Today I reached 28 weeks and 1 day with kiddo #2. This kiddo has officially lived in my womb longer than their big brother, Alfy. I'm not sure how I feel about this, a mix of emotion I suppose.
Yesterday, June 29, I reached the 28 week mark, it also happened to be Alfy's original due date. It was a tough day. I was so upset when Alfy was born at 28 weeks and I hadn't bought anything for him that I went and bought something for kiddo #2, just in case. I had a horrible vision the day before that this kiddo would be born at 28 weeks as well, and on June 29 of all days. Thankfully that didn't happen. But, it put me in enough a panic that I went to three stores yesterday trying to find something. I found a set of receiving blankets, one had a pattern on it that was very similar to the pattern on the fleece onesie I bought for Alfy to be buried in. I also found a onesie outfit, hat incldued, that was ducks. Alfy was buried in a duck blanket. They both seemed to fit the day and the moment.
No more shopping for a while. In fact, I don't plan on buying anything else until the end, if I make it. And then, it will be only the essentials. I don't need a whole gob of stuff, just enough to make things work. That seems hard for most people to understand. I have had several offers of baby showers, of which all I've turned down. I've also had those try again, thinking maybe a card shower. No thank you. I appreciate that people want to do those things, but I don't want any of it. It's too much and it's no longer me. Once you've buried a child, "the stuff" no longer seems important. And, it reminds me of the naive pregnant woman I once was, but will never be again. I've let her go.
Now, I pray every night for one more day with this kiddo, not a week, not a month, not years, just one more day. That's all I want. Just one more day.
Today, I got that one more day.
Sunday, June 30, 2013
Wednesday, May 8, 2013
Misconeptions of Mental Health Medication/Care
I was reading a blog today, actually it was an entry on an online magazine that I follow. The purpose of the article was to describe how a baby loss mom is using meditation and visualization techniques to try and conquer her anxiety as a mother to her living children. I appreciate and respect that process. However, in the midst of describing her process, she goes on to say that she will not medicate as medication would not "fix" her problem but only mask the symptoms. I have actually read this type of phrasing on several blogs from baby loss moms. Again, I appreciate that everyone will choose their own path for healing, but...I don't appreciate the negative connotation that medications used to treat depression, anxiety, insomnia, etc. receive, or the connotation that is often given to mental healthcare professionals, as if utilizing these resources/tools/aids is somehow a bad thing. I really struggle with these types of comments. As if I don't feel judged enough by the outside world, I am now feeling judged by an intimate community where I thought I was completely safe.
My hope is that for most people, the comments come from a lack of understanding. I will admit, I did not have a good concept of how therapy, psychiatry and medication for such mental disorders worked. Society as a whole puts a very negative image on using these resources. I think of how people react to the fact that I say I see a therapist and it brings extreme discomfort. I don't know why, I'm completely comfortable with it. It is a part of my life that is actually working for me right now, something I look forward to, something that helps me feel empowered in my own well being.
Therapy, counseling, psychiatric care, anti-depressants, anti-anxiety meds, sleep aids, all can be quite effective, if used with care, correctly and under the supervision of a responsible mental healthcare provider. I would say that is exactly what I have experienced. Medications are not used to "fix" depression or anxiety or sleep issues, they are not used to mask the symptoms so that you can ignore them and go on with your life while hiding from your problems (although I would venture to guess this might be how they are most commonly abused). Medications are used to help alleviate some of the symptoms, so that you can focus on working through the real issues to come to a better place for yourself.
Case in point - me. After first losing Alfy, I didn't have any issues sleeping, I was sad and less energetic than normal, but that was okay, I had just lost my son. I think it was probably about 3 or 4 weeks after I had Alfy, that my sleep habits, energy levels and all around interest in anything started to take a turn for the worse. And it's funny, once one thing starts, it affects the other things and they get stuck in this vicious cycle. I would go to bed at 10pm, every night. Going to bed at the same time every night is supposed to help with sleep, right? Well it stopped working. I would go to bed at 10pm and I would lay awake until 2 or 3am, when I would fall asleep, it was fitful, full of waking up over and over and over again, waking up at 4:30am and being wide awake, falling back asleep for a short while, hoping that maybe you would get a couple solid hours of sleep. Once that started to really take root, the energy levels started to fall. Once that happened, the apathy began to set in, and you go through the cycle again. Now, throw some uncontrollable anxiety on top of that and wow, it's some tough stuff to get through.
At one point I was taking Ambien (10mg), which still wouldn't always work. I was up to 150mg of Zoloft (anti-depressant) and I had Xanax to help curb the anxiety (don't remember the dosage). Sounds like quite the cocktail of meds? Well it was, and it was what I needed at that point in my healing. I needed something to help alleviate the symptoms so that I could focus on the real work of grieving and trying to put myself and my life back in a place where I felt I could function again. I suppose I would compare it to the flu or a cold. Do you sit around miserable with fevers and chills and body aches without doing anything for those symptoms? No, you try to alleviate them at some level so you can do the other things like eat, drink fluids, sleep to get better. We're okay with these things in a physical sense, but not in a mental sense and I would like to see that change.
Currently, 1 year, 1 month and 2 days after giving birth to my sleeping son, I still utilize these aids. I see my therapist/grief counselor once a week. I see my psychiatrist every 4-6 weeks. I work with both to regulate my need for medication. I no longer take Ambien or Xanax as my sleep has greatly improved and I have learned some new coping mechanisms for my anxiety and it's decreased quite a bit. At one point, I went off the Zoloft completely as well. However, I found out I was pregnant about the same time and the anxiety, irritability, apathy started returning. I honestly don't know if it was because I was off the Zoloft or the stress of facing another pregnancy, probably a combination of both. But, again, with the help of my therapist, psychiatrist, OB and perinatologist I decided that utilizing the Zoloft again would be the most beneficial thing for me to do. Depression creates more risks in pregnancy than Zoloft and I have a huge fear of postpartum depression, something that is very likely for me to experience again. Why make this pregnancy harder than it already is?
I continue to work in therapy and will do so for as long as it feels right to me, maybe it will be for a long time. Yes, the goal is to eventually go away from it, but I don't think it will ever be totally gone from life. If anything, I see it as a maintenance tool for me for years to come, and one that I am thankful to have found. I am also a firm believer that it takes many, many different resources to help a person in terms of their mental health - counseling, exercise, medicine, diet, support, writing, the list could go on and on.
Please don't judge me because I am in therapy or because I use anti-depressants. I am not masking my symptoms, I am not crazy, I am not medicating to escape reality. I am simply using another tool to do just the opposite, to help me accept my reality and live in it the best I can.
My hope is that for most people, the comments come from a lack of understanding. I will admit, I did not have a good concept of how therapy, psychiatry and medication for such mental disorders worked. Society as a whole puts a very negative image on using these resources. I think of how people react to the fact that I say I see a therapist and it brings extreme discomfort. I don't know why, I'm completely comfortable with it. It is a part of my life that is actually working for me right now, something I look forward to, something that helps me feel empowered in my own well being.
Therapy, counseling, psychiatric care, anti-depressants, anti-anxiety meds, sleep aids, all can be quite effective, if used with care, correctly and under the supervision of a responsible mental healthcare provider. I would say that is exactly what I have experienced. Medications are not used to "fix" depression or anxiety or sleep issues, they are not used to mask the symptoms so that you can ignore them and go on with your life while hiding from your problems (although I would venture to guess this might be how they are most commonly abused). Medications are used to help alleviate some of the symptoms, so that you can focus on working through the real issues to come to a better place for yourself.
Case in point - me. After first losing Alfy, I didn't have any issues sleeping, I was sad and less energetic than normal, but that was okay, I had just lost my son. I think it was probably about 3 or 4 weeks after I had Alfy, that my sleep habits, energy levels and all around interest in anything started to take a turn for the worse. And it's funny, once one thing starts, it affects the other things and they get stuck in this vicious cycle. I would go to bed at 10pm, every night. Going to bed at the same time every night is supposed to help with sleep, right? Well it stopped working. I would go to bed at 10pm and I would lay awake until 2 or 3am, when I would fall asleep, it was fitful, full of waking up over and over and over again, waking up at 4:30am and being wide awake, falling back asleep for a short while, hoping that maybe you would get a couple solid hours of sleep. Once that started to really take root, the energy levels started to fall. Once that happened, the apathy began to set in, and you go through the cycle again. Now, throw some uncontrollable anxiety on top of that and wow, it's some tough stuff to get through.
At one point I was taking Ambien (10mg), which still wouldn't always work. I was up to 150mg of Zoloft (anti-depressant) and I had Xanax to help curb the anxiety (don't remember the dosage). Sounds like quite the cocktail of meds? Well it was, and it was what I needed at that point in my healing. I needed something to help alleviate the symptoms so that I could focus on the real work of grieving and trying to put myself and my life back in a place where I felt I could function again. I suppose I would compare it to the flu or a cold. Do you sit around miserable with fevers and chills and body aches without doing anything for those symptoms? No, you try to alleviate them at some level so you can do the other things like eat, drink fluids, sleep to get better. We're okay with these things in a physical sense, but not in a mental sense and I would like to see that change.
Currently, 1 year, 1 month and 2 days after giving birth to my sleeping son, I still utilize these aids. I see my therapist/grief counselor once a week. I see my psychiatrist every 4-6 weeks. I work with both to regulate my need for medication. I no longer take Ambien or Xanax as my sleep has greatly improved and I have learned some new coping mechanisms for my anxiety and it's decreased quite a bit. At one point, I went off the Zoloft completely as well. However, I found out I was pregnant about the same time and the anxiety, irritability, apathy started returning. I honestly don't know if it was because I was off the Zoloft or the stress of facing another pregnancy, probably a combination of both. But, again, with the help of my therapist, psychiatrist, OB and perinatologist I decided that utilizing the Zoloft again would be the most beneficial thing for me to do. Depression creates more risks in pregnancy than Zoloft and I have a huge fear of postpartum depression, something that is very likely for me to experience again. Why make this pregnancy harder than it already is?
I continue to work in therapy and will do so for as long as it feels right to me, maybe it will be for a long time. Yes, the goal is to eventually go away from it, but I don't think it will ever be totally gone from life. If anything, I see it as a maintenance tool for me for years to come, and one that I am thankful to have found. I am also a firm believer that it takes many, many different resources to help a person in terms of their mental health - counseling, exercise, medicine, diet, support, writing, the list could go on and on.
Please don't judge me because I am in therapy or because I use anti-depressants. I am not masking my symptoms, I am not crazy, I am not medicating to escape reality. I am simply using another tool to do just the opposite, to help me accept my reality and live in it the best I can.
Monday, May 6, 2013
Ultrasounds
Ultrasounds - I've been wanting to write about them for a while, I'm not sure what's stopping me. I think I have a hard time including pregnancy topics on this blog when it was started for Alfy, and pregnancy topics can be terrible for others who might be reading this due to a recent loss. But, it is part of me and my life, so it's gonna be part of my blog.
I have had 10 ultrasounds and I am 20 weeks along, averages out to an ultrasound every 2 weeks. I wish I could accurately describe the experience. It's not at all like it was with Alfy, or probably what it is like for most women. I don't get excited to see what the kiddo will be up to. As another blogger/baby loss mom stated, it's like walking into a nightmare.
I'm terrified every time I walk into an ultrasound room. I am full of an anxiety that freezes me. I feel like a deer in headlights must feel, stuck, blind, not ready for the impending doom that is on its way.
We found out Alfy was gone through an ultrasound. I remember watching the face of the sonographer, seeing her face fall and biting her lip. I remember seeing the "color" on the ultrasound screen, or really the lack thereof. There was one color and it wasn't moving. I knew at that moment, but didn't really think it was possible.
I relive those moments each time I get an ultrasound, probably something similar to PTSD. But, rather than feel the anxiety in its full force during the ultrasound, as I said above, I freeze. I feel almost nothing. I turn it into more of a scientific moment for me, okay, here is that part and that one and this is functioning and this is moving. And, for a brief moment, there seems to be some relief. But it quickly rushes away the moment screen is turned off. No telling what will happen in the moments, minutes, hours, days, weeks until the next appointment.
I have gone in twice unexpectedly, on days where the anxiety in me was so high I was sure something was going wrong, one for spotting and one for cramping in my stomach. Both times I discounted my feelings as I sat in the office, but the anxiety that led me to those ultrasounds is the kind that leads others to the ER, chest pain, an inability to calm yourself, a feeling of losing control. Both of those times, everything was "fine." After the second appointment, I lost it. I tried to speak, to tell Tony something (I have no idea what) and all that came out were sobs, tears, anxiety, fear, sadness. I had just found out that kiddo #2 was okay and I could do nothing but sob in fear.
I try not to think about it too much, or I would be like that all the time, it's why I freeze and detach myself now. Even as I write this post, I feel very detached. And it will continue, I have at least 12 more ultrasounds to go, maybe more.
Two weeks until the next one.
I have had 10 ultrasounds and I am 20 weeks along, averages out to an ultrasound every 2 weeks. I wish I could accurately describe the experience. It's not at all like it was with Alfy, or probably what it is like for most women. I don't get excited to see what the kiddo will be up to. As another blogger/baby loss mom stated, it's like walking into a nightmare.
I'm terrified every time I walk into an ultrasound room. I am full of an anxiety that freezes me. I feel like a deer in headlights must feel, stuck, blind, not ready for the impending doom that is on its way.
We found out Alfy was gone through an ultrasound. I remember watching the face of the sonographer, seeing her face fall and biting her lip. I remember seeing the "color" on the ultrasound screen, or really the lack thereof. There was one color and it wasn't moving. I knew at that moment, but didn't really think it was possible.
I relive those moments each time I get an ultrasound, probably something similar to PTSD. But, rather than feel the anxiety in its full force during the ultrasound, as I said above, I freeze. I feel almost nothing. I turn it into more of a scientific moment for me, okay, here is that part and that one and this is functioning and this is moving. And, for a brief moment, there seems to be some relief. But it quickly rushes away the moment screen is turned off. No telling what will happen in the moments, minutes, hours, days, weeks until the next appointment.
I have gone in twice unexpectedly, on days where the anxiety in me was so high I was sure something was going wrong, one for spotting and one for cramping in my stomach. Both times I discounted my feelings as I sat in the office, but the anxiety that led me to those ultrasounds is the kind that leads others to the ER, chest pain, an inability to calm yourself, a feeling of losing control. Both of those times, everything was "fine." After the second appointment, I lost it. I tried to speak, to tell Tony something (I have no idea what) and all that came out were sobs, tears, anxiety, fear, sadness. I had just found out that kiddo #2 was okay and I could do nothing but sob in fear.
I try not to think about it too much, or I would be like that all the time, it's why I freeze and detach myself now. Even as I write this post, I feel very detached. And it will continue, I have at least 12 more ultrasounds to go, maybe more.
Two weeks until the next one.
Saturday, April 20, 2013
Are They Grateful?
Tony and I were reflecting about Alfy's birthday this past week. We were talking about how different our interactions were with the people who came to the balloon release and came to our house afterwards. We had both realized that we just didn't interact the same with those we used, those we thought would be there to support us fully in our time of need, but weren't. It was interesting. Tony made a good point that is was almost an ego boost for him, and I recognized it too. Having those people there was like an opportunity to show everyone, look what we did, look what we did without you. We wish you were there for us, but you weren't, so we did what we needed to do anyway.
At times you could almost feel the guilt coming from some, almost as if they were asking you to say that their absence was okay, that we understood. But neither of us did that. It's not okay and I will never tell you it is. I am learning to accept it, but that doesn't mean it's okay. I am trying to forgive it (although that has proven to be a greater challenge than I expected), but that doesn't mean it's okay.
This lead to some new thoughts for me, almost a new perspective, not one I like but one I have now.
My new perspective was triggered the other night by, of all things, Facebook. Now, I have unfollowed an enormous amount of people over the last year, most of whom have new families that they want to share with the world, not realizing not everyone can so easily share in the joy of their world. Tony continues to follow people that I can't. He says it make him appreciate where we are now more and what we've accomplished, the positive side coming out in him:) Anyways, I was looking over his shoulder the other night and I saw a post of a wife of one of Tony's friends. Their second child is on the way and the post identified the upcoming child as a boy. They were at the balloon release and Tony had even seen them since, but now word on their child. I saw another picture of a child I have yet to meet that was born in September. And today, I was dropping off Tony at his parents' house and twins were there that were born shortly before Alfy but I haven't seen since before he was born.
These instances always take me by surprise, cause me to clam up and nearly have a breakdown, cause my anxiety levels to skyrocket. In thinking about them, I've started to wonder if they are grateful that they weren't there for us, grateful that they were able to avoid all of the hard, sad experiences Tony and I have had, grateful that it's us and not them, grateful that we aren't around to remind them of how things can go so terribly wrong. I suspect the answer is yes and it makes me sad.
I'm not sure what to do with this perspective and these thoughts, but I needed to put them out there. I suppose I'll just sit with it for now.
(Contrary to last night's post, apparently I'm finding my words again...)
At times you could almost feel the guilt coming from some, almost as if they were asking you to say that their absence was okay, that we understood. But neither of us did that. It's not okay and I will never tell you it is. I am learning to accept it, but that doesn't mean it's okay. I am trying to forgive it (although that has proven to be a greater challenge than I expected), but that doesn't mean it's okay.
This lead to some new thoughts for me, almost a new perspective, not one I like but one I have now.
My new perspective was triggered the other night by, of all things, Facebook. Now, I have unfollowed an enormous amount of people over the last year, most of whom have new families that they want to share with the world, not realizing not everyone can so easily share in the joy of their world. Tony continues to follow people that I can't. He says it make him appreciate where we are now more and what we've accomplished, the positive side coming out in him:) Anyways, I was looking over his shoulder the other night and I saw a post of a wife of one of Tony's friends. Their second child is on the way and the post identified the upcoming child as a boy. They were at the balloon release and Tony had even seen them since, but now word on their child. I saw another picture of a child I have yet to meet that was born in September. And today, I was dropping off Tony at his parents' house and twins were there that were born shortly before Alfy but I haven't seen since before he was born.
These instances always take me by surprise, cause me to clam up and nearly have a breakdown, cause my anxiety levels to skyrocket. In thinking about them, I've started to wonder if they are grateful that they weren't there for us, grateful that they were able to avoid all of the hard, sad experiences Tony and I have had, grateful that it's us and not them, grateful that we aren't around to remind them of how things can go so terribly wrong. I suspect the answer is yes and it makes me sad.
I'm not sure what to do with this perspective and these thoughts, but I needed to put them out there. I suppose I'll just sit with it for now.
(Contrary to last night's post, apparently I'm finding my words again...)
Friday, April 19, 2013
Trying to Find Words
I haven't been blogging as much as I once did and I've been trying to figure out why. I've come up with a combination of reasons my word seem to be escaping me these days.
1. I'm empty and hollow. Since celebrating Alfy's birthday there has been an emptiness in my heart and soul. It's not just missing Alfy and wishing he was here with me. I don't know how to explain it. There was lots of build up leading to Alfy's first year in Heaven, it gave me something to focus on my energy for him on. Now it's on to year two and I'm not sure how to do. I'm not sure how to go through all these milestones all over again, so I don't think about it.
2. Kiddo #2. This one has left me without words. I feel detached from Alfy, from grief and from the child growing in me. I can't delve into any of it too deep for fear of not being to come back out. I know I can, but it's a struggle I just don't have the energy for right now. I don't know how to balance the past year with the upcoming year and the overlap that has occurred. I miss Alfy so much and this has been a place I could express that longing. Now my mind is invaded with what this year might have in store, kiddo #2, the good or bad. A guilt start to seeps in when I focus too much attention on this round. I have no idea how to balance these.
3. I'm out of touch with my grief. Like I mentioned above, I haven't been able to go to thick, overwhelming grief in a while. I just don't have the energy to wrestle myself out of it, even it's just an hour of good sobbing. I get anxious when I start to go there and I know the anxiety is not good for me, or anyone else, and that makes it worse. So I avoid it all together. The last time I really felt in touch with my grief was January 11, an hour or so before I figured out there was kiddo #2.
Basically I just feel like I'm a shell of myself walking around, not quite prepared to commit myself to anyone thing, numb to the world around me and the world inside my own body.
At least that's how I feel today.
1. I'm empty and hollow. Since celebrating Alfy's birthday there has been an emptiness in my heart and soul. It's not just missing Alfy and wishing he was here with me. I don't know how to explain it. There was lots of build up leading to Alfy's first year in Heaven, it gave me something to focus on my energy for him on. Now it's on to year two and I'm not sure how to do. I'm not sure how to go through all these milestones all over again, so I don't think about it.
2. Kiddo #2. This one has left me without words. I feel detached from Alfy, from grief and from the child growing in me. I can't delve into any of it too deep for fear of not being to come back out. I know I can, but it's a struggle I just don't have the energy for right now. I don't know how to balance the past year with the upcoming year and the overlap that has occurred. I miss Alfy so much and this has been a place I could express that longing. Now my mind is invaded with what this year might have in store, kiddo #2, the good or bad. A guilt start to seeps in when I focus too much attention on this round. I have no idea how to balance these.
3. I'm out of touch with my grief. Like I mentioned above, I haven't been able to go to thick, overwhelming grief in a while. I just don't have the energy to wrestle myself out of it, even it's just an hour of good sobbing. I get anxious when I start to go there and I know the anxiety is not good for me, or anyone else, and that makes it worse. So I avoid it all together. The last time I really felt in touch with my grief was January 11, an hour or so before I figured out there was kiddo #2.
Basically I just feel like I'm a shell of myself walking around, not quite prepared to commit myself to anyone thing, numb to the world around me and the world inside my own body.
At least that's how I feel today.
Monday, April 8, 2013
365 + 2
It's been 365 days plus 2 since I gave birth to my precious Alfy. Last week was not exactly a pleasant week for me. I had a lot of anxiety about the impending anniversary/birthday of my son's death and birth. It's strange to think that his death came before his birth. It's not the natural order of life, but it was his life. Anyways, last week was rough. Lots of anxiety, lots of anger, lots of feeling of uneasiness.
Tony and I planned a balloon release for Saturday, April 6. It was at 2pm at the cemetery. Initially I think we sent out about 60 invitations, we had a total of about 80 people RSVP. What an overwhelming feeling. At time, I thought what the hell am I doing? I'm no good with people and small talk any more and here I was surrounding myself with tons of people. Part of me felt like it was a disaster waiting to happen. But it didn't turn out that way. The balloon release was beautiful. I think we let almost 100 balloons go at once. There were all kinds of people there, family, friends, my grief counselor, my nurse that I had at the end of my last day in the hospital. At Alfy's grave, I created a poster with his handprints and footprints so others could see just how tiny they were. We also put out a picture of Tony and I holding him. I think it made our loss more real for others, the picture of our family. For others, I assume it's easy not to actually think about the physical picture of us with our son, to think about the actual physical presence of Alfy, to think about the fact that I gave birth to this beautiful little boy who was already gone. I hope the picture showed them what it is that we are going through, that we buried our first born child, that we lost our son.
Anyways, after the balloon release we invited everyone over to our house before Mass at our church. It was dedicated to Alfy. It was beautiful. Even my OB showed up at the Mass. I was truly touched by the outpouring from everyone. Normally, those to whom the Mass is dedicated are only mentioned by name. Our priest mentioned Alfy by his name Alfy, and told the parish that he should have been celebrating his 1st birthday with us, but was instead celebrating with Jesus. It was very personable and meant so much to Tony and I.
Now it's Monday, I felt like I've needed to document the weekend somehow, but it was almost too hard earlier. I feel so far removed from my initial intense grief that it's hard to go back to it. But I want to, I miss it. I felt closer to Alfy with the intense grief. Now I feel farther from him, in my grief, in time, physically, in my memories. I miss it. I miss him, so very much. The missing still makes my heart hurt, makes a lump catch in my throat, brings me to my knees.
Alfy, I miss you so much. I hope you know how much I love and how much you've changed my life. I read an article over and over again called, "I Would Still Choose You..." and it describes how I feel about you perfectly. Someday, when you're a bit older, I'll bring it out to share with you. Until then, just know how much your mom and dad love you and wish we could hold you in our arms again, even if for a brief moment.
I love you,
Mom
Tony and I planned a balloon release for Saturday, April 6. It was at 2pm at the cemetery. Initially I think we sent out about 60 invitations, we had a total of about 80 people RSVP. What an overwhelming feeling. At time, I thought what the hell am I doing? I'm no good with people and small talk any more and here I was surrounding myself with tons of people. Part of me felt like it was a disaster waiting to happen. But it didn't turn out that way. The balloon release was beautiful. I think we let almost 100 balloons go at once. There were all kinds of people there, family, friends, my grief counselor, my nurse that I had at the end of my last day in the hospital. At Alfy's grave, I created a poster with his handprints and footprints so others could see just how tiny they were. We also put out a picture of Tony and I holding him. I think it made our loss more real for others, the picture of our family. For others, I assume it's easy not to actually think about the physical picture of us with our son, to think about the actual physical presence of Alfy, to think about the fact that I gave birth to this beautiful little boy who was already gone. I hope the picture showed them what it is that we are going through, that we buried our first born child, that we lost our son.
Anyways, after the balloon release we invited everyone over to our house before Mass at our church. It was dedicated to Alfy. It was beautiful. Even my OB showed up at the Mass. I was truly touched by the outpouring from everyone. Normally, those to whom the Mass is dedicated are only mentioned by name. Our priest mentioned Alfy by his name Alfy, and told the parish that he should have been celebrating his 1st birthday with us, but was instead celebrating with Jesus. It was very personable and meant so much to Tony and I.
Now it's Monday, I felt like I've needed to document the weekend somehow, but it was almost too hard earlier. I feel so far removed from my initial intense grief that it's hard to go back to it. But I want to, I miss it. I felt closer to Alfy with the intense grief. Now I feel farther from him, in my grief, in time, physically, in my memories. I miss it. I miss him, so very much. The missing still makes my heart hurt, makes a lump catch in my throat, brings me to my knees.
Alfy, I miss you so much. I hope you know how much I love and how much you've changed my life. I read an article over and over again called, "I Would Still Choose You..." and it describes how I feel about you perfectly. Someday, when you're a bit older, I'll bring it out to share with you. Until then, just know how much your mom and dad love you and wish we could hold you in our arms again, even if for a brief moment.
I love you,
Mom
Saturday, March 30, 2013
Missing You
It is Easter weekend. Alfy was born during Easter weekend last year. While the dates are not the same and we will celebrate his short life and year in Heaven next weekend, it's almost like having to go through everything twice this year. I remember, more vividly than expected, what we were doing last year on Holy Thursday, Good Friday, Holy Saturday and Easter day. Each day I find myself looking at the clock and thinking back about what I was doing on that Easter day last year. Sometimes it catches me off guard, sometime it brings a smile to my face, sometimes it brings me to tears.
The change in weather is taking a toll on me as well. Don't get me wrong, I'm ready for warm weather but with it brings back the memories and feelings, emotional and physical, of last year. The weather does more to trigger memories than anything, the way the light is in our living room during certain times of days, the smells and breezes that travel through our screens, the birds chirping in the morning or evenings. If I close my eyes I would almost swear that I've been transported back in time to last year.
All this makes my heart ache. It makes me miss the early stages of grief. I'm sure that sounds strange, but those early stage of grief felt so much closer to Alfy, so much closer to my time with him. Now it all seems so far away. I miss him so much, I miss what he would have been now, what we would have with him.
I miss Alfy.
The change in weather is taking a toll on me as well. Don't get me wrong, I'm ready for warm weather but with it brings back the memories and feelings, emotional and physical, of last year. The weather does more to trigger memories than anything, the way the light is in our living room during certain times of days, the smells and breezes that travel through our screens, the birds chirping in the morning or evenings. If I close my eyes I would almost swear that I've been transported back in time to last year.
All this makes my heart ache. It makes me miss the early stages of grief. I'm sure that sounds strange, but those early stage of grief felt so much closer to Alfy, so much closer to my time with him. Now it all seems so far away. I miss him so much, I miss what he would have been now, what we would have with him.
I miss Alfy.
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