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 my first boy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label my first boy. Show all posts
Saturday, November 7, 2009
Thursday, October 1, 2009
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
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
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.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
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.
Separation by W. S. Merwin
Your absence has gone through me
Like thread through a needle.
Everything I do is stitched with its color.
Friday, April 24, 2009
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.
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.
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.
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