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Saturday, January 31, 2009
It’s been a week since Logan was born. In and hour and 14 minutes from now. I woke up mad at the world this morning. I didn’t cry, not yet anyhow. I hate this winter. I hate the dreary days, I hate the sunny ones. I hate the cold and all of the snow. Logan was born on a very cold sunny day. One just like today. It didn’t seem fair to me that he should die on such a beautiful day. But I didn’t want him to be born on a dreary day either.
I can’t help but think of what happened the day he died, the day he was born. 6 hours later they released me from the hospital. They wheeled me to the door, and then David and I walked the longest most mournful walk through the parking garage to our car. Leaving the hospital was torture, but I couldn’t wait to get away from there. We picked up Aubrey from the in-laws. Just like any other time. No one mentioned Logan. I’m sure they said I’m sorry, but I know it was too new and raw for anyone to talk about. I appreciated it. Then we came home where my mom and the boys were all waiting, with their girlfriends/wife. No one was here, the house was dark, empty and a disaster…just like I had left it, except now you could tell there were other people around; bags, blankets and other things that just didn’t belong. With in minutes some of them came through the door. And, it was just like any other time. Except of course the uneasy glances and the sorry’s that floated through the air. Then, the evening went on. Games were played, there was laughter…no one asked about Logan. I wanted to just come home and curl up and die. Instead, I found myself amidst chaos. At the time it’s what I wanted. I wanted to ignore what had happened. I wanted to forget, if only for nano seconds at a time. David got involved, played the Wii and other games. I could tell he was relieved by the distraction. But now, now when I look back it seems weird and wrong. It seems like two different days. We had a baby, he was dead…life went on. And I didn’t want it to. I don’t want it to. I hate that one of my shows was on TV that day (which we recorded and watched last night), I hate that I still had a birthday to celebrate, I hate that I still had to eat. I hate that even though there is no more baby, I still bleed, my breast still got their milk, and they still flow with the life of a baby that I never got to share it with. I hate that his clothes still sit in a basket in my room. I hate that there was a book mark on the seventh month in my pregnancy book. I hate that there is a pregnancy magazine still sitting in Aubrey’s room. I hate that I still have to take my vitamins and an antibiotic to keep my body from getting an infection from something I love so dearly. I hate that I still have to go back to the wretched hospital for my follow up, and see the doctor who shattered my entire world. I hate that I want another baby and I want HIM now! I hate God. I hate that I can’t stop crying, and that I feel like everyone is looking at me, like I have some terrible disease that I am trying to hide. I hate that when I say “my children” I feel like I may puke. I hate that I can’t stop crying. I hate that I don’t know what David thinks of me anymore, what he see’s when he looks at me. I hate that I am so filled with such hatred.
The night before last I woke up in the middle of the night. I couldn’t go back to sleep, as usual. David was finally getting some sleep, and I knew he didn’t want to be bothered with me. I think he just needs me to leave him be sometimes. I grabbed one of the onsies that was intended for Logan sitting in a laundry basket by my bed. It was so soft. It smelled nice. I held it against my face until morning. I could tell that David was concerned when he was it in the morning, but I just needed to feel like Logan was with me. I miss him with a ferocity I have never known. Every night I beg God to give him back. Every morning I wake up disappointed all over again. I keep hoping, praying that this is all just the most horrible nightmare ever. But it’s not. It’s all very real, and permanent and I will never feel my little Logan move again, I will never see his tiny precious little face and all of the fantasies and dreams I had for him are all just a cruel reminder.
We took back the double stroller that we bought just days before his birth. I sat in the car and cried. None of this is fair, and I am trying so hard to believe that God was saving my little baby when he took him away. But I can’t figure out why God won’t/didn’t stop or change the things that were trivial. Like, why didn’t he stop us from buying that stroller? Why couldn’t it have been out of stock? Why was it on sale?
My cousin sent me a word art print that she made for Logan. It has the verse 2 Samuel 12:23 “He shall not return to me, but I shall go to him.” I loved seeing his name in print. I loved the verse. Something so trivial, that had such a profound impact on me.
It’s been a week since Logan was born. In and hour and 14 minutes from now. I woke up mad at the world this morning. I didn’t cry, not yet anyhow. I hate this winter. I hate the dreary days, I hate the sunny ones. I hate the cold and all of the snow. Logan was born on a very cold sunny day. One just like today. It didn’t seem fair to me that he should die on such a beautiful day. But I didn’t want him to be born on a dreary day either.
I can’t help but think of what happened the day he died, the day he was born. 6 hours later they released me from the hospital. They wheeled me to the door, and then David and I walked the longest most mournful walk through the parking garage to our car. Leaving the hospital was torture, but I couldn’t wait to get away from there. We picked up Aubrey from the in-laws. Just like any other time. No one mentioned Logan. I’m sure they said I’m sorry, but I know it was too new and raw for anyone to talk about. I appreciated it. Then we came home where my mom and the boys were all waiting, with their girlfriends/wife. No one was here, the house was dark, empty and a disaster…just like I had left it, except now you could tell there were other people around; bags, blankets and other things that just didn’t belong. With in minutes some of them came through the door. And, it was just like any other time. Except of course the uneasy glances and the sorry’s that floated through the air. Then, the evening went on. Games were played, there was laughter…no one asked about Logan. I wanted to just come home and curl up and die. Instead, I found myself amidst chaos. At the time it’s what I wanted. I wanted to ignore what had happened. I wanted to forget, if only for nano seconds at a time. David got involved, played the Wii and other games. I could tell he was relieved by the distraction. But now, now when I look back it seems weird and wrong. It seems like two different days. We had a baby, he was dead…life went on. And I didn’t want it to. I don’t want it to. I hate that one of my shows was on TV that day (which we recorded and watched last night), I hate that I still had a birthday to celebrate, I hate that I still had to eat. I hate that even though there is no more baby, I still bleed, my breast still got their milk, and they still flow with the life of a baby that I never got to share it with. I hate that his clothes still sit in a basket in my room. I hate that there was a book mark on the seventh month in my pregnancy book. I hate that there is a pregnancy magazine still sitting in Aubrey’s room. I hate that I still have to take my vitamins and an antibiotic to keep my body from getting an infection from something I love so dearly. I hate that I still have to go back to the wretched hospital for my follow up, and see the doctor who shattered my entire world. I hate that I want another baby and I want HIM now! I hate God. I hate that I can’t stop crying, and that I feel like everyone is looking at me, like I have some terrible disease that I am trying to hide. I hate that when I say “my children” I feel like I may puke. I hate that I can’t stop crying. I hate that I don’t know what David thinks of me anymore, what he see’s when he looks at me. I hate that I am so filled with such hatred.
The night before last I woke up in the middle of the night. I couldn’t go back to sleep, as usual. David was finally getting some sleep, and I knew he didn’t want to be bothered with me. I think he just needs me to leave him be sometimes. I grabbed one of the onsies that was intended for Logan sitting in a laundry basket by my bed. It was so soft. It smelled nice. I held it against my face until morning. I could tell that David was concerned when he was it in the morning, but I just needed to feel like Logan was with me. I miss him with a ferocity I have never known. Every night I beg God to give him back. Every morning I wake up disappointed all over again. I keep hoping, praying that this is all just the most horrible nightmare ever. But it’s not. It’s all very real, and permanent and I will never feel my little Logan move again, I will never see his tiny precious little face and all of the fantasies and dreams I had for him are all just a cruel reminder.
We took back the double stroller that we bought just days before his birth. I sat in the car and cried. None of this is fair, and I am trying so hard to believe that God was saving my little baby when he took him away. But I can’t figure out why God won’t/didn’t stop or change the things that were trivial. Like, why didn’t he stop us from buying that stroller? Why couldn’t it have been out of stock? Why was it on sale?
My cousin sent me a word art print that she made for Logan. It has the verse 2 Samuel 12:23 “He shall not return to me, but I shall go to him.” I loved seeing his name in print. I loved the verse. Something so trivial, that had such a profound impact on me.
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