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.
Sunday, July 29, 2012
Think Before You Speak
I have a hard weekend coming up. My sister's bachelorette party and wedding shower are next weekend. I'm the maid of honor. I haven't planned either of those events. She has some great friends that are putting them together for her. At this point, I'm not even sure that I'm going to go to the bachelorette party. My family lives a good 6 hours away, so once I am there, I am there.
I had a conversation with someone yesterday who has traditionally been a huge part of my life. The conversation started out good enough, but took a turn for the worse when we started talking about this weekend. Apparently one of my sister's friends is pregnant. I know she had been trying for a while. I have no idea how far along she is. I didn't ask. Anyways, she has to give herself shots in her stomach and take aspirin every day. I took aspirin every day when I was pregnant with Alfy. If I have a future pregnancy, shots will be part of my daily routine. A blood clot may have been the cause for Alfy's death, but we don't really know that for sure. Truth be told, we really do not have any idea what caused our son to die. We have theories, but no solid answer.
So, back to my venting. My sister's friend has to do the shots daily routine. The person I was speaking with told me that they didn't tell my sister's friend about the possible reason why Alfy died, they didn't want to scare the poor thing to death. I didn't know what to say to that, how to respond, so I didn't. I just sat there and the conversation eventually moved on to other things.
Talk about a hit below the belt. It wasn't intentional but it still hurt. When I'm hit like that, I don't respond right away. I still haven't figured out how to. It takes me so long to process things now that I really can't respond right away. I just know it hurts and I shut down and it starts to work its way through. It's almost like another loss in and of it's own. I go through all of the stages, denial-anger-bargaining-depression-acceptance, only in the matter of a few days or weeks.
So, why not say something to my sister's friend? Doesn't she deserve to know what can happen? Everything can be fine and your child can still be stillborn. I wish someone would have told me that it could happen. I still wouldn't have expected it, but at least I would have acknowledged it. Is her comfort and well being more important than mine? That's what the comment felt like. It's like someone telling you, "I'm okay with you and what you are, but we don't want you to tell anyone else or bring it up with anyone else." Really, to me that says you are ashamed of me, that you aren't ready to deal with the reality of what it is that I have gone through and who I am. I know that was not the intent, but that is what came across.
Now I am the mother of a child who died, known in the blog world as a Baby Loss Mom (BLM). Yes, my son, Alfy, died. It can happen, your child can die. It's not fair and it shouldn't happen, but it does.
Until people start to accept that, I would really like to just ignore the rest of the world. I would only like to be around those I know I can trust to think through their words before they come out of their mouth. I'm sure many people think I am being overly sensitive, but to hell with them. I get to be sensitive to those comments. I just wish I was better about speaking up about it. Unfortunately, I won't become better at speaking up if I'm not around them. And it's just not possible right now to not be around people who don't think about their words. I guess there are always going to be those people. I just hope some of those people change.
I know I'm not perfect and I'm sure I've said some incredibly hurtful comments without realizing it. But, I'm acutely aware of my words now. I suppose that is why it takes me so long to respond.
For everyone else, It's okay to take time to think about your words. It's okay for there to be silence. Sometimes silence beats the alternative.
I had a conversation with someone yesterday who has traditionally been a huge part of my life. The conversation started out good enough, but took a turn for the worse when we started talking about this weekend. Apparently one of my sister's friends is pregnant. I know she had been trying for a while. I have no idea how far along she is. I didn't ask. Anyways, she has to give herself shots in her stomach and take aspirin every day. I took aspirin every day when I was pregnant with Alfy. If I have a future pregnancy, shots will be part of my daily routine. A blood clot may have been the cause for Alfy's death, but we don't really know that for sure. Truth be told, we really do not have any idea what caused our son to die. We have theories, but no solid answer.
So, back to my venting. My sister's friend has to do the shots daily routine. The person I was speaking with told me that they didn't tell my sister's friend about the possible reason why Alfy died, they didn't want to scare the poor thing to death. I didn't know what to say to that, how to respond, so I didn't. I just sat there and the conversation eventually moved on to other things.
Talk about a hit below the belt. It wasn't intentional but it still hurt. When I'm hit like that, I don't respond right away. I still haven't figured out how to. It takes me so long to process things now that I really can't respond right away. I just know it hurts and I shut down and it starts to work its way through. It's almost like another loss in and of it's own. I go through all of the stages, denial-anger-bargaining-depression-acceptance, only in the matter of a few days or weeks.
So, why not say something to my sister's friend? Doesn't she deserve to know what can happen? Everything can be fine and your child can still be stillborn. I wish someone would have told me that it could happen. I still wouldn't have expected it, but at least I would have acknowledged it. Is her comfort and well being more important than mine? That's what the comment felt like. It's like someone telling you, "I'm okay with you and what you are, but we don't want you to tell anyone else or bring it up with anyone else." Really, to me that says you are ashamed of me, that you aren't ready to deal with the reality of what it is that I have gone through and who I am. I know that was not the intent, but that is what came across.
Now I am the mother of a child who died, known in the blog world as a Baby Loss Mom (BLM). Yes, my son, Alfy, died. It can happen, your child can die. It's not fair and it shouldn't happen, but it does.
Until people start to accept that, I would really like to just ignore the rest of the world. I would only like to be around those I know I can trust to think through their words before they come out of their mouth. I'm sure many people think I am being overly sensitive, but to hell with them. I get to be sensitive to those comments. I just wish I was better about speaking up about it. Unfortunately, I won't become better at speaking up if I'm not around them. And it's just not possible right now to not be around people who don't think about their words. I guess there are always going to be those people. I just hope some of those people change.
I know I'm not perfect and I'm sure I've said some incredibly hurtful comments without realizing it. But, I'm acutely aware of my words now. I suppose that is why it takes me so long to respond.
For everyone else, It's okay to take time to think about your words. It's okay for there to be silence. Sometimes silence beats the alternative.
Sunday, July 22, 2012
Church is Hard
I took a stumble today. Actually, I'm not sure that stumble is the appropriate term. I don't think it honors my emotions as it should. My grief and hurt are still very close to my surface, sometimes I forget how closer. It usually occurs in places where it might seem strange to others, like today as others were preparing for Communion at church.
Tony is Catholic and I grew up going to a Presbyterian church, when we did go. Since having Alfy, Tony and I have been searching for our church home. We have done quite a bit of church hopping, as we call it. We have tried Presbyterian, Lutheran, Methodist and several Catholic churches. So far, I have found myself looking forward to the Homely's each week at the Catholic church. We have been to several in our area, and across town, to see if we can find one that feels right to us.
Today we went to St. Robert's. I was encouraged when we got there. The ushers were especially welcoming and friendly. We chose a spot in the back as we usually do. We haven't been able to sit through a full mass, so we always try to provide ourselves with an escape route if we need it.
I went this morning with full hopes that we would make it through the entire mass. We hadn't been to church three weekends in a row and I was looking forward to the message I might hear. The Deacon, or Priest, not sure which one was speaking, talked about how so many people are angry at God these days. I am one of those people. How could He let my son die? Why would He take him from me? I don't know where else to direct my anger, so for now it goes towards God. He said that God will serve as our shepherd and will lead us through, or that's how I heard it. I could use some shepherding right now.
So, as I said earlier, my tears started to fall before Communion. Earlier in the mass I saw a friend of Tony's. He was carrying a carseat. He and his wife had a little boy 2 or 3 weeks before I had Alfy. As everyone was getting up for Communion, I saw their family. They were about 10 rows or so up from us. I saw their newest addition. I've never met him or seen him for that matter (maybe on FB but I've blocked their updates). At the moment, my anger and grief rose towards the surface and the tears started to come. I was able to control them while I drove home. Tony gave me a hug and that was it, the tears started flowing and I made no effort to stop them. I confessed my anger at God.
These days are hard. Other Baby Loss Moms state that it gets easier. I wonder when that happens.
Tony is Catholic and I grew up going to a Presbyterian church, when we did go. Since having Alfy, Tony and I have been searching for our church home. We have done quite a bit of church hopping, as we call it. We have tried Presbyterian, Lutheran, Methodist and several Catholic churches. So far, I have found myself looking forward to the Homely's each week at the Catholic church. We have been to several in our area, and across town, to see if we can find one that feels right to us.
Today we went to St. Robert's. I was encouraged when we got there. The ushers were especially welcoming and friendly. We chose a spot in the back as we usually do. We haven't been able to sit through a full mass, so we always try to provide ourselves with an escape route if we need it.
I went this morning with full hopes that we would make it through the entire mass. We hadn't been to church three weekends in a row and I was looking forward to the message I might hear. The Deacon, or Priest, not sure which one was speaking, talked about how so many people are angry at God these days. I am one of those people. How could He let my son die? Why would He take him from me? I don't know where else to direct my anger, so for now it goes towards God. He said that God will serve as our shepherd and will lead us through, or that's how I heard it. I could use some shepherding right now.
So, as I said earlier, my tears started to fall before Communion. Earlier in the mass I saw a friend of Tony's. He was carrying a carseat. He and his wife had a little boy 2 or 3 weeks before I had Alfy. As everyone was getting up for Communion, I saw their family. They were about 10 rows or so up from us. I saw their newest addition. I've never met him or seen him for that matter (maybe on FB but I've blocked their updates). At the moment, my anger and grief rose towards the surface and the tears started to come. I was able to control them while I drove home. Tony gave me a hug and that was it, the tears started flowing and I made no effort to stop them. I confessed my anger at God.
These days are hard. Other Baby Loss Moms state that it gets easier. I wonder when that happens.
Unloading the Wreckage of My Trainwrecks
I have been coming out of a numbness this past week. I'm not sure if the numbness I felt after I had Alfy ever really left. I don't remember much of April or May or even part of June for that matter. I think the stress of being back at work threw me back into a state of being numb again. This past week is the first week I actually felt "present" at work. At times it was good to feel a part of something again and feel as if I was helping someone. At other times, it was almost more than I could bare. "Was" as if it has ended, describing it the present tense would be more appropriate.
I have woken up in other aspects of my life too. I had what I now coin as a "trainwreck" this past Tuesday. I was on Facebook (which is a trainwreck in an of itself) and saw a comment on a picture that a dear friend, one of my best friends Linz, only had 8 weeks left in her pregnancy. When I told her I was pregnant way back in December, she told me that her and her husband were starting to try as well. At the end of January, Tony and I went to dinner with her and her husband and she announced she was pregnant. How exciting, we were going to be pregnant together! Anyways, it struck me that she was now farther along than I had been when Alfy was born. She was at 32 weeks, I had Alfy at 28 weeks. Well, that got me to thinking about baby showers. It was about that time for showers to start. I began to wonder if a baby shower had happened for Linz. I know her sister-in-law had talked about holding one (at one point I had offered to help if needed). So I got online and looked to see if Linz had a Target registry. Yep, there it was. There had not been much bought when I looked so I assumed the shower hadn't happened but was going to soon. From there, I began to think about all of the babies I know of that have been/will be born in 2012 (23 at last count, 24 including Alfy). Tony and I have many good friends and family that have had or will be having babies this year. I wondered if there I was something I could do for the friends closest to us and for some reason the "Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep" prayer popped into my head. Well, that led to another search on the internet. The first webpage that pulled up was the page for Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep photography page. I looked at some of their portraits. They were beautiful. We did not have portraits done of Alfy. At that moment, and still, I wished so badly that we had decided to do the portraits. What a wonderful addition that would have been to the picture wall in our living room. What a wonderful way to honor our son. But, alas, we did not have them done. When the nurses asked me if wanted them, it seemed so strange at the time, I don't know why. I wish it hadn't though and I wish I had those pictures. All of this occurred in the span of about 30 minutes at my computer at work. I was a wreck by this point, tears starting to fall. I was frozen. The office was nearly empty at that point, no one to turn to, no safe place I could think of to go. Our summer camp supervisors are constantly in and out of the office during the day. I had to drive on a field trip in approximately 45 minutes. If the tears went into a free-fall, I'm not sure that I could have stopped them without help, so they came intermittently.
That was my trainwreck, a barrage of uncontrollable thoughts, that you don't see until the last minute, but you're already traveling so fast toward them you can't find the brakes. And in the end, you know they are going to cause more damage than what you know what do with at the moment, but there is nothing you can do to stop it.
I know there will be more trainwrecks, I've had some smaller ones since then. They are the worst part of coming back to life, losing the numbness. The emotions are so strong that I feel almost physically sick with grief.
I received the invitation to Linz's baby shower on Thursday. It was blue and grey. I assume that she is having a boy. She found out at 20 weeks, but that was right after Alfy was born still. I haven't been able to ask her. There was a part of me hoping she was having a girl so I wouldn't have to think of another friend taking home her little boy. It hurts so much to think about that, I'm truly envious. It brings up so many emotions that I'm not comfortable with. I'm not sure yet if I will go to the shower. I don't know if I have the strength.
I've also been thinking about my friend, Stacey. She had twin boys exactly 4 weeks before Alfy was born. They were both born healthy and went home a few days after being born to join their soon-to-be 3 year old brother. Stacey sent Tony a text this week asking if she could call him. She texted me about day to day stuff for a few weeks after Alfy was born. I sent her an email and told her I wasn't sure how to be with her at that time. I was angry and the situation that I had been placed in, she got two little boys to bring home to another one she already had. I had to bury my little boy. I suppose there is still some anger. It's never been at her or her boys, they are family to us. I'm just angry with the situation. It's not fair. Stacey told Tony she knows she was trying very hard to reach me, but she wanted to try too hard rather than not try at all. I am grateful for that.
She posted a pictures of one of her twins on Facebook today. That led me to look at all of the pictures of the twins. I haven't seen them since they were three weeks old, on April 1, 5 days before Alfy was born. I found myself feeling extremely guilty. I haven't looked through our pictures of Alfy the nurses took.
I mentioned earlier that I knew of 23 babies being born this year. If it wasn't for that stupid Facebook, there is a good chance I wouldn't know about at least 5 of them for a while, even a few ever. But no, everyone has to plaster their pages with info on their newborns or how their pregnancy is going. I think I have it all blocked and another pops out of the wood works. I can also think of 5 babies that were born between October and December of 2011, a total of 28 babies between October 2011 and October 2012, 28 other healthy, pregnant women. Seriously?
Facebook seems to be the underlying theme of all of my trainwrecks so far. Maybe I should delete my account. I've sworn it off for a while, the longest that has lasted has been two weeks. About that time I start feeling strong again, thinking I can handle whatever the Newsfeed throws at me. Never fails to knock me on my ass. I have never been one to post much on Facebook and I'm fairly certain I will not turn into that person. It's incredible the damage one sentence or picture can cause. It brings joy for 99% of the people viewing it, but there is that 1%, me, that it hurts. I hope I always remember that as time passes and my grief leaves the surface of my existence. I hope I always remember the mom or dad out there that may have lost their child.
Whew, that was a lot to unload. I have a lot more but think I am done for the evening. Thanks for not trying to explain, justify or reason all of these feelings. Thanks for just listening.
I have woken up in other aspects of my life too. I had what I now coin as a "trainwreck" this past Tuesday. I was on Facebook (which is a trainwreck in an of itself) and saw a comment on a picture that a dear friend, one of my best friends Linz, only had 8 weeks left in her pregnancy. When I told her I was pregnant way back in December, she told me that her and her husband were starting to try as well. At the end of January, Tony and I went to dinner with her and her husband and she announced she was pregnant. How exciting, we were going to be pregnant together! Anyways, it struck me that she was now farther along than I had been when Alfy was born. She was at 32 weeks, I had Alfy at 28 weeks. Well, that got me to thinking about baby showers. It was about that time for showers to start. I began to wonder if a baby shower had happened for Linz. I know her sister-in-law had talked about holding one (at one point I had offered to help if needed). So I got online and looked to see if Linz had a Target registry. Yep, there it was. There had not been much bought when I looked so I assumed the shower hadn't happened but was going to soon. From there, I began to think about all of the babies I know of that have been/will be born in 2012 (23 at last count, 24 including Alfy). Tony and I have many good friends and family that have had or will be having babies this year. I wondered if there I was something I could do for the friends closest to us and for some reason the "Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep" prayer popped into my head. Well, that led to another search on the internet. The first webpage that pulled up was the page for Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep photography page. I looked at some of their portraits. They were beautiful. We did not have portraits done of Alfy. At that moment, and still, I wished so badly that we had decided to do the portraits. What a wonderful addition that would have been to the picture wall in our living room. What a wonderful way to honor our son. But, alas, we did not have them done. When the nurses asked me if wanted them, it seemed so strange at the time, I don't know why. I wish it hadn't though and I wish I had those pictures. All of this occurred in the span of about 30 minutes at my computer at work. I was a wreck by this point, tears starting to fall. I was frozen. The office was nearly empty at that point, no one to turn to, no safe place I could think of to go. Our summer camp supervisors are constantly in and out of the office during the day. I had to drive on a field trip in approximately 45 minutes. If the tears went into a free-fall, I'm not sure that I could have stopped them without help, so they came intermittently.
That was my trainwreck, a barrage of uncontrollable thoughts, that you don't see until the last minute, but you're already traveling so fast toward them you can't find the brakes. And in the end, you know they are going to cause more damage than what you know what do with at the moment, but there is nothing you can do to stop it.
I know there will be more trainwrecks, I've had some smaller ones since then. They are the worst part of coming back to life, losing the numbness. The emotions are so strong that I feel almost physically sick with grief.
I received the invitation to Linz's baby shower on Thursday. It was blue and grey. I assume that she is having a boy. She found out at 20 weeks, but that was right after Alfy was born still. I haven't been able to ask her. There was a part of me hoping she was having a girl so I wouldn't have to think of another friend taking home her little boy. It hurts so much to think about that, I'm truly envious. It brings up so many emotions that I'm not comfortable with. I'm not sure yet if I will go to the shower. I don't know if I have the strength.
I've also been thinking about my friend, Stacey. She had twin boys exactly 4 weeks before Alfy was born. They were both born healthy and went home a few days after being born to join their soon-to-be 3 year old brother. Stacey sent Tony a text this week asking if she could call him. She texted me about day to day stuff for a few weeks after Alfy was born. I sent her an email and told her I wasn't sure how to be with her at that time. I was angry and the situation that I had been placed in, she got two little boys to bring home to another one she already had. I had to bury my little boy. I suppose there is still some anger. It's never been at her or her boys, they are family to us. I'm just angry with the situation. It's not fair. Stacey told Tony she knows she was trying very hard to reach me, but she wanted to try too hard rather than not try at all. I am grateful for that.
She posted a pictures of one of her twins on Facebook today. That led me to look at all of the pictures of the twins. I haven't seen them since they were three weeks old, on April 1, 5 days before Alfy was born. I found myself feeling extremely guilty. I haven't looked through our pictures of Alfy the nurses took.
I mentioned earlier that I knew of 23 babies being born this year. If it wasn't for that stupid Facebook, there is a good chance I wouldn't know about at least 5 of them for a while, even a few ever. But no, everyone has to plaster their pages with info on their newborns or how their pregnancy is going. I think I have it all blocked and another pops out of the wood works. I can also think of 5 babies that were born between October and December of 2011, a total of 28 babies between October 2011 and October 2012, 28 other healthy, pregnant women. Seriously?
Facebook seems to be the underlying theme of all of my trainwrecks so far. Maybe I should delete my account. I've sworn it off for a while, the longest that has lasted has been two weeks. About that time I start feeling strong again, thinking I can handle whatever the Newsfeed throws at me. Never fails to knock me on my ass. I have never been one to post much on Facebook and I'm fairly certain I will not turn into that person. It's incredible the damage one sentence or picture can cause. It brings joy for 99% of the people viewing it, but there is that 1%, me, that it hurts. I hope I always remember that as time passes and my grief leaves the surface of my existence. I hope I always remember the mom or dad out there that may have lost their child.
Whew, that was a lot to unload. I have a lot more but think I am done for the evening. Thanks for not trying to explain, justify or reason all of these feelings. Thanks for just listening.
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