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.
Showing posts with label motherhood. Show all posts
Showing posts with label motherhood. Show all posts
Saturday, November 7, 2009
Saturday, August 1, 2009
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 am waiting, with tearful pride, for his birthday in exactly 2 months.
Thursday, April 9, 2009
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.
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.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
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.
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.
Saturday, January 10, 2009
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?
"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?
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