Why We're Here...
On a different note, I did go ahead and buy that ornament I mentioned in an earlier post. I hope everyone was able to find some peace and happiness these last few days. Happy holidays everyone.
Sent via BlackBerry from T-Mobile
Thirty-eight more days and it will be a whole blasted year. 365 days. Gone. Things aren't that different, not really. Christmas is still coming. Its still winter. I still get up every morning and go about my day. Except now I think about the box of ashes still sitting on the top of my armoire where I put them so many months ago, trying to forget about them. That didn't work. I think about how different life would've been. I think about what I'm missing. I think about the life that he should have been living. I'm not much different to look at I suppose. I'm ten pounds heavier, my eyes are perhaps a little clouded, distant, sad. You wouldn't know it, unless I told you. You wouldn't know that there is love for two children in my heart. You wouldn't know there are two realities to my life. The one everyone sees, and the one that has Logan in it.
I got my hair done today. I've just really been needing a change, some improvement, something different. For the love of my husband (and the unrealistic fear of him not wanting me anymore) I didn't hack my hair off. But I changed it. I've always done that. Something bad happens in my life that I can't control and I hack off all of my hair. Like its the one thing I can control, so I do. Seems insignificant and pathetic, but pain and confusion and helplessness manifests itself in weird ways. The stylist ask me about my daughter. I've stopped telling most strangers about Logan. I never thought I would, but I have. Early on I took pleasure in seeing the shock and horror. Like maybe they felt a fraction of what I did. And early on I was so scared of loosing his memory, his proof of existence that I wanted to voice him constantly. I wanted to scream "Hey!! There was a child here!! He was real!" But mostly now days I feel like its a cheap way of whoring him around. Like he is too special to me to put out on display. He is mine. My private memory. No one deserves to see my love for him. No one deserves to know him. He was mine, mine alone. And no one could love him like I do. Obviously my husband does, but random people do not get that privilege these days.
I keep thinking about that ornament. I want to go buy it, but I keep putting it off. Part of me thinks I need to let go. Ornaments and trees and knick nacks are not going to keep him here. Part of me is afraid that I'll forget about the ornament and next year I'll be sitting around decorating my tree, feeling jolly about the holiday...and BAM! I'll find that one. And I'll remember it all over again. Humph. Like I'll ever forget this. Like I'll ever forget him. And then part of me wonders, will it just make me sad every year to look at it? Like I won't be sad enough, and this will just be more salt. But part of me thinks Logan deserves a spot on my tree just as much as Aubrey. And that ornament just fits. It says "Rest in Heavenly Peace" and not "Baby's first Christmas" because, after all, it is not and I'm hoping he is. Its astounding the amount of emotions that a dumb little piece of plastic can bring forth.
Tonight I am sad, and I am not sleepy. A bad bedtime combo around here. My dh starts his 16 day vacation tomorrow. And we're making room in the basement for a pool table. And we're turning what was supposed to have been Logan's room into a shipping center for my eBay crap. And I desperately wanted change, and yet it makes me sick to my stomach to go through with it. Like if I left it a half torn up guest room, and never changed it into anything. Not a little boys nursery with little blue and green fishies, not a shipping center...than maybe it'll be like nothing happened. "There never was a baby, see!! Its just a guest room." Damn that room that sucks the wind out of me every time I walk through its wretched door. Tonight I just want to lock the door and pretend that room was never even there. That stupid room that I stood in so many times and considered how I would set it up. That I would put the crib in the far corner like I did in Aubrey's room. That the built in shelves would have nice little baskets stuffed full of all of the baby needs. Green walls, blue curtains...little comical fishies floating across the far wall. I hate that room. I should paint the walls black.
I've never seen the time 10:07 on a clock since that day. Maybe its the single ounce of kindness God is tossing down at me, maybe its my subconscious being fearful around that time every day, so I just don't look. Who knows? My mom would say its God. He loves me. He doesn't want me to be sad. Someone posted on a friends wall on Facebook today (on an unrelated topic) "Its like praying for God to take away someone’s hurt when maybe its the hurt that will bring them closer to him." Why do people even begin to think they understand God? Why do people feel like they have the right to interpret God. Why do people assume they know what God wants, feels, thinks? I don't get it. And I hate it. I hate that people preach to me, at me, about how God feels about me, what he has in store for me. To be honest, when people around me even mention the name God, it makes me recoil. It makes me shut my ears. It makes me want to punch them in the face. Maybe its not about God at all. Maybe nothing is. Maybe its just the way it goes sometimes and it sucks and it hurts and its ugly and it is what it is. Maybe its not part of God's plan. Maybe God didn't have a thing to do with it. As a protestant I grew up believing that God's hand is in everything. My husband, as a Catholic, grew up believing that God's hand is in the big stuff, but not the day to day menial stuff. That used to blow my mind. Why would he plant a garden and then not tend it? Now I just think that people try too hard to find God in everything and that maybe he created us, and created life, and let us have our way with it. I mean, that's free will and all. If my having created a baby was anything, it was a result of sex. A consequence. There's an egg, the sperm finds it, bam! There's a baby. Mine didn't work. Throw it out, try again later. Sigh. But the thing is, I don't even buy it. Only God can breathe life into existence. How many women try and try and try for a pregnancy only to get nothing? God chooses when life happens and when it does not. An he CHOSE to create life using an egg that he KNEW wasn't suitable. And he did it anyway. That's what I can't get my head around. I know why Logan died. I accept it. Not compatible with life. Fine. Got it. He wasn't compatible because the egg didn't split right. Fine. Got it. But why life that month? Why not the month before? Why then? A year later and I still can't get my head around it. And I hate that people say that God uses all things for good. All things?? How is this good? Because I wrote a blog that might have helped someone else cope? No offense but I could give a crap. I mean, I'm sorry for your pain, but I wouldn't have volunteered for this or anything. Given a choice, you'd have lost. How can you take a rape, or child molestation and make it into something good? How can you take these horrible sick cases of these grown men raping and torturing and mutilating a young child and make it good?? HOW?? Where is the good in any of that?? And why? What's the point? Why give me something that brings me an unbearable sadness so that he can make something good out of it? Why couldn't me make something good out of nothing? He's God after all. My questions go unanswered. And you know why? Because NO ONE has these answers. I get responses like "well we can't understand God" or whatever. But that's the lame answer you get when people don't want to look the horrible stuff in the face and call it what it is. It sucks. Its ugly and there is no answer. The human interpretation of God is not the answer, not to this. Sure, he might help me to learn to cope, learn to heal, learn to move on...but it will always still be there. The big black gaping hole that contains the minuscule memories of my sons very short life. He can't take that away. Or at least he won't. It makes me miss my Gramma. She always seemed to have the right kind of answers when it came to God, or anything. She is in a nursing home, 200 miles away, and incoherent. Alzheimer's. Explain that one to me too while you're at it. On second thought, no, don't. I'm tired of explanations. I'm tired of ignorant people yammering at me about their insignificant knowledge about God.
I don't realize how angry with God I am until I start typing these posts. And I'm not trying to start some theological debate, and I don't want anyone witnessing to me, I get enough of that already. I grew up Christian. I already know. Doesn't change what I feel. Doesn't change the facts.
I miss the desire to celebrate. Birthdays and holidays come and go and I find that for the most part I just drift through them and try to get past them. I yearn for that old care free innocence of celebration. Not that I don't think I deserve to celebrate. Not that I don't think I deserve happiness, smiles and good times. I just don't care about them anymore. It doesn't feel right. Like there's something just a little bit off. Like when there's a dinner after a funeral and everyone's hanging out and chatting like nothing happened. Like its just some big reunion, and that they’re not all there because someone died. That always felt weird to me. Someone died. "HEY! I know, let's go eat!" Weird. Christmas Eve marks 11 months. Its like a mile marker in a marathon. One mile to go. Seems so dramatic doesn't it? And I know it will be like every other milestone I've encountered thus far. The hype and build up to the day is far worse than the day itself. I've had several weeks of numbness and being able to hide and this week I feel like its coming front and center again.
I just get so bummed out. Life isn't supposed to have been like this! I should have the house decorated to the nines. I should have pictures of my two kids with Santa. I should be shopping for a little boy. We should be taking great home movies and laughing and building nice memories. But we're not. I don't want to decorate. I don't want to celebrate. I don't want to do anything. I don't want to remember. I don't want to think about what isn't happening, what's missing, what went wrong, what life has become or hasn't. And for some reason the holidays are really kicking my butt about it all. I hate it. I want it to go away. I want to feel the sun on my face again.
THAT I WILL GRIEVE AS MUCH AND FOR AS LONG AS I FEEL LIKE GRIEVING, AND THAT I WILL NOT LET OTHERS PUT A TIMETABLE ON MY GRIEF.
THAT I WILL GRIEVE IN WHATEVER WAY I FEEL LIKE GRIEVING, AND I WILL IGNORE THOSE WHO TRY TO TELL ME WHAT I SHOULD OR SHOULD NOT BE FEELING AND HOW I SHOULD OR SHOULD NOT BE BEHAVING.
THAT I WILL CRY WHENEVER AND WHEREVER I FEEL LIKE CRYING, AND THAT I WILL NOT HOLD BACK MY TEARS JUST BECAUSE SOMEONE ELSE FEELS I SHOULD BE "BRAVE" OR "GETTING BETTER" OR "HEALING BY NOW".
THAT I WILL TALK ABOUT MY CHILD AS OFTEN AS I WANT TO, AND THAT I WILL NOT LET OTHERS TURN ME OFF JUST BECAUSE THEY CAN'T DEAL WITH THEIR OWN FEELINGS.
THAT I WILL NOT EXPECT FAMILY AND FRIENDS TO KNOW HOW I FEEL, UNDERSTANDING THAT ONE WHO HAS NOT LOST A CHILD CANNOT POSSIBLY KNOW HOW I FEEL.
THAT I WILL NOT BLAME MYSELF FOR MY CHILD'S DEATH, AND I WILL CONSTATLY REMIND MYSELF THAT I DID THE BEST JOB OF PARENTING I COULD POSSIBLY HAVE DONE. BUT, WHEN FEELINGS OF GUILT ARE OVERWHELMING, I WILL REMIND MYSELF THAT THIS IS NORMAL PART OF THE GRIEF PROCESS AND IT WILL PASS.
THAT I WILL NOT BE AFRAID OR ASHAMED TO SEEK PROFESSIONAL HELP IF I FEEL IT IS NECESSARY.
THAT I WILL COMMUNE WITH MY CHILD AT LEAST ONCE A DAY IN WHATEVER WAY FEELS COMFORTABLE AND NATURAL TO ME, AND THAT I WON'T FEEL COMPELLED TO EXPLAIN THIS COMMUNION TO OTHERS OR TO JUSTIFY OR EVEN DISCUSS IT WITH THEM.
THAT I WILL TRY TO EAT, SLEEP, AND EXERCISE EVERY DAY IN ORDER TO GIVE MY BODY STRENGTH IT WILL NEED TO HELP ME COPE WITH MY GRIEF.
TO KNOW THAT I WILL HEAL, EVEN THOUGH IT WILL TAKE A LONG TIME.
TO LET MYSELF HEAL AND NOT FEEL GUILTY ABOUT FEELING BETTER.
TO REMIND MYSELF THAT THE GRIEF PROCESS IS CIRCUITOUS~THAT IS, I WILL NOT MAKE STEADY UPWARD PROGRESS. AND WHEN I FIND MYSELF SLIPPING BACK INTO THE OLD MOODS OF DESPAIR AND DEPRESSION, I WILL TELL MYSELF THAT "SLIPPING BACKWARD" IS ALSO A NORMAL PART OF THE GRIEF PROCESS AND THESE MOODS, TOO, WILL PASS.
TO TRY TO BE HAPPY ABOUT SOMETHING FOR SOME PART OF EVERY DAY, KNOWING THAT AT FIRST, I MAY HAVE TO FORCE MYSELF TO THINK CHEEFUL THOUGHTS SO EVENTUALLY THEY CAN BECOME A HABIT.
THAT I WILL REACH OUT AT TIMES AND TRY TO HELP SOMEONE ELSE, KNOWING THAT HELPING OTHERS WILL HELP ME TO GET OVER MY DEPRESSION.
THAT EVEN THOUGH MY CHILD IS DEAD, I WILL OPT FOR LIFE, KNOWING THAT IS WHAT MY CHILD WOULD WANT ME TO DO.
I didn't decorate for the holidays. I'm not in the mood. I don't have the energy. And I use my 22 month old as an excuse "Oh, she'd pull the tree down" or whatever. But truthfully, I just don't feel like the hassle. Its like that with so many things these days. I need to just buck up and do it. Clean, laundry, bathe...
I don't cry much at all anymore. Logan is becoming such an enigma for me. I have a hard time picturing life with him in it anymore. I feel more and more like it happened to someone else. I miss my baby belly. I never thought I'd ever say that, but I do. I miss the thought of new beginnings and the excitement of a new baby. I spent the last two Christmas's pregnant and exhausted. Waiting. Impatient. Excited. This year I feel empty. Its odd how not finishing a pregnancy will leave you feeling like life is unfinished. I feel stalled. Like I'm still waiting for him to be born. Waiting for something. I spend most of my time trying not to think about what happened. Which in turn leads to less blog posts. I find myself eager for major change. I want to move. I want to remodel. I want to overhaul myself, my home, my life. Unfortunately (or fortunately) my husband doesn't have those same needs, or if he does he's at least rational enough to know what's best for us.
I can't leave life this way. I can't go out on a bad note. I feel like I have to try to have another child. I want to prove to myself that it doesn't always end badly. I want a happy ending. I don't want to always walk around feeling like life is unfinished. We started a family and then stalled during round two and never got back up on the horse again. I KNOW this sounds terrible. And no I don't think another baby would replace Logan. And no I don't think that it would make all of the hurt go away, but I have to believe it would help to heal some of the hurt. Not now. I'm not ready for a baby now. But someday... I have to feel like I still have that option. And dang it if I don't feel like that option has been torn from my hands. And I hate that I wanted this big family and now I have an only child and a dead child and so since I had one die then that's it, no more babies. And I hate that I should be content. Hey, at least I have the first one. Right? We're all thinking it. I SHOULD BE CONTENT. Aubrey should be enough. She's the light of my world. But I guess it makes me feel like I was hungry, so I got Aubrey, and then I was thirsty, so I got logan. Well hey, at least I'm not dying of starvation!! They're like apples and oranges to me. Having Aubrey doesn't minimize or erase the fact that I don't have Logan. Sigh. I so wish it did.
I added a new quote to the top of my blog. Its from a song by the Counting Crows called Its Raining in Baltimore. The quote is: "You get what you pay for, but I just had no intention of living this way." I've heard that song a million times over the last decade. But that line hit me so hard the other day. Maybe because it resonates that sentiment that maybe I didn't deserve Logan, or maybe I did something to deserve this pain. You get what you pay for, right? Maybe I didn't pay enough. But, regardless of if I paid enough or not, I never would have chosen this path. Who would? But I feel that so hard these days...I had no intention of living this way.
I can't believe its almost been a year. 39 days to go.
After almost exactly 8 months since Logan's death, his tree finally made it into the ground at the park down the street. We went and visited it yesterday for the first time, on our anniversary. It just seemed appropriate to me. The tree wasn't planted exactly where I wanted it (close to the toddler playscape) its off to the right a little, and away from the playscapes. I think the tree is better off in that location, further away from idiotic teens who are known to linger in the park and make trouble. The tree looks nice. I couldn't help but feel like its presence was insignificant. A sad replacement. "I couldn't give you life baby, so here's a tree." I don't know. It just seemed...lame. I have trouble convincing myself that the tree is to let the world know that there was a little boy here, and not a ridiculous replacement of him. David appreciated the tree. He felt like I did a good job. I stood there a minute, alone, and contemplated. I felt more apologetic than anything I guess. I just kept thinking I was sorry. Sorry I couldn't make it work, sorry I couldn't save him, sorry he wouldn't get to experience life, sorry that I planted this dumb tree...just sorry for everything.
I pushed Aubrey on the swings while David took a few minutes to himself at the tree. It seemed odd. Aubrey has no clue. "Hey mom, we're at the park, let's swing!!" Like I could explain to her why we were really at the park. The day was riddled with oddities, the visit at the park no exception to that. A young girl, maybe 8 or so, came riding up on her bike and started asking all sorts of questions about the tree. Did you plant that tree? Why? Why would you plant a tree when you son dies? How old was he? So you only knew him for a few days? Oh. You didn't even get to hold him? (I left out that detail) What was wrong with him? What's that? Are you sad? Well at least you have her. You can have another one. Where is he? (Ok, this info was a bit much for her perhaps but I didn't know what else to say, I was in shock). She wouldn't go away. Here we are trying to find peace, trying to not attack the tree in our fury, trying not to have a mental breakdown in the middle of a park and this little girl wouldn't go away!! We eventually left because she was so annoying. The night went on to give more and more odd things to me.
But, the tree is in and that makes me relieved, if nothing else. Relieved its over with, the waiting anyway. Now for the ashes...
On a side note, anyone know what happened to the spell checker with this new post editor? I don't see it. That is a necessity for me! LOL!
Alone...listless...breakfast table in an otherwise empty room
Young girl...violins...center of her own attention
The mother reads aloud, child tries to understand it
Tries to make her proud
The shades go down, its in her head
Painted room...can't deny there's something wrong...
Sent via BlackBerry from T-Mobile