Short rant

Why does everyone seem to think they are immune to tragedy? Or, at least the kind of tragedy in which one's own child dies. Tonight I sat with two old friends who couldn't have been more certain about the outcome (living, screaming, perfect baby) of a current pregnancy at 15 weeks. I am not sure how they can be so aware of what happened to B.W., and yet not see how fragile and uncontrollable life is. Is it possible to be so smug without realizing it?

What a sad thing for YOU. YOU obviously had a problem - good thing they "figured it out" in time for C.T. It couldn't possibly happen to ME. These weren't the words used, but that's the message I got.

Maybe I am being too harsh. Perhaps they do understand at some level that they are not immune. And maybe they are outwardly confident in order to con themselves into positive thinking.

All I know is it really hurts; torments me. Unrelenting ignorance in the face of my day to day reality. It makes me feel so little. So damn unique. So powerless and unheard. Even ignored. Smoothed over as if he didn't exist.

***************************************************

Tomorrow will be better. I will again try to connect with people even when they disappoint me. I think I need to mentally affirm this, again and again, to coax myself to do it.

Three

Today he would be three. We let C.T. spend some time this morning touching the contents of his brother's special box. He kissed the train outfit (the only clothing B.W. ever wore) and spent time trying to fit the little infant cap on his larger-than-a-20-month-old head. C.T. pointed to the blood mark on B.W.'s blanket - of course we've kept it just as it was the day he was born - and asked if it was poo-poo. He is now saying "brother W" and has been talking about "happy birthday" and "happy W" all day.

We had pancakes together, went to Toys R Us to purchase gifts to donate in B.W.'s memory and had an awful lunch at a mexican restaurant. I was struck today by the number and variety of toys available for three-year old boys. I cried down several aisles as I attempted to select things he would enjoy... of course, not really knowing at all what he would have enjoyed. B wrote his first poem, probably ever, today - an attempt at outwardly remembering the son who completely changed his life. After C.T. wakes from his nap, we will write on and then release some balloons, make homemade pizza and sing a sad, sad, but not totally sad, happy birthday to B.W. At least we have cake.

I mentioned to B that it would have been really nice to have someone send flowers today. You know, since it's my son's birthday today and he is, well, dead. And, within the hour, flowers arrived from a friend (through the local SHARE program). I was so thankful, I called her right away in tears. A few others have acknowledged the day through email or with a card - all warming my heart. My sister, B.W.'s faithful aunt, has lit a candle today and my nieces are making cards to share with us on Saturday (for B.W.) when we get together as a family to remember him.

I guess we try to squeeze in a lot of remembrance activities on his birthday. These things have become meaningful to us in the last three years. Of course, we wish he were here to smother with kisses instead.

*****************************************************

B.W.,

Mommy loves you. So much. I am so proud of you - filled up in awe of you. Thank you for being part of our family. We all miss you. Happy third birthday, my sweet boy.

Love,
Mommy

Takes one to know one?

Today I went to look into an author who has captured the heart of my C.T. with her book "Hello Shoes". It's a sweet story of a boy who has a favorite pair of shoes -- sandle shoes with buckles on the sides. The shoes are needed for an outing with grandpa and they are nowhere to be found. Grandfather and grandson go in search of the shoes all around the house. Ultimately, boy and shoes are reunited and the story culminates when the boy declares he will fasten them himself (something he has never done before).

Though the book gives absolutely no reference to it, I just had this feeling that the author had lost a child. I found her book listing on amazon and then her autobiography on answers.com (I think). And sure enough - she has a deceased son.

This is not the first time I have instinctively known that someone is carrying the loss of a child..., but it is the first time I have known it without actually laying eyes on -- or connecting eyes with -- the person.

Strange,... no?

Book ideas?

At nineteen months old, our son C.T. is starting to become aware that he has a brother - not that he knows what it all means, but he is curious and talking about his "brodur". We have B.W.'s scrap book which we look at with C.T. quite a bit, but I'm looking for some simple book/story to think about introducing the concept of having a deceased sibling. I have looked at the common titles... "We were going to have a baby, but we had an angel instead" and "Someone came before you"..., but both are potentially confusing. The former seems to allude to babies becoming angels if they die (which we do NOT believe). The cover of the latter shows a baby-ish looking angel on the cover. Again, this doesn't align with what we actually believe or will tell C.T. Angels watching over and caring for B.W., we are okay with that..., but him transforming into an angel, that doesn't work for us.

Any ideas out there - ones you've heard of, or ones that have been helpful for you and your family?

Honest Scrap

Well, gosh, thank you Shanti Mama for the Honest Scrap Award:)!

1. Choose a minimum of 7 blogs you find brilliant in content or design.

I am pretty sure the blogs I follow have already been awarded this Honest Scrap award, so I won't re-award them! You know who you are -- all of you brilliant and your stories beautiful.

2. Show the 7 winners’ names and links on your blog, and leave a comment informing them that they have won the Honest Scrap award.

See 1. above

3. List at least 10 honest things about yourself. Here goes, off the top of my head, and in no particular order...

1. Phil Collins is my favorite music artist of all time. I really "get" him and his songs just speak to me.

2. My biggest regret in life (and I have quite a few, mostly associated with the time I spent with B.W. before and after his birth) is not bringing our own camera to the hospital when B.W. was born. We were heartbroken and out of sorts (obviously an understatement), trying to pack a bag. The hospital had reassured us that they would take pictures for us -- which they did, we saw the pictures. Unfortunately, those precious photos were lost forever before they were printed or uploaded. The hospital camera was even sent to an professional lab to retrieve the deleted photos. They were somehow corrupted. We have NO pictures of our firstborn. It was devastating. It IS devastating. I mourn the loss of those photos everyday - literally everyday I think about them. We attempt to piece together his image in our brains, quite often actually, but we can't seem to describe his chin to each other. I hate that.

3. I loathe lazy people, but I've learned to adapt to them. (Certainly can't avoid them in this life!)

4. I often wish I had pursued dance as a career, and 2 things prevented me from actually doing it: 1) my parents urging that it would be too difficult and would not pay the bills and 2) my genuine fear of failure. In all reality though, I wouldn't have my boys in this scenario and I wouldn't trade them for anything.

5. I majored in actuarial science in college. What can I say - I love math. I know, what a geek!

6. I need a new hobby or activity. A new "thing" that's just about me. Help, anyone? Just kidding... I think I actually need to figure this one out on my own.

7. I worry about everything - losing another child, money, work, abused children, starvation in third world countries, the economy - you name it. I know many women wrestle with worry, but I often feel extraordinarily plagued by it.

8. Losing my son has taught me many lessons. One is that I faced the reality of having authentic vs. casual (and often superficial) relationships. Though I continue to have both types of relationships, I have chosen to weed out many of the casuals and am well aware of my two buckets. Honestly it was much easier when I didn't fully recognize the difference.

9. I am terrified to speak in front of groups, which is no doubt linked to my fear of failure (see 4. above)

10. I have known my husband for more than half of my life. We dated in high school, had a stint apart in college and were married a year after graduation. I couldn't have chosen a better partner for life.

If only

A while back, my email address was added to a mailing list for folks associated with First Candle -- the organization that has worked tirelessly to reduce SIDS death and has now "taken on" stillbirth also. They frequently send research updates, which I honestly don't have a lot of time to read. But today, for some reason, I read down to the 7th abstract which was related to decreased fetal movement and stillbirth. I hope it is okay that I share this - I don't know what would restrict me from doing so...

Holm Tveit JV, Saastad E, Stray-Pedersen B, Bordahl PE, Flenady V, Fretts R, Froen JFReduction of late stillbirth with the introduction of fetal movement information and guidelines - a clinical quality improvementBMC Pregnancy Childbirth. 2009 Jul 22;9(1):32. [Epub ahead of print]ABSTRACT: BACKGROUND: Women experiencing decreased fetal movements (DFM) are at increased risk of adverse outcomes, including stillbirth. Fourteen delivery units in Norway registered all cases of DFM in a population-based quality assessment. We found that information to women and management of DFM varied significantly between hospitals. We intended to examine two cohorts of women with DFM before and during two consensus-based interventions aiming to improve care through: 1) written information to women about fetal activity and DFM, including an invitation to monitor fetal movements, 2) guidelines for management of DFM for health-care professionals. METHODS: All singleton third trimester pregnancies presenting with a perception of DFM were registered, and outcomes collected independently at all 14 hospitals. The quality assessment period included April 2005 through October 2005, and the two interventions were implemented from November 2005 through March 2007. The baseline versus intervention cohorts included: 19,407 versus 46,143 births and 1215 versus 3038 women with DFM, respectively. RESULTS: Reports of DFM did not increase during the intervention. The stillbirth rate among women with DFM fell during the intervention: 4.2% vs. 2.4%, (OR 0.51 95% CI 0.32-0.81), and 3.0/1000 versus 2.0/1000 in the overall study population (OR 0.67 95% CI 0.49-0.94). There was no increase in the rates of preterm births, fetal growth restriction, transfers to neonatal care or severe neonatal depression among women with DFM during the intervention. The use of ultrasound in management increased, while additional follow up visits and admissions for induction were reduced. CONCLUSIONS: Improved management of DFM and uniform information to women is associated with fewer stillbirths

If only I had been better educated about kick counting and what can and does go wrong, perhaps we could have saved B.W. before his oxygen supply was totally cut off. If only I had paid more and closer attention. Most days I can survive without pondering those pivotal couple of days before his death/birth and the guilt I still feel. I know in my head that I can't "own" our inability to save him from a blood clot, and really I am thankful for that. I guess I just wish our story was one of those close calls where his movement was decreased but we caught it in time to save his life (and not quite so literally, mine).

34 months

We are approaching B.W.’s third birthday and the third anniversary of his death. I am exhausted just thinking about the remembrance gathering we will host again this year. The cake that he can’t enjoy, the presents he won’t open but instead will be donated, the three-year old friends who might have attended had he had a chance to know them – all make this so very difficult to do publicly with our families. I can hardly bare that some of them will probably think “oh, this again?”… that if they do show up for the gathering, that they might ignore B.W.’s scrap book display and the new pages I’ve crafted lovingly because I need to find a way to mother him still. I guess we are gluttons for punishment to attempt this each year. But, if I must keep my heart and mouth muzzled about my boy all year round to accommodate others, aren’t they required to give me just a single day each year where I can shout aloud of my love for him?

I am waiting, with tearful pride, for his birthday in exactly 2 months.

I haven't disappeared...

I am so behind on blog reading and putting any of my thoughts to written word - and I feel all built up because of it. About 7 weeks ago, work reached a point of, well,... I can't effing do this anymore. I turned in my resignation which was an incredibly difficult thing to do after having been with this company for 10 years. My boss was shocked at the timing of my decision (recession and all), but not totally surprised. My job is a more than full-time gig, with basically no leverage. I should have known that trying to go down to 4 days would mean less pay for the same level of work. Over time, it really wore on me to be working on my off days -- with no childcare help for those times -- and I began to resent working at naptimes, nighttime and on weekends. All of those hours I should have been cleaning up C.T.'s tornadoes, organizing my unorganized household, getting dressed, planning fun adventures for C.T. and me, spending time with B, working on the scrapbook for C.T. that has gone untouched since the day he was born almost 18 months ago.

Somehow, at the time of my resignation, my boss found a way to sell me on a new "deal"... which was essentially, we will continue paying you for 4 days, but you won't have to work full-time(+), in fact, you'll only need to put in 3 days... plus, we are going to allocate 30% of a strong analyst's time to help you. Because I really do love working for my boss, and because a 3-day a week schedule would actually be perfect for me, I agreed to give it a shot. Unfortunatley, the next 6 weeks were hell at work and I continued to put in all the extra time. I do believe it's only temporary and that they will get me the leverage I need - it's just been extremely painful. We are now just at the point of identifying an analyst to help me and if it doesn't happen soon, but I am once again at my breaking point. Thank God this week has been somewhat manageable.

I don't mean to carry on about it all, but in the last 2 months, I felt like I needed to dedicate my non-working hours to my family and to non-blog things. Every couple of days, I have wanted to check in with you (my blogging buds), but have really resisted. So, I'M SORRY I HAVEN'T BEEN THERE FOR YOU IF YOU NEEDED A WORD OF ENCOURAGEMENT or if you just needed someone to say "I hear you". I hope to get caught up on your blogs soon and get back to working on my own. It's all such good therapy for me and I hope in some way, my blog or my comments are there for others too.

Bomb dropping during fondue

Last night I met some ladies from church (80% of whom I have known for several years) out for fondue. As usual, the couple of days before our outing, I was filled with mostly mild anxiety about it. I actually considered backing out at the last minute and then finally reassured myself that everything would be fine, and that I should make an attempt to be social.

There were about 12 of us sitting around a long-ish table with 4 pots of cheese... and ultimately chocolate. Somehow, I ended up sitting near two young, newly married women, both of whom I'd never met. Wouldn't you know, the conversation somehow veered to "those women who don't even know they are pregnant until they have their baby" and "golly gee, some women say that pregnancy and birth are so awful and others say it's a breeze" and "it would just really stink to be pregnant in the summer - I better plan for that". By the time we were in the thick of this miserable conversation, I was avoiding it at all costs -- reading my blackberry as if several new and exciting emails had just come in. I was stuck... mainly as a result of my non-strategic seating selection upon arriving at our table. Then, one of the curious young ladies starts asking a couple of us about our experience(s) as it relates to pregnancy and birth. The woman across the table, who knows me and knows of both of my boys, looked at me with a pained look and then answered for herself, keeping her response relatively short and sweet. Even with all of my dodging and extremely rude blackberry usage, the young woman then posed the question to me. Taking in a deep breath, I dropped my bomb. I told her/them that I actually have 2 boys -- 2 pregnancies and 2 births -- and that B.W. died (was born still) in 2006. I think I did an decent job of keeping it together and then answered their extremely naive and somewhat insensitive follow-up questions (you might know the kind I'm talking about here). In the course of the exchange, one of them said she was sorry. The other changed the subject. And then they were all laughing and having fun again. My heart was racing, my blood boiling and I wanted to leave the table and run for my car. This is one of the many examples, that I seem to face on a regular basis, which make me want to hibernate and avoid all social gatherings and groups.

I won't even write here what I wanted to say in response to the original question or to the ridiculous line of questioning I faced when they learned of my dead son. I was glad to leave, emotionally exhausted, end of story. Good thing the food was nice and the martini was scrumptious. I would not have made it through otherwise.

I have almost no memory of my former self. Please tell me I was not as naive, presumptuous and self-righteous as these ladies. It's hard to accept that I must now live in a world filled with so many of them.

Three liner

As I was perusing my e-files today, I came across several poems I have saved over the past two and 1/2 years, after B.W.'s death. I don't remember where I found this one, but I really love it. So simple and so much truth in each word.

Separation by W. S. Merwin

Your absence has gone through me
Like thread through a needle.
Everything I do is stitched with its color.

New me disappointment

I am almost certain that anyone who has lost a child would agree he/she is permanently changed in several ways -- some dramatic and obvious and others so subtle they go virtually unnoticed by even the closest of friends and family. I've been thinking about those more subtle changes in myself... especially now that I'm supposed to be truly living my "new normal" life without my firstborn. This is the new me, right? I'm supposed to really like and be proud of who I have become as a result of my precious boy. And, truly, although I would say TO HELL with the changes in my life if I could have another day with my B.W., I do view most of my metamorphosis as positive. Problem is - some of these subtle changes just really stink.

One of those invisible changes that has bothered me for some time is my ability or lack thereof to cope with large-ish or new-ish social situations, big groups of friends (close and otherwise) and crowds. Before B.W.'s death, I was always up for getting together with a big group, no matter the occasion. I could make conversation, from small talk to intimate/intense discussion, rather easily and comfortably with anyone. It really didn't matter if it was a room of friends or a party where I hardly knew anyone. I prided myself on being a good and quick read on the character of a person. I made friends easily with those I deemed character-worthy, and tried to listen and patiently interact as authentically as possible even with those people I disliked or deemed character-less (for lack of a better term). At least one of those friendships made casually has turned into one of the closest and most authentic relationships I have today.

Immediately after B.W.'s death, like many bereaved mothers, I retreated from social gatherings and interactions. I literally couldn't participate. And when I tried, I failed miserably. I learned quickly that this was normal for someone enduring the tragic death of a child and came to accept that I was going to dislike crowds, parties, social situations, even getting together with groups of friends, for a while.

Unfortunately, for me, "a while" has become indefinitely. Now let me clarify... for those people who are going to assume that I'm not healing appropriately, or that my time table for that healing is much too slow, or whatever... (Actually, I don't think many people are actually reading this blog, and the readers are mostly bereaved mothers, so I probably have nothing to worry about.) I no longer retreat like I did in the year following B.W.'s death. I do participate in social interactions and gatherings more. I do try to enjoy myself and am sometimes successful at it. And, almost always, I am able to put on a really good front (which might actually be unhealthy in itself), but I still really dread this stuff.

Why? I don't know, but it's clear it's virtually always related to B.W.'s death. Sometimes I dread seeing someone who has never acknowledged B.W.'s short life and death and the obviously tragic loss for our family. Sometimes it's because I know there will be shock and awe on peoples' faces when they hear I have a dead son (as the topic of family/children inevitably comes up in conversation) and then their avoidance of me after they hear our story. Other times it's because I don't have the energy to try and avoid the topic of my dead child by dodging people or keeping my conversation at a very surface level. Sometimes I know I won't be able to stand the small talk or the blissful ignorance of the people we will see and interact with. The list really goes on and on, but it's usually related to B.W. or my new life/world view -- the new me -- as a result of his death.

This is a change that I am not particularly excited about for a few reasons. First, it means I am worrying too much about what others think as it relates to my deceased son (I guess that's the protective mother in me). Second, I am not enjoying social and group interactions much anymore... and perhaps never will in the same way I was capable of before B.W.'s death. I am also not allowing new, potentially great friendships the opportunity to grow through these interactions.

Just another element of my former self to mourn, I suppose. It's not the end of the world. I bet hardly anyone notices. It's just I didn't expect, at least at the onset of my life without B.W., this aspect of my life to be so permanently different.

Lazy post

I have been busy. Work has sucked the life out of me in the last month. I actually don't even want to talk about it. I want to talk about anything other than work...

I started a post on April 1, when B.W. would have been 2 and 1/2 years old. I don't have the emotional energy to finish it now, so it will have to wait to be finished and published. Let's just say that the passage of time, for me and my family, is and always will be SO marked by B.W.'s death/birth. I miss him.

Because I'm not feeling especially full of anything original to say, I'm going to answer a seven-question quiz of sorts from Glow in the Woods. This place (GITW) has been like a raft for me as I swim in the deep waters of my reality.

1 Give us a few words you would have used to describe your body, your health or your sense of physical vitality before the experience of babyloss—and a few that you’d use to describe it now.

Before: strong and certain, able to adapt quickly to periods of concentrated physical activity or rest
After: weak, managing to function physically at medium pace with little desire to quicken or slow

2 What do you do to take care of yourself? Has this changed?

Not much, before or after. I think my views on caring for myself have changed though. I am trying to rationalize the need to take care of me, and then actually take action on it.

3 Give us one or two words to describe sex or physical intimacy before, and then after the loss of your baby.

Before: necessary and freeing
After: necessary and very complicated

4 Has loss and/or grief left a physical mark on you (a scar, a chronic condition, insomnia, a tattoo)?

The line down my stomach was there for almost a year and then it quickly blended into the line created by my pregnancy with C.T. Then, there is always the stretched skin that has never felt the same since before B.W. I really could care less about that in terms of vanity - and am happy that there is a physical reminder. In terms of conditions, I know my level of anxiety re: C.T.'s health and safety is severly heightened.

5 Do you medicate or control your emotions with food, wine, altered states, prescriptions? Without judgement, what have you gravitated towards in an effort to heal, and how do you feel about it?

Probably work. And a bit of wine, though not enough to mention. Maybe some shopping. Mostly though, I have tried to be honest with myself about my feelings and not to delay or push them aside.

6 Was physical healing important for you in the first year after your loss? What did/does physical healing entail and how did/do you work towards it? If physicality hasn't been a priority for you, what do you do that makes you feel stronger or more able to cope?

Yes, but not in a "I must be fit and healthy" sort of way. I knew I needed sleep so that I would be able to face the day and the endless tears. I knew I needed food or I would wither away. I knew I needed to be outside (some) and breathe in the outside air. The first year is so tough - getting out of bed was so often difficult...

7 If you could change anything about your body and/or health, what would it be? What would it feel like to be either at peace with your body, or at peace with this babylost state?

I'd like to feel strong again. I don't think I will ever be truly at peace with B.W.'s death. I have accepted it, but the mother in me still searches for him as if he is just missing.

Something positive... please

B has been hurting. Pretty badly. His job, one that is tied explicitly to the financial markets, has been bringing him down for months now. Each day he puts on his suit and faces the demise of the system he is supposed to champion. It wears on him to give client after client bad news -- there has literally been nothing positive to come of his work days in six months. Clients can be extremely unfriendly (okay, it's definitely worse than that) in this environment of fear. He is anxiety ridden, sometimes plagued with mini panic attacks. And there is no real end in sight.

My father has been out of work for 11 months. My mom has MS -- for 20 years now. She is confined to a wheelchair and suffers a great deal. The COBRA insurance, medical expenses and drug costs are outrageous for anyone, especially a family whose single earner is not working. And there is no real end in sight.

My brother-in-law is still technically employed though they haven't "worked" him in several months. My sister and he have been trying to support their family with his side jobs and on the small amount I pay her to watch C.T. while I'm at work. And there is no real end in sight.

As B and I lay in bed talking last night, worry filling our hearts and eyes unable to relax, B begins to recount B.W.'s birth and the precious time we had with him. We close our eyes and talk about his perfect fingers and toes, the sweet little taste buds on his tongue, his broad chest, the bit of dark hair on his soft head. And for a few minutes, our anxiety is replaced by tearful and beautiful memories of our firstborn. This happens often for us. We get down -- more and more about everyday things -- and we remind ourselves that the most beautiful and gushing love we have ever experienced is inseparably tied to our son's death. (C.T.'s birth being equally beautiful and gushing, with a completely different outcome.)

My boys remind me that beauty and hope and love can be found in all sorts of situations, circumstances and outcomes - from the good to the utterly devastating. I don't feel this way every day. In fact, I might feel differently tomorrow. But I've come a long way...

Tiny pity party

When I cry, ever since B.W. died, my tears smell like rubbing alcohol. I'm sure it's some kind of post-traumatic link to the day he was born. Perhaps, my brain is remembering and triggering the alcohol prelude I endured for each and every needle poke in the hospital. Anyway, there has not been a time in the last 2 years and 5 months when I've cried and NOT smelled rubbing alcohol. Mostly I am okay with it because I feel closer to him in a weird sense. But, yesterday when I cried I was just angry. Why can't my post-traumatic link be the sweet baby smell of my firstborn? It's just more than unfair.

Dinner with friends

B and I drove Saturday night to a small dinner party. Just six of us - all of us parents of dead children. The hosting couple lost both a daughter and a son in 2004 and 2006 respectively. The other couple lost their daughter in 2006, the same year we lost B.W. What a blast, right? Hanging out with other bereaved families is our idea of a good time?

I remember sitting in a support group meeting for the first time with both of these couples. I was so strangely relieved to see other kind (and broken) faces in the room. Sitting there, bawling our eyes out, sharing our love for our sweet boy, we learned we were not alone. It was the first time I felt any real relief from my total and complete devastation since B.W.'s death several weeks before. I was not the only mother who was without her child. My body wasn't the only failure out there. Our primal ache to hold our child and our endless flow of tears - these were all familiar to the other parents in the group. It was so comforting. I had no idea two of the couples would become friends. And at the time, I couldn't fathom that the six of us would ever laugh and truly live again.

On Saturday, two years and 2-3 months since we first met, the conversation flowed so easily between jobs, the economy, wine, our children (alive and dead), the weather, vacations, basement refinishings, our grief, our family and friends' support (or lack there of), God and heaven, our lives before and after we lost our child(ren). There was laughter. A LOT of it. There were tears. And it was so comfortable. None of the topic avoidance or egg-shell walking or sugar coating that we so often find with most everyone else in our lives. We all recognize how different life is when you've lost a daughter or son. We know that we have come a long way but that getting back to "normal" will never happen for us. We actually like the people we have become.

I am so thankful for these friendships - the women in particular. I am not sure I could go on in the ways I have without them. They are my respite from the elephant in the room who is always following me around. They listen to me, really hearing me. They feel my pain with me and don't even attempt to hide from it. They call or write to say they are thinking of B.W. on his birthday and during holidays. They remember I have two boys - all the time - and recognize I love them equally. They know it's hard to live in a world that for the most part doesn't understand and doesn't care about the loss of my son.

So, yes, it WAS a blast on Saturday night. I love hanging out with other bereaved friends who are on a journey to embrace their new lives, dead child(ren) and all. I never feel more content to be in my own skin than when I'm with these friends.

Sleepy

I am so tired. I started this blog to try and unload a bit, but I'm not finding adequate time to do it effectively. Work has been too busy, it feels like I never make a real dent in my (home) to-do list and I scarcely find time for the good cry I am needing re: B.W. Aren't the holidays over? Shouldn't this ease up a little bit?

Perhaps I need to be okay with the to-do list going undone occasionally. But, who will "do" it? And when will they do it? B helps a lot, but most of this stuff requires that I'm involved... this is, if I am to be satisfied with the result.

Perhaps I need not devote every waking, non-working minute to C.T. He will be in shock - and really, I can only keep him busy playing/"reading" alone for 5-10 minutes. Probably my own doing, yes. But he is just 1 year old.

OK. Done complaining. I know most (okay ALL) busy moms are in about the same boat. Potentially minus the dead child factor, which so often cripples those of us who live this life.

One more complaint... B signed us up at the Y in early January because I said I wanted to find time to "be active" once a week. I have yet to get my photo ID taken, which tells you I have NOT been there to exercise yet! I guess this speaks more to my inability to get it together than it is a valid complaint.

Ahhhhhhh.

Dread

I am meeting an.... ex-friend... I don't know what to call her, really... for coffee tomorrow. She was woefully unsupportive the first year after B.W. died., even going as far as to say that his death is less than comparable to the potential death of her "living" child. I won't go into the details, but I suppose in her mind my son was less of a son, or my grief is less worthy because he lived such a short life. Maybe she believes because I have so few memories of him that it somehow hurts less that he is absent.

Really? How fortunate for her that she can be so naive.

Needless to say, I had avoided her like the plague after this transpired.

She called right as C.T. was to be born. I was still in heavy mourning mode and juiced up on fear that C.T. would also die. I didn't have the energy to "fight" her, or tell her to get lost, so we talked a bit. Cause, you know, it was a "happy time" for me - so she was okay with that. She has called me probably 3 times in the last year -- all relatively pleasant conversations perhaps from her viewpoint, but extremely forced for me.

She invited me to her (2nd) bridal shower. I think we must cut the crap. But, I'm not good at confrontation. I've had a stomach ache all week. We'll see how this goes.

First birthday

C.T. will be one year old tomorrow. I can't believe it. He has perfected holding up his pointer finger with pride when we ask him "how old will you be on your birthday?" When we practice singing happy birthday to him, he pretends to blow out his candles before we get even half way through the song. He is such a big boy already. He registered 23 pounds, 9 oz, in fact, today at his 12 month well-baby check up. (No wonder my back is sore most of the time)...

It's overwhelming to even try to think back to a year ago. On this night one year ago, we were scared C.T. might just slip away right in time for my scheduled induction the next day. That's sort of how we lived each day of those months - expecting the absolute worst and thanking God for each additional day with him. Weak from bedrest, exhausted from 16 months of grief, healing, grasping for hope, stretched like a balloon and with 9 months worth of bruised injection sites, I was a wreck that night. B was too. I really don't know how we made it through those 38 and 1/2 weeks.

And now, well after his birth, we still find ourselves shaking our heads in disbelief that C.T. is here. That we have been granted 351 days (outside of the womb) with him so far. That he is ours to hold. That there is a chance that he might actually outlive us. That though our sadness is always there, he has brought so much joy back into our lives.

Happy birthday, my sweet C.T. Mommy and daddy love you so very much. B.W. does too. He looks down on you each and every day - probably watching out for you. Lucky boy.

Motherhood

Last week, I got one of those questions from a colleague I see maybe 3-4 times a year. A question that most mothers are delighted to hear. A question that I'm 100% sure he intended as harmless. In fact, I think he was genuinely interested to hear my response. Fully unaware that the words can still send me spinning a bit. That my heart still breaks a little to hear them, though they're simply conversational to him.

"So, how is motherhood?" (with a wink and a bit of a wise-guy dad-of-3 grin)

Not an unusual question to ask a "new" mom. I guess that is what he considers me - new to my role of mother, new to the job and daily act of mothering.

For him, looking from the outside-in, it's as if B.W. never existed. Or that because he died, that motherhood was somehow postponed for me. Or that since he died back in 2006, it's been so long and so much has transpired that you might as well forget that I was a mother before C.T. was born. Truly, I didn't expect that this colleague would ask "so, how is mothering your dead child these days... what's his name again?" That he would allude to how I'm doing with his absence 2 years and 3 months later. That just socially doesn't happen. And, I really do like when people take an interest in C.T. and what he's doing. It's just that I'm proud of the mothering I do for both of my boys. When someone asks about my "motherhood", I think of my two sons - equally. I'm just not allowed to talk about it in public.

So, I played nice, like I always do. I obliged and filled my colleague in on C.T.'s latest tricks, the plan for his first birthday party, the wonder in his eyes at Christmas time. I smiled and laughed and truly enjoyed a moment to talk about my sweet boy, pretending, right along with him, that C.T. encompasses the totality of my motherhood. If only I could have added that it's been bittersweet. That while C.T. has brought so much joy, B.W. was missed so much this holiday season. That this marked our third Christmas without our firstborn. That I continue to "mother" B.W. in so many ways...

This, for bereaved parents all over the globe, is just one of a thousand often painful questions/comments that come up in day-to-day conversation. I can probably spout off 100 of them off the top of my head. Which are your most un-favorite(s)? Have you built up your callous to them or do some still send you reeling?