travel to Tampa to the loss of Alfy. I mentioned in another post, grief is not rational. I think this is the perfect example of one of those moments. I did have concerns about Alfy's movements before I left for Tampa, but I called the doctor's office, I did what they said and it eased my concerns. And, had I actually gone in to the doctor, they most likely would have found the heartbeat and sent me home. That is how one would rationally think about travel.
Had I not traveled, I would have made sure I went to the doctor that week. The flights, the salty restaurant food, the hours spent on my feet, the swelling from all of it, the lack of sleep, somehow they all contributed to the loss of Alfy. That is the irrational side of what I think about travel. So, no, I don't want to travel or do anything right now that I, even if irrationally, think may have contributed to losing Alfy.
I don't want to go to conferences because there is a part of me that hopes that I will have that reason I crave so much. Maybe, just maybe, there might be another life in the making. And, even if it seems totally irrational to most, I will not put that new life in jeopardy by traveling.
I don't want to go to conferences because I can barely wrap my mind around the hopefulness of why I don't want to go. I'm scared of the hope, of the future and therefore, in a long drawn out way, of conferences. Last time I allowed myself to hope and envision my future, it was all pulled out from underneath me in one quick swoop. If I don't hope like I did, then if it all gets pulled out again, maybe it won't hurt as much. There it is again, the irrational side of my grief breaking through.
Okay, the last paragraph makes me angry. Angry at my loss, angry that I even think about not hoping as much. Why shouldn't I hope like everyone else? Because, I know better than most the pain caused by the hope being torn apart. It's not fair that I can't give that same hope to the possibility of another new life.
I don't know which, if any, conferences I will go to this year. At times, we are asked to go by our director to represent our areas and I will try to do so if asked. But if I was given the choice today, I would choose none. The reasons I don't want to go are all over the board, but some of them surprised me.
I don't want to go to any conferences because I don't want to see all the people who last saw me pregnant. I'm guessing there are many that are not aware that we lost Alfy. I know some are, I've heard from those I was closest too. I think the majority would just assume I successfully had a child though. Today, I know that I couldn't handle "Congratulations" over and over again and the questions that follow and me explaining that our precious Alfy is no longer with us, that he was stillborn at 28 weeks. I had that experience once this week and it was hard. Today, I can not handle doing that over and over again in a matter of a few days.
I don't want to go to conferences because I irrationally relate my travel to Tampa to the loss of Alfy. I mentioned in another post, grief is not rational. I think this is the perfect example of one of those moments. I did have concerns about Alfy's movements before I left for Tampa, but I called the doctor's office, I did what they said and it eased my concerns. And, had I actually gone in to the doctor, they most likely would have found the heartbeat and sent me home. That is how one would rationally think about travel.
Had I not traveled, I would have made sure I went to the doctor that week. The flights, the salty restaurant food, the hours spent on my feet, the swelling from all of it, the lack of sleep, somehow they all contributed to the loss of Alfy. That is the irrational side of what I think about travel. So, no, I don't want to travel or do anything right now that I, even if irrationally, think may have contributed to losing Alfy.
I don't want to go to conferences because there is a part of me that hopes that I will have that reason I crave so much. Maybe, just maybe, there might be another life in the making. And, even if it seems totally irrational to most, I will not put that new life in jeopardy by traveling.
I don't want to go to conferences because I can barely wrap my mind around the hopefulness of why I don't want to go. I'm scared of the hope, of the future and therefore, in a long drawn out way, of conferences. Last time I allowed myself to hope and envision my future, it was all pulled out from underneath me in one quick swoop. If I don't hope like I did, then if it all gets pulled out again, maybe it won't hurt as much. There it is again, the irrational side of my grief breaking through.
Okay, the last paragraph makes me angry. Angry at my loss, angry that I even think about not hoping as much. Why shouldn't I hope like everyone else? Because, I know better than most the pain caused by the hope being torn apart. It's not fair that I can't give that same hope to the possibility of another new life.
Monday, August 13, 2012
Road Rage
Today I have discovered that in addition to "Trainwrecks" I am now having fits of what I would compare to "Road Rage." The sadness is still very close to the surface, but now anger lies close. Sometimes it can be all consuming, irrational and dangerous, just like road rage. It is directed toward those who probably don't deserve it, to those that don't realize that they are somehow hindering someone else's path to where they are trying to go. And once the fury sets in, look out. Now, I haven't actually taken my fury out on anyone or yelled at anyone or said mean and nasty things to anyone, but the thoughts run through my head. Why in the world do I have to work so damn hard at a time when I am so vulnerable? Why can't people stop being afraid of me, of Tony? Why in the hell should I have to be the one to reach out to others? Why does life have to been so flippin' hard? Why me? Why us? It's not fair. It sucks. It's horrible. It's awful. It makes me so angry sometimes I just want to scream and punch something. I hope Tony's parents still have the punching bag in their garage, what a pleasant surprise that would be.
Today I am unable to find any peace in my loss, only sadness and anger, mostly anger.
Today I am unable to find any peace in my loss, only sadness and anger, mostly anger.
Saturday, August 11, 2012
Friend Void
Today I went to a baby shower. I can't believe it, but I did. My dear friend Linz will be having a baby boy in about a month. I had received her invitation a few weeks ago. Her sister-in-laws threw the shower for her. I emailed one of them, Julie, and told her I wasn't sure if I would be able to make it. She was so gracious in her response to me. I imagine she is a wonderful sister-in-law to have. I sent an email to Linz too. I explained that I wasn't sure if I was going to be there for her or not. As I call them now, it was going to be a game-day decision. That's how I make most big decisions these days. Anyways, Linz responded to my email. It was very touching. I think it helped me to make the decision to attend. I love my friend very much and I wanted her to know that I support her.
I hadn't spoken with Linz since April 12. She brought me a basket full of things we used to love in college and some books, one of them being my favorite. Linz came over and sat with me for the afternoon. I think it was probably close to four hours. She texted me once since then, asking if Tony and I wanted to go to a baseball game back in May. I turned down the offer. I wasn't ready to face any part of the outside world at that point. I saw her a couple of Sundays ago at the Weezer concert. Tony picked out Linz's husband in the crowd. We watched him head back to his seat and I saw her. We didn't go up to them. It was not a time or place I could handle. I think I cried during every other song at the concert.
My friend has grown so much since I've seen her last. Or should I say her little boy has grown so much? The emotions I feel when I see her are almost more than I can bare. I am happy for her and I think it's wonderful she is going to be a mom. She's going to be quite good at it. But it hurts too. I didn't get to be that big or have a baby shower. At times I am ashamed of it, but I will admit that I am jealous of her.
The loss of Alfy has created a void in my life, really a few of them. I am without my son. I will never again hold him, hug him or kiss him. I will never hear his laugh, see him smile, watch him grow or even see his beautiful brown eyes. That is the first and most evident void. But there is another one that you don't hear about. But, I guess who would I hear it from? It is a lonely void. Most of my good friends (and tons of acquaintances and people I knew from some part of my life or another) have had successful pregnancies, even the ones who seemed like circumstances weren't in their favor. It creates a distance that I have not been able to close, with any of them.
I have been trying to slowly work on it. I think that is why I went to the shower today. It's hard and frustrating and exhausting. I read somewhere, or maybe was told, about a hard time Baby Loss Moms (and couples) reach around three months. The cards and flowers stop coming, the phone calls or texts of support stop coming. I am experiencing that now. It's been four months and five days. I have been there for a while, but I am just now starting to face it, trying to fight through it.
I find myself constantly asking the questions, Why should I have to reach out to others? Why does it seem our friends give up so easily? Why does it seem they forget that we still need support? Why does it seem like we are forgotten? Why have they left me floundering? Rationally I know none of those questions are true. But grief is anything but rational. I know that my friends are trying to respect me, my space, my feelings. I need them to push a little harder right now. But how do you tell them that? I respect that they think it will be "hard and scary" for them, but I don't believe they have any idea what "hard and scary" really is.
Sometimes I wish one of them would just show up, unannounced, not give me the opportunity to say no, say "I want to hear it all, right now. I want to cry with you. I want to know what your days are like. I want to recognize that you are a mom. I want to help you honor your son, Alfy. And there's now way out until we do that." But, I don't think that will happen unless I do it. I struggle with the thought that many of my friends may not want to hear my story because they are pregnant or have babies close to Alfy's age. I guess I just need a little push.
By the way, the baby count for 2012 is up to 32. Stupid Facebook.
I hadn't spoken with Linz since April 12. She brought me a basket full of things we used to love in college and some books, one of them being my favorite. Linz came over and sat with me for the afternoon. I think it was probably close to four hours. She texted me once since then, asking if Tony and I wanted to go to a baseball game back in May. I turned down the offer. I wasn't ready to face any part of the outside world at that point. I saw her a couple of Sundays ago at the Weezer concert. Tony picked out Linz's husband in the crowd. We watched him head back to his seat and I saw her. We didn't go up to them. It was not a time or place I could handle. I think I cried during every other song at the concert.
My friend has grown so much since I've seen her last. Or should I say her little boy has grown so much? The emotions I feel when I see her are almost more than I can bare. I am happy for her and I think it's wonderful she is going to be a mom. She's going to be quite good at it. But it hurts too. I didn't get to be that big or have a baby shower. At times I am ashamed of it, but I will admit that I am jealous of her.
The loss of Alfy has created a void in my life, really a few of them. I am without my son. I will never again hold him, hug him or kiss him. I will never hear his laugh, see him smile, watch him grow or even see his beautiful brown eyes. That is the first and most evident void. But there is another one that you don't hear about. But, I guess who would I hear it from? It is a lonely void. Most of my good friends (and tons of acquaintances and people I knew from some part of my life or another) have had successful pregnancies, even the ones who seemed like circumstances weren't in their favor. It creates a distance that I have not been able to close, with any of them.
I have been trying to slowly work on it. I think that is why I went to the shower today. It's hard and frustrating and exhausting. I read somewhere, or maybe was told, about a hard time Baby Loss Moms (and couples) reach around three months. The cards and flowers stop coming, the phone calls or texts of support stop coming. I am experiencing that now. It's been four months and five days. I have been there for a while, but I am just now starting to face it, trying to fight through it.
I find myself constantly asking the questions, Why should I have to reach out to others? Why does it seem our friends give up so easily? Why does it seem they forget that we still need support? Why does it seem like we are forgotten? Why have they left me floundering? Rationally I know none of those questions are true. But grief is anything but rational. I know that my friends are trying to respect me, my space, my feelings. I need them to push a little harder right now. But how do you tell them that? I respect that they think it will be "hard and scary" for them, but I don't believe they have any idea what "hard and scary" really is.
Sometimes I wish one of them would just show up, unannounced, not give me the opportunity to say no, say "I want to hear it all, right now. I want to cry with you. I want to know what your days are like. I want to recognize that you are a mom. I want to help you honor your son, Alfy. And there's now way out until we do that." But, I don't think that will happen unless I do it. I struggle with the thought that many of my friends may not want to hear my story because they are pregnant or have babies close to Alfy's age. I guess I just need a little push.
By the way, the baby count for 2012 is up to 32. Stupid Facebook.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)