"You get what you pay for, but I just had no intention of living this way." -Counting Crows

Why We're Here...

My husband David and I delivered a stillborn Baby Boy that we loved, and wanted. Our first and only son, Logan, had Down Syndrome. Our daughter's smile is a little light in the darkness. She turned one year old three days after our sweet Logan tip-toed away on January 24, 2009. After 2 1/2 years we found out we were having another baby, whom we affectionatly called Rudy. Just shy of 6 weeks we found out Rudy was Ectopic. Rudy was surgically removed on May 26, 2011 delivering another blow to our already broken hearts.

Can't you see my sign??

Today I feel like I got hit by a Mack Truck.
I’ve too much to deal with in my own heart.
I seriously can not take the drama of others.
People may be injured.
Don’t I have a sign above my head that screams “NOT NOW!” in neon?
You can’t see it?
I see it.

I hate everything...

I hate that I am scrapbooking my son.
I hate that I have so few memories of Logan.
I hate that I only took pictures of my belly once.
I hate that I refer to everything in life as “before Logan” or “after Logan”.
I hate that I seem to be an after thought.
I hate that I feel so unloved by my father.
I hate that my sister is just like my dad.
I hate that people think I want to be left alone.
I hate that I don’t even know my best friend anymore.
I hate that people are so oblivious to their own actions.
I hate that I hurt this bad.
I hate that people make me cry.
I hate feeling vulnerable.
I hate crying.
I hate feeling so overwhelmed.
I hate that my son is dead.
I hate that I have to say that my son is dead.
I hate that people feel uncomfortable about my baby.
I hate that I feel like I wear a sign that says “My baby died!”
I hate drama.
I hate chaos.
I hate that my dog sheds so much.
I hate that my house is a pig pen.
I hate that I feel like a failure as a wife.
I hate that I feel like a failure as a woman.
I hate that “he” just doesn’t get it.
I hate having to explain myself.
I hate liars.
I hate that my basement leaks water.
I hate that I get so stressed out that I get headaches.
I hate that Logan had Down Syndrome.
I hate that I feel so useless.
I hate that I feel so helpless.
I hate that I am so scared.
I hate wondering if God is real.
I hate wondering if Heaven is real.
I hate wondering if I’ll get in.
I hate that I want to go to Heaven just to see my son, and so that I don’t burn in Hell.
I hate that I question God’s existence.
I hate that I let people take advantage of me.
I hate that people actually do that.
I hate feeling like I have to defend myself.
I hate that I defend and rationalize everyone else.
I hate that I feel so alone.
I hate that I don’t have any real friends.
I hate that I try so hard.
I hate that I’m lazy.
I hate to clean.
I hate to cook.
I hate that I am so full of anger.
I hate that I am so full of hatred.
I hate that I can’t express myself when I talk.
I hate that I am a coward.
I hate dealing.
I hate confrontation.
I hate that I only have one child, when I know I should have two.
I hate that I have so many bad memories.
I hate that I don’t understand.
I hate that this happened to me.
I hate that babies die.
I hate that I my baby died.
I hate the unfairness.
I hate feeling like I deserved my son more than others deserve their kids.
I hate that I don’t know what to do with all of these emotions.
I hate that I don’t feel like I matter.
I hate that the people around me don’t realize how bad they hurt me.
I hate that I allow myself to feel hurt.
I hate feeling like I can’t cope any more.

Remembering a poem by Elizabeth Dent

I stole this off of Barb's blog! Thanks for postinig it Barb...you're right...it does say it all:

by Elizabeth Dent

Go ahead and mention my child,
The one who died you know.
Don't worry about hurting me further,
The depth of my pain doesn't show.
Don't worry about making me cry.
I'm already crying inside.
Help me to heal by releasing
The tears that I try to hide.
I'm hurt when you just keep silent,
Pretending he didn't exist.
I'd rather you mention my child,
Knowing that he has been missed.
You asked me how I was doing.
I say "pretty good" or "fine."
But healing is something ongoing.
I feel it will take a lifetime.

Barbs blog: http://barbaraboucher.blogspot.com

A little handprint

This is my sweet Logan's handprint. His tiny hand left such a huge print on my heart. Everytime I see this little handprint it's almost like a little wave from my son. I thought I would share some physical evidence of his existance for the first time.

Hi baby boy!! [mommy waves back]

Get some real problems!!

I keep going back to a comment my sister said to me back during the summer during a pretty heated argument. She told me to “get some real problems”. She didn’t know it at the time, but I was just pregnant with Logan. I keep thinking about her words. I know she didn’t mean anything by them other than at the time she felt like my life was perfect and hers was full of problems. But the thing is, my life was perfect. I really didn’t have any problems. I had a beautiful daughter, a great husband, a nice home, a dog, decent health…I didn’t have any real problems. Occasionally my basement leaks, the cars need minor repairs…you know, everyday sort of common problems that everyone has. And now all I can think about is that I have a huge problem. My son died. And those words echo through my obsessive mind everyday. “Get some real problems”…and then I did.

A month later...

Logan should be a month old now. At least his birth took place a month ago. He shouldn’t have even been here until May. It such an odd thought to have. I should have a thirteen month old, and a one month old today. I think this day is hitting me hard because I remember hitting my stride with my daughter at about a month. We were in our routine, I knew what to do and what to expect. We’d even made it through a scary trip to the ER and a cold. So today I kept thinking about how we’d all be hitting our stride with Logan around here. Aubrey would be getting used to sharing Mommy, Kaida (our dog) wouldn’t be so curious about the new bundle, Daddy and I would be working in synch with a newborn and a toddler. Of course, those are the thoughts I’d have in a perfect world. A world where Logan wasn’t four months premature, a world where my son was perfectly made and not handicapped, a world where my precious baby was still alive. And when I stop to think of all of these things I feel that familiar anger creeping back in. I wonder how long this stage, the anger stage, of grief will stick around. I took a few minutes out this morning to look at Logan’s pictures and talk to him. I’m getting good at keeping the tears under control. But when I picked up his little blanket bundle this morning, I couldn’t help it. It’s like they came out of nowhere. I didn’t even see them coming. But the bundle felt so familiar in my arms, just the perfect size. And I remembered!! I remembered how he felt in my arms for those few short moments. I remembered his tiny body, his warmth, the sadness, the curiosity and the crippling fear and grief. Luckily, I had a busy day planned. I took Aubrey to her first play date this morning. And ironically met a woman about the same age who had three miscarriages, her last also having a Trisomy issue. What are the odds? Pretty good obviously. Odds don’t do a whole lot for me nowadays. She just kept saying how she knew that God was doing what was best for her. And I found myself feeling odd towards her. Isn’t it natural to be angry and sad and confused? Why was she denying these natural and normal feelings? And I selfishly thought that her opinion didn’t matter because she’d never given birth to a dead baby. But I know that wasn’t fair either. I know that loss is loss and I wouldn’t want anyone to feel like I didn’t experience an enormous loss because my baby died at 6 months gestation instead of full term or after he had been born. Maybe she’s in denial. Maybe the distance of three years and two children helps her. Maybe she doesn’t remember how she felt; maybe she was putting on a brave face. I don’t know. She went on to have two boys. She told me that when I had another baby I would heal. I just don’t get it. I just felt like she didn’t get it. But, that’s part of talking to strangers. You don’t know them; you don’t know how they communicate. I enjoyed the play date though. I enjoyed talking to other mommies and watching Aubrey interact with other children for what sadly is the first time. After that I drove out to the jewelers and picked out the new ring I wanted to get in memory of Logan. It isn’t at all what I originally wanted. I had wanted a band with a garnet (his birthstone) in it and his name engraved on the top, perhaps with a sentiment on it. The jeweler couldn’t do that. So I settled for an elegant diamond and garnet Past Present and Future ring. It has a diamond a garnet and a diamond. But, when I looked at it my thought was there’s me (my birthstone is a diamond), just me, before Logan…then there’s Logan, and then just me again. It seemed fitting, before, during and after. I think I will still buy the name ring I wanted originally. I found a few places online that do the lazar engraving that I wanted. Anyhow, aside from being active today, since I think if I’d have sat home I’d have dwelled, I couldn’t get out of my funk. All day my mind kept going back to the fact that I shouldn’t be doing any of the things I was doing today. I should be home. I should be nursing my newborn, burping my newborn, cuddling my newborn. I should be trying to juggle Aubrey and my newborn. I should be telling Aubrey to be sweet and teach her how to touch Logan properly. I should be doing so many things that I’m not, and not doing so many things that I am. I hate that feeling. I hate feeling like I’m living a parallel life, or someone else’s life. I hate that my life isn’t what, just a month ago, I thought it was going to be. I know that life never turns out the way we plan, I get that. But who could have ever imagined it being this different? I can now. Chances are if you’re reading this it’s because you can also. And I hate that too. I miss my son. I miss feeling him. I miss knowing he’s on his way. I miss worrying about the little things that now seem so insignificant. I miss the idea of having a son. I miss the innocence I used to have.

4 weeks and a stupid box!

It’s been four weeks. That feels like an eternity ago, but seems like it should feel like yesterday. I’ve been trying to spend the afternoon scrapbooking Logan. I don’t know why it takes me so long to do a page for him. Just figuring out what paper I want to use for the background seems like an event that takes me hours to complete. Maybe it’s dread. Maybe it’s because I know there are only so many pages I could scrapbook about his short existence, so I’m dragging it out. I don’t know it’s frustrating though. I don’t know what I am feeling today. Grief does that to me, leaves me in a constant state of confusion about my emotions. I haven’t cried today. Not yet anyway. I cried a little yesterday as I was updating his journal. I hate that I have to speak these words. I hate that I have to write words about my son and his death. It’s not right. Even when I feel like I’ve gotten a hold on the anger, it wiggles its way back into my heart and I find myself angry at the universe again. THIS SHOULDN’T HAVE HAPPENED!! My son should still be nestled safely in my belly, growing perfectly, growing healthy. I should still be excited with the anticipation of his arrival in May. I should still be complaining about being fat and sore and hungry and tired. I should still be planning and arranging and decorating and shopping. But I’m not. We finally put all of the things that were meant for Logan into storage this past week. The only evidence that he was supposed to be here is that sweet little box, which some volunteer made, that contains the gut wrenching few items that belonged to Logan (after he’d flown away of course) and the tear stains on my face. That’s it. I hate that I have to go through life now with only that stupid little box. I hate that I don’t have my son. It pisses me off! It pisses me off that Logan had Down Syndrome. I’m too young, he was my son! Not MY son!! Not us! And all I have is this stupid freakin’ box!

Probably wouldn't be this way...

I know this song is supposed to be about a husband...but I found myself relating to it today (except for the date part of course, the stuff in red). I find myself doing a lot of this lately. It seems like every break up song in the world reminds me of loosing Logan. Every sad song, every love song, every angry song... But with out Logan...I probably would be this way!

Probably Wouldn't Be This Way
-LeAnn Rimes

Got a date a week from Friday with the preacher's son
Everybody says he's crazy but I'll have to see
I finally moved to Jackson When the summer came
I won't have to pay that boy to rake my leaves
I'm probably going on and on
It seems I'm doing more of that these days


I probably wouldn't be this way
I probably wouldn't hurt this bad
I never pictured every minute without you in it
Oh, you left so fast
Somtimes I see you standing there
Sometimes it's like I'm losing touch
Sometimes feel that I'm so lucky
To have had the chance to love this much
So God, give me a moment's grace
Cause if I never see your face
I probably wouldn't be this way

Mama says, that I just shouldn't speak to you
Susan says, that I should just move on
You oughtta see the way these people look at me
When they see me round here talking to this stone
Everybody thinks I've lost my mind
But I just take it day by day


I probably wouldn't be this way
I probably wouldn't hurt this bad
I never pictured every minute without you in it
Oh, you left so fast
Somtimes I see you standing there
Sometimes I feel an angels touch
Sometimes I feel that I'm so lucky
To have had the chance to love this much
So God, give me a moment's grace
Cause if I never see your face
I probably wouldn't be this way
I probably wouldn't be this way

Got a date a week from Friday With the preacher's son
Everybody says I'm crazy Guess I'll have to see.

Even if my brain is convinced it's for the best, my heart still screams "NO!"

Time is an odd bird. These last few days have been an interesting mix of every emotion I think I could possibly conjure up. But mainly I find myself nestling down in the peace that God has offered me. Even after I found out that Logan had Down Syndrome I still felt cheated. I would have taken a Logan with Downs over a dead Logan. I still feel that way. But I never really knew much about DS before this. I’ve done some research online about DS and was horrified at the problems that people with DS have to overcome. I didn’t realize that DS came with so many other diseases and health problems, not just the mental retardation. I now realize that Logan’s life would have been fraught with hardship, pain and illness and though people try to sugar coat it and like to believe that children with DS can go on to have fulfilling lives, it really is no way for anyone to have to live. I guess Logan’s life would have been even harder than I could have imagined, and God saved my little boy. (The song by Craig Morgan “God Must Really Love Me” is playing right now…ironic since I haven’t been feeling like God gave a crap about me lately.) So, I am trying to find peace in God’s decision to have mercy on Logan, even if it broke my heart beyond repair. I would have never wanted my little baby to have had such a hard life. Love is such a contradiction. Letting go because it’s what was best for Logan, even if I so wanted my baby. But today is better than yesterday, or the day before, or the day before that. I still cry, I cry for Logan’s hardship in what should have been the safe haven of my body, I cry that I didn’t get a chance to know him or let him know my love, I cry for hopes and dreams I can’t even fathom anymore, and I cry because that’s the only expression of love I know for my little boy. Knowing my little boy really is better off with God, if that’s the way he felt it was to be, doesn’t make my heart ache any less, doesn’t make me miss Logan any less…I guess it must be a lot like having to take someone off of life support…except that God was gracious enough to me to not have had to make that horrible decision. The decision that your brain is telling you is the right thing to do, when your heart is screaming “NO!” Though my brain is really trying hard to hang onto the logical aspect, and it’s trying so hard to convince my heart that this was meant to be and Logan is better off with Christ, my selfish and anguished heart still screams “NO!”

A Man in Grief

It must be very difficult to be a man in grief,
Since "men don't cry" and "men are strong" no tears can bring relief.
It must be very difficult to stand up to the test
And field calls and visitors so she can get some rest.
They always ask if she's all right And what she's going through,
But seldom take his hand and ask, "My friend, but how are you?"
He hears her crying in the night And thinks his heart will break.
He dries her tears and comforts her, But "stays strong" for her sake.
It must be very difficult To start each day anew
And try to be so very brave-- He lost his baby too.
~Eileen Knight Hagemeister~

We Thought of You With Love Today

We thought of you with love today, but that is nothing new.
We thought about you yesterday, and days before that too.
We think of you in silence, we often speak your name;
All we have now are memories, and your picture in a frame.
Your memory is our keepsake,with which we will never part;
God has you in his keep, we have you in our heart.
It broke our heart to lose you. But you didn't go alone,
For a part of us went with you...the day God took you home.
~Author Unknown~

Why God Takes the Little Ones

Why God takes the little ones
I swear I'll never know
You had so much life to live
It just wasn't time to go.
For comfort, now, I think of you
With tiny little wings
Up above, in a beautiful place,
listening to angels sing.
You'll never know the pain I feel
The hurt you left behind.
Oh, what I wouldn't give
to hold you one more time.
I carried you in my womb,
Then I carried you in my arms
And now, until it no longer beats
I'll carry you in my heart
~Author Unknown~

Logan had Downs Syndrome

Tuesday, February 17, 2009

Logan had Downs Syndrome. I went for a follow up OB appointment today and that was the news David and I heard. Man, I can not even begin to put into words the feelings and emotions and thoughts that have been swirling around in my head all day. I felt a huge weight lift off of me when the nurse told us. I don’t know what that weight was. My initial reaction was disbelief. I’m thirty-one! Then I was cynical, because of course my baby would have Downs! I mean why not? Anyone who knows me knows that I “get” the weirdest stuff, so why not this too. Because, after all, that’s my kind of luck! Then relief, relief that it wasn’t something that could have been prevented (and wasn’t because of my neglect or the stupidity of my doctors), relief that Logan wasn’t in pain, relief that the odds of it happening again are 1% (a tad higher than if I hadn’t have had a DS baby previously, and my doc said he’d never seen a woman have 2 DS babies), relief that the doc feels I should go ahead and have more children, relief that my husband agrees, relief that it’s not something genetic that could show up in my daughter or be passed down through her to her kids, relief that it wasn’t something weird and obscure…lots of relief. And with that I feel guilty, lots of guilt. I’m not sure what I feel guilty about. But I feel guilt non-the-less. But I will say that knowing now what happened (I’m one of those people who NEED to know the details of everything) gives me a sense of peace. Perhaps it’s the peace I feel that makes me feel guilty. It’s not ok that Logan died, even if he did have Downs Syndrome, even if the general population would think I was “better off” to have him die than to raise a baby with such a huge handicap. Maybe I feel guilty because I’m afraid that deep down I might feel that way too. I don’t know. I don’t know what I am feeling other than a rush of incomprehensible emotions that are slamming into me one after another. I still lost my son; even if he was physically and mentally retarded, he was still my son. I lost all of my dreams for him, dreams that wouldn’t have come true anyhow being his condition, but I had those dreams for him anyway. I will never be able to look at a little boy and think “oh that’s what my little Logan would be like now” because Logan wouldn’t be like that, he’d be a little boy with Downs and in a totally different developmental stage. I won’t be able to wonder if Logan will look like his daddy, because though he would have features he would still have the Downs “look” about him. And that makes me sad too. I found comfort in those thoughts, thoughts about Logan being just like his daddy and looking like his daddy. Now I feel like I was robbed of those day dreams. I don’t know. I don’t know how much of it really matters in the grand scheme of it all. And I’m scared of what others will think and say and feel. I’m afraid to hear someone say “oh well, it was probably for the best since he had Downs” or “well aren’t you relieved you don’t have to raise a retarded baby?” I don’t want people to think I’m better off that he died so that I wouldn’t have to have a child with such a handicap. Because I don’t know that I’m “better off” now. I mean, lots of people with DS go on to have semi-normal lives. There are varying degrees of DS. I don’t know how bad Logan’s was. Obviously he had some major health issues because they killed him. Sigh, I just feel confused and now I feel very protective of Logan and the memory of him. I feel relieved that I KNOW what happened to him and that it isn’t likely to happen again, but I am so sad that he had such a problem. Anyhow, the doctor said we need to wait a minimum of 6 months before we try to conceive again. The “experts” recommend a year for emotional healing. I’d like to think that I want another baby. I’d like to think that I wouldn’t be a panicked stressed out mess during my next pregnancy since the likely hood of having another Downs baby is relatively small. Although the little voice in my head keeps reminding me that it was an even smaller chance before and it happened to Logan. I’d like to club the little person that produces that voice! I’d like to think that I’m not trying to replace Logan. I’ve somehow gotten it into my head that perhaps God will give me Logan again, his spirit, in another baby. Like the body was bad, so we’re starting over. And the logical part of me knows that is so unfair to the next baby, but the heart part of me, the one that wants my little Logan back, wants to believe that God gives everyone a second try…even spirits whose original bodies didn’t work out. But that’s like reincarnation, and I don’t believe in reincarnation. It’s odd what the heart wants to feel that goes totally against what the mind wants to believe. I can’t get the two inline, I haven’t been able to since Logan left me. On an upside I suppose that my anger at God greatly diminished today. In fact I feel a little foolish in his sight. There I go thinking I know what’s up with God again. I was so angry. I felt betrayed. Like God had pointed a finger at me and singled me out, like he was trying to teach me a lesson in the most horrible way possible. I felt like it was a drive by shooting, just a random act of violence against me and my very soul. Now, now I really do believe that God saved my little Logan from a life of suffering. Saved David and I and Aubrey from a life of heartache watching our little Logan struggle and suffer. My cousin’s little girl was born still seven years ago. She said this to me “Sometimes their quality of life is not worth it and God knows what he is doing.” And that really sunk in deep into my heart today. Logan’s quality of life wasn’t worth God giving him up to me. God knew what he was doing even if I didn’t. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still confused, and angry and sad that God would give me Logan in the first place if he knew that Logan was going to die before I even met him. Why that month? Why that egg? Only God creates life, and he chose to create it that month using that egg. I’ll never understand that. And knowing that God knew what he was doing doesn’t take the hurt away, but I guess it makes it a little more tolerable. I feel very confused right now. I’m not sure which way to go or how to feel. Logan was not meant for this world. A new friend I made in blog land who also lost her little girl in December has this quote written on her MySpace page “An Angel in the Book of Life wrote down our babies birth…and whispered as she closed the book “too beautiful for earth!” I love it. I’d like to think that Logan was too beautiful for this place. My sweet little angel. Oh, but it doesn’t make the pain go away. I had hoped that it would. Silly girl. I’m not sure why people say “try again…” like I screwed it up in the first place. Like my trying would yield different results. Like trying again would give me back the son I lost. There is no trying again. Logan was a one time shot. I tried, and he didn’t make it to me. The next try will be for a different baby, not Logan, as much as my heart wants it to be so. So trying again doesn’t solve a stinkin’ thing! Why do people say that? I will still feel like some one is missing. I will still feel a hole in my heart. I will still feel an immense sorrow for the son I had and so quickly lost. But I’m hoping that the small amount of peace I have today isn’t just shock. I’m hoping it’s a sign that I can survive this horror that has become my life as of late. That every day will get a little easier to be alive in, that I will feel alive again. That I won’t be afraid to have hopes and dreams, that I won’t continue to be afraid that God is hiding around the corner waiting to jump out at me. But I get mad, because I don’t want to see the good in any of this. There isn’t any good in my son dying. I don’t want to try and pretend there is. I don’t want to think that God gave us Logan to pull us closer together, or to teach us a lesson. None of those things reassures me or brings me comfort. I’m trying to just think of it as the luck of the draw. I drew the short straw that month. It was a fluke, a bad egg, a bad month. Sigh. This sucks. The moment I feel some light shinning is the moment it all caves in on me. None of the knowledge, hope, peace or reassurance in the world changes the fact that I had a little boy, and he died, and I will forever feel like there is a huge chunk of my soul missing.

Exercise and the obvious hole!

Monday, February 16, 2009

I love waking up to sunshine and a child who isn’t crying from her crib. Ugh, I love my daughter, and I love the sound of my daughter…but waking up every morning to crying…it gets old. So, she wasn’t crying this morning, and I got to sleep just a few minutes longer than normal, which I really need right now. Yesterday was a little rough. Off and on all day I was blue. We put Logan’s clothing into storage and folding the tiny boy outfits I picked out special for him just a day or so before he died took its toll on me. Plus, I realized I’d gained 5lbs this week. I am so good at nutrition when I am pregnant, but when I am not…whew! And the last few weeks I just didn’t give a crap. But the 5lbs really bummed me out. I only gained 6lbs while pregnant with Logan, and lost it all after his birth. Anyhow, so today I started exercising again. “They” say its good to start exercising after a loss. It releases endorphins or whatever. So, I’m giving it a shot. And of course, since I’m going to exercise, no point in undoing the physical benefits with junk food, so I’m gonna stop eating like an idiot. Besides, I would like to be in good shape if and when I am able to ever start trying to conceive again. And my daughter needs me to be healthy, mentally and physically so that I can keep up with her and be the mom that she deserves. And don’t get me started on my hubby. LORD!! The man started loosing weight last May and is a force to be reckoned with. Plus, I could use all the good feelings I can get right now, and getting muscles and loosing weight has always made me feel good about myself. This pudgy, dimply body I see in the mirror now doesn’t do a thing for improving my self worth.

I feel like two people. Not like split personalities or anything weird, just like I am two different people. At one moment I am a grieving Mother to two children and I don’t feel like I can cope. I don’t want to cope. I want to lay around and think of my sweet Angel baby; who he would have been, what he would have looked like… Then the next minute I’m a mother of one, I go through my day raising my sweet daughter, thinking of her future, who she will be, what she will look like, how I will raise her to be a great woman. I laugh at her antics (like escaping from her play area that I have gated off), I swell with pride at the majesty of her brain, and I’m deeply satisfied with the chance I have to be a mother. I clean and make dinner (ok, only occasionally…but I’m working on it!), I email friends, I talk on the phone, I watch my shows and I scrapbook like there’s nothing in the world wrong. But he’s always there, lingering in the back of my mind, memories waiting to sneak up on me. Sigh, I miss that little boy so bad! I feel guilty that I can’t “be happy that I have one” that the satisfaction I once had is only in fleeting moments now, instead of all of the time. I want to be happy with what I have, and not yearn for what I loss. But how is that possible? I had a son!! I HAD him! And then I lost him (which I hate saying because I didn’t loose him!). And now I am afraid I will never be content with what I have. It’s just not right. It’s obvious that there is something missing now. You can’t miss what you never had, so prior to Logan’s conception I was happy with just having a daughter. But knowing that there should be a little boy in this house leaves a gaping and obvious hole and I don’t like it. I don’t like the hole one bit.

Solitude and Isolation

Solitude is a weird thing. I never realized how isolated one could feel. But I feel so isolated since Logan’s birth/death. His “Angel Day” as I have read it being called. I guess it’s supposed to take the sting out when we say it? Maybe it’s because it sounds prettier than the event really is, and therefore we feel like it wasn’t so bad? Can you sugar coat the loss of your child? I think this is about as ugly as it gets. Why do we tip-toe around it? I don’t know. I’ve been trying not to immerse myself in the grief of other’s, but sadly that is where I find most of my comfort. I find comfort in knowing that I’m not alone, that other women have been neck deep in this stinking pit of despair, and eventually climbed out. It gives me hope that one day I’ll be able to look at the things that I intended to be Logan’s and not feel angry, sad, confused…or at the very least not cry. I’ll probably always have some degree of anger, I’m sure I’ll always be sad about it and I’m sure I will always be confused since I doubt God is planning on sending me an email any time soon on his reasons for taking my son back. Men just don’t grieve the way woman do. I wear it on my sleeve. Men, they don’t like to talk about it, they don’t like to be reminded, and dwell and ponder and ask why over and over and over again. And other than the “man” in my shoes here at home, who’ve I to talk to? Who’d even possibly begin to understand unless they’ve been here? I don’t really know anyone else. No one I could possibly feel comfortable talking to. And that, that makes me feel isolated. When people have a baby they talk endlessly about it, they share labor horror stories, they talk about the burps and farts of their tiny bundles. No one wants to hear about my story. People like to go through life not being reminded of the ugly things. I should know, I’m one of those people. So, I don’t talk about Logan the way I do Aubrey. I don’t tell the clerk at the store about his tiny little feet. I don’t tell the mother behind me in line about his tiny little lips. I keep all of those little tidbits to myself. I smile and act interested when they talk to me. But I’m not. I don’t want to hear about their perfect little pregnancies, their perfect little births and their perfect little babies. Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy as a Lark for them. I’d glad that there are healthy babies being born every minute of every day. But, it just reminds me of what I don’t have. I don’t have my little baby boy.

A poem for Logan

I wrote this for Logan's Scapbook:

Sweet baby, you tip-toed in and out so quietly, your life but a whisper in this world. Such a tiny hand that left an enormous imprint on this heart. My first son, how quickly we did part. A lifetime of love I have for you, now trapped in this heart that breaks a million times each day. Your eyes; a beauty I’ll never see, your cries; music for no ones ears and your smile is for God alone to enjoy. Sweet baby, you tip-toed in and out so quietly, but your life was no whisper in Mommy’s world.

It's been a bad week

Thursday, February 12, 2009

I’m having a bad week, a really bad week. I just needed a break. My nerves are beyond shot. You think that God would see that I have enough to handle and perhaps shield me from the stupid little things that are making me feel like my head may explode at any minute. I have a headache. I’ve had a headache it seems most days since Logan was born, since Logan died. I wake up feeling like I’ve been bulldozed in my sleep. I know I’m under an enormous amount of stress, but it doesn’t seem to help, the fact that I know. Aubrey gives me happiness and hope beyond measure, but she’s going through a phase of serious neediness and separation anxiety and communication frustration that makes it hard for me to cope with every day life. I don’t get a break to pee, to eat or to mourn. Most people would think that would be a good thing, that it would keep me busy and my mind off of Logan. But the reality of it is that it just adds to it. Her constant hollering and crying of late frustrate me and overwhelm me and push me to the edge. I find comfort in her, and yet I find a great deal of frustration and stress that I just could do with out at this moment; which brings me to the massive amount of guilt I am having about it all. I feel guilty that I can’t love and enjoy every minute of my daughter. That she makes me mad and frustrated. I’m not always mad, or always frustrated but I keep thinking that I have such a short time with her, and it makes me sad that I find myself wishing for a moment with out her, looking forward to nap and bed times.

So much for that!

I just couldn’t shake the sadness last night. For hours I cried. Now today I’m exhausted. So much for no tears. So much for trying to move on. So much for dwelling on happy things and trying to forget the pain. So much for that.

I don't want to forget.

Monday, February 09, 2009

Perhaps he just wants to forget. Forget it ever happened, forget that his son was more like a morning mist, lingering for just a moment and then drifting away…as if it never were. Perhaps his forgetting would make it easier on him, help him to cope with the horror of it. I don’t want to forget. I want to tell everyone that I had a little boy once whose name was Logan and he had beautiful lips. I want the world to know that I have two children. I feel so alone and empty. I still feel his kicking every night. I lay there in bed at night and I rub my now empty fleshy stomach where my son once was, and it’s a cruel reminder that he’s gone. That the kicking I feel is no more than ghost pains. I can not fathom the reality that is mine. I can not accept that my child is no longer coming in May. He was here, and now he is gone. I can not grasp that life slips by so easily. I can not for the life of me understand why this loving God, everyone is so quick to remind me of, chose to give and then take away so hastily. I have so many tears for my little boy, so much heart ache and yearning that I have such a hard time even comprehending as my own feelings. I’m still bewildered. I keep hoping maybe I’ll gain some truth and understanding of it all, but I’m afraid to even search for the answers. I’m terrified of the prospect of not having more children, and I’m even more terrified of loosing more. Why? Why me, why us, why our son Lord? I was a good Mommy. I wanted that little boy with all of my heart, even in the midst of my terror at having two children so young and close in age. Why not take someone’s little boy who isn’t wanted? Why my little boy? Why leave me with such a gaping wound that I can’t fill, that my beloved can’t fill? Why leave me with so much pain that I am afraid of my own bed? The pain creaps up on me at night. I lay there and dream, and wish, and remember every tiny morsel of that precious baby. I cruise through my days shoving every thought of Logan to the deep recesses of my mind so that I may enjoy my daughter, enjoy my husband and enjoy the other things in life. And every night I am reminded of what I lost.

I need to hear you say you won’t forget, that you don’t want to forget. I need to know that others won’t forget my son either. A son they never met. I need more love than I think there is on this earth, like if I was smothered by it perhaps it would smother the sadness too. How do you beg for someone else to make your pain go away? How do you explain to the other side of your heart that you need him to make it better, especially when you know he’s in the trenches with you? I’d hide inside of your skin if I could. Don’t lay with your back to me. Touch me, tell me we’ll get through this together because I honestly just don’t know. I need so many hugs, so many ‘I love you’ caresses, words and looks. I need to know you feel it too, that it’s not just me who lost a son. Tell me how you let your mind be free. How you made your tears stop. How you face the night. Tell me how I’ll ever be able to live with these memories, this knowledge that a huge part of me is missing? We should be four. We were four. We have a family picture, and we are four. So why now are we three? Why does Logan feel like a lifetime ago already? How do you cope? How do you forget? I don’t want to forget. I don’t want to remember. I want my son. I want him back inside of me growing and healthy and being impatiently awaited by this family. I want to feel his kicking, real kicks. I want to see his alien like shape in future ultrasounds, I want to hear his tiny heart beating with life. I want to make plans and more dreams and I want them to come true. I want that bedroom to be blue and green and waiting for Logan to grow up in it. I want to feel that innocent perfection that my life held just a few short weeks ago. I’m tired of the crushing sadness. I’m tired of the emptiness that only a mother can feel after the life she had growing in her suddenly ceases to exist. I’m tired. I’m sad. I’m lonely. I’m empty. I miss my son with everything that I am, and I didn’t even get to know him. I bet he’d have been smart like his daddy. I bet he’d have had the same sandy blond curls. I bet he’d have been sarcastic, and impish, and inquisitive and full of laughter and up to no good. I bet he’d have bounced when he walked. I bet he’d have loved me like only a boy can love his mommy. I bet he’d have been tough, and had his daddy’s smile. He would have loved fishing, and Lego’s and being dirty. He would have wanted to be just like his daddy. My heart shatters with these dreams. I will never know who my son would have been, I can only dream. And what good is a dream other than to bring more sadness to my aching heart?

Trying to move on...

Sunday, February 08, 2009

Two days down, no tears. That’s got to be something.

Today I took down all of the sympathy cards and through out all of the dead and dying flowers that everyone was so kind to send. It’s been two weeks. And though two weeks seems like a flash in the pan, the day we lost Logan seems like a lifetime ago, certainly not two weeks ago. I couldn’t take the dead flowers anymore. I couldn’t take staring at the cards with there sad words. My brain wants to forget we lost a son. My heart won’t. It lingers there, the sadness, the emptiness that I always feel now. Like hunger, or that odd feeling you’ve forgotten something. I can’t explain it, but there is a spot that aches and is empty. I assume its Logan’s spot, the spot that would be filled with the memories of holding his newborn body while I nursed him or the spot that would be filled with the scent of his baby skin and hair. Or, the spot that would be filled with the sound of his crying and his sighs. Whatever it is, I think it’s Logan’s special spot. One I put aside for him six months ago when we found out we were being blessed with a son. But I can’t mix it back in with the rest of me. So, I guess I’ll always have that empty spot where Logan was supposed to have been.

So much for no tears.

I’ve been trying to scrapbook Aubrey’s life as well as what little I have of Logan for a week or so now. But, I sit at my desk and stare. I stare at the scraps left from the last time I was working on a page, things still strewn about my desk. It makes me remember that not that long ago I was sitting here in blissful ignorance, happily plugging away at preserving memories. Ugh, it makes me sick to my stomach. Logan has a scrapbook. David and I bought it for him a few weeks before his birth. When we saw it sitting on the shelf we both wanted that one at the same time. That’s Logan’s scrapbook. It still is. I’ll still fill it with memories of the few short months he lived in my belly, and even some of the memories I have of his birth and death. The sad thing is, I was making the scrapbooks for each child to have as mementoes of their own childhood. And now, Logan’s will stay tucked away in the bookcase next to my personal scrapbook. All I wanted to do was immerse myself in the hobby that I so deeply enjoy, and try to forget my sorrow for a little while, but just sitting at this desk makes me sad.

A break through and mocha!

I had a break through. Yesterday was the first day I didn’t cry. I thought about Logan. I thought about him a lot. We had dinner with some friends, and the restaurant was filled with babies, even tiny newborn little boys. They made me feel wistful. Sad that my little boy wasn’t here, and wasn’t coming in May the way we had planned. But I didn’t cry, and I didn’t hate that new mother.

I’ve been trying very hard to find the good in my days, to appreciate the things that I can do and have that I haven’t been able to enjoy in almost two years. They don’t take the place of Logan, and they don’t make me feel better about his loss, but its a little happiness in my day. I love Mocha. I love the smell of coffee and chocolate on a cold day, and I love to drink it. I try very hard not to drink caffeine while I am pregnant or breastfeeding. So, yesterday I had a mocha. I love a good drink on occasion. I love a little buzz and the warmth sliding down my throat. I haven’t had a drop since my 29th birthday…almost two years ago! I missed sleeping on my stomach. Even while breastfeeding I couldn’t sleep on my stomach, although admittedly it feels weird and uncomfortable now, but that’s not the point. Steak!! I haven’t had steak yet, but I can if I want. I love medium rare steak! No undercooked meat or eggs you know, oh, which brings me to eggs, over medium! And subs, deli meat and cheese, feta cheese and my favorite Bleu Cheese! I can have that now too! Sigh. Ok, I tried. But honestly it kind of made me sad to list all of those things. They’re just not the same anymore. Even when I did drink the mocha yesterday, I thought of Logan and how I shouldn’t be drinking it yet because he should still be growing away happily and healthily in my belly. How it just felt off that I was drinking a mocha like any normal cold day in January. And it was just a normal plain day in January, only it shouldn’t have been. And that makes me sad.
I read this in another blog on Infant Loss and it really hit home.

With healing comes the recognition that the sorrow - the only thing you knew of your lost children - is getting easier to bear.

And while that's great from a "pick yourself up, dust yourself off and carry on with your life" perspective, it's also agonizing to know that the one thing that connects you to those children is the one thing you need to try to get past.

If you'd like to read about Kristen and her Beloved's struggle click here.

Daddy Demons

Last night was another disaster. I hate bedtime. It’s like everything I bottle up and ignore during the day comes crashing down around me at night. I feel like David is tired of me. I’m tired of me. I’m tired of my tears and my sadness. Why wouldn’t he be tired of it too? But last night my “daddy demons” came out. I’m not quite sure why, other that for the last few days I’ve been wondering why he hasn’t called me other than that first day. My son died, why doesn’t he care? But then why would he? He had a hard time even remembering I was pregnant. So for hours last night I lay in bed and decided I was going to call him and ask why he hadn’t called me, why he doesn’t care, why he doesn’t love me as much as I love my children. But this morning, I’m too drained and emotionally exhausted to tackle such a big problem. I hate confrontation. And I guess I know that if I throw those questions out there, they’d be denied, side stepped and left un-answered, probably because he doesn’t know himself. And in the end I would have left myself wide open, vulnerable and bare and for what? For a conversation to end after hours of tears and denial, to always be remembered that it occurred and yet to have nothing ever really resolved. I realized a long time ago that people like him just don’t get it. Everything is about them, their wounds, their sorrows, what someone has done to them. It’s never what they did to others. Not even their own children. So, just like every other time, I’ll stuff this back into the depths of my emotional bottle and hope it leaves me and my very fragile heart alone for a while. Because right now, right now I can only handle the tears I have for Logan. The rest will have to wait.

I'm sorry, I can't smile.

We took our little Muffin to the doctor’s yesterday which seemed silly after we left. She seemed sick to me. I mean, she is sick, but apparently not sick enough to warrant a doctor visit. So, twenty bucks later we left being told it was just a cold, and I felt stupid. I knew it was a cold. But she sounded croupy…when she did cough. And in my defense this morning she sounds worse. I don’t want to be one of those moms! I have always wanted to be the kind of mom that tells her kid to “spit on it” and so far I have been. I hug and kiss Aubrey when she’s hurt or doesn’t feel good. My insides jump when she falls, but I try hard not to react until I see her reaction. I don’t want her to cry or freak out just because I do. But lately I can’t push aside the fear that it’s only a matter of time before God takes what little bit of sunshine I have left…David and Aubrey. And so, lately I’ve been a skittish mom, jumping at every noise, checking on her a little too much. I don’t want to smother her. I don’t want to raise a wimp of a kid who is a bundle of tears. But yesterday, leaving the doctor’s office I felt like one of those moms! And to make matters worse, in the waiting room was a tiny little baby boy. I didn’t cry. I even half heartedly smiled at his mommy. But, it was one more kick in the gut, one more twist of the knife. I don’t wish what we’ve been through even on my greatest enemy. I like knowing that most babies live and are born and grow up. It gives me hope. And I know that mommy’s joy. After all, I have my little muffin, I’m a full fledge practicing mommy myself. And seeing little girls just doesn’t have the same impact as it does when I see a tiny baby boy. Would Logan look like that? Would he sound like that? Would I look like that? I smiled at her. I smiled at him. I just couldn’t stop looking. When we walked out of the office David told me to smile. I defended myself, because I did smile at her. But then he told me to smile. And try as I would have liked, I couldn’t. Not that there aren’t a million things to smile about. I mean hey, Aubrey just had a cold; we were going home and taking our muffin with us. That alone should’ve made me smile. But since Logan died, though I find small glimpses of happiness, and most often they’re in David and Aubrey’s eyes, it’s hard to smile or laugh or feel much happiness. I feel like I am betraying my daughter who is living, while at the same time betraying my son who is dead. And all the while I feel like I am betraying David by not being the light in his eyes that way he is in mine. I’m sorry Aubrey. I’m sorry Logan. I’m sorry David. I love all three of you.

What's with this sun?

Why is it that prior to Logan’s birth we had endless days of clouds. And now, it seems like every day is sunny. It seems wrong that the sun should be shinning now. Is God giving a crap about me? Maybe that’s why there is sun. Maybe the clouds would make it sadder around here…is that even possible? The bitter cold weighs it all out though. It’s like bittersweet. Deceptively warm sun…arctic air. It fit’s I suppose.

I’m ready for this year to be over, and it’s only January.

I’ve cried every day.

Super Hero

Wednesday, February 04, 2009

This morning I was dreaming I was a Super Hero, but not the Super Woman kind. I was trapped. Forced to be a Super Hero by the government or some agency. They trapped us in a room, hanging in these weird little stretchy suits until the needed us. This morning we got a new guy. Oddly enough I think it was Dr. House from TV. But we hung there in a plain white room, and into the darkness we started. I remember feeling helpless and sad, sad that I would never be able to watch Aubrey grow up because I was forced to be a Super Hero. She woke me up with her morning chatter. And my first thought was Logan, again. When will that stop? When will I wake up in the morning to hear my beautiful daughter chatting up a storm in her room waiting for mommy and think how lucky I am? I used to. Every morning I woke up feeling like the luckiest person in the world. I miss those mornings.

Last night was rough. I had a complete break down…again. I find that I am avoiding things I need to do before my memory is too clouded, but I am so tired of being sad. I’m tired of reliving every excruciating moment of Logan’s short life and quiet death. But last night I went ahead and tried to fill out more info in his Pregnancy Memoir book. And there were questions that would make any pregnant woman smile and dream…but they were so hard to answer now. And I cried and cried and cried. And I kept on crying for hours into the night about not being able to grasp any of this. I can’t get my mind around why he was given to us to begin with, and that this has actually happen. My pregnancy seems like it never was, except I remember all too well. My son seems like a memory I created, but again, I remember it all too well. I remember his warmth, his tiny little mouth and ears. I remember those dinky feet and hands, so I know it was all real. And my heart and soul ache in an enormity that assures me it was all very real. And the quick glimpses of deep sorrow on David’s face remind me that it was all very real. But my head, my head refuses to believe that such a terrible thing could have happened to us. I just can’t grasp that we had a son and he died. I just can’t, and it’s eating me up. I can’t cope with those thoughts. I don’t know what to do with these thoughts. I don’t know what to do with these memories I have of a child that never lived in this world. So I guess I do feel trapped being a Super Hero.

My little muffin is sick. Guess I’ll be a Super Hero for her.

Logan's Ring

I designed and ordered the commemorative ring David suggest I get for Logan instead of that Tattoo that came to mind. It’s a yellow and white gold band that will have his name engraved on it and tiny Garnet’s on either side of his name. I intend to wear it on my middle finger. I thought it would be hard to pick out a ring, I thought it would be too emotional. Oddly enough it wasn’t. The Jeweler is a family friend, and he did a great job of helping me design a ring; a one of a kind ring, for a one of a kind child. I made this ring special for Logan, as a permanent place in this world where his name will be since we don’t have a grave for him and therefore no grave marker or plaque. I made sure that the ring was not feminine, since my little Logan was a little man. This is for you baby boy!

I had a dream...

I saw this in another blog today:

Grief is laughing with your children and wishing for the absent one to make the circle complete. Grief is crying in your car at stoplights. Some days grief makes you brutally honest; other days, grief muzzles you. Grief reconstructs your heart. Grief is sadness, hope, smiles and tears - rolled tightly like a snowball. Grief makes you search past the stars and the moon for Heaven. Grief strips you of everything you were pretending to be. Grief gives you new priorities. Grief opens hidden treasures from deep within your soul. Grief allows you to empathize more deeply with others who ache. Grief makes you unapologetically bold. Grief is a daily companion, best dealt with by admitting you do walk with it, even after all these years. Grief is the price of love; grief is a gift.

Early on in my pregnancy with Logan I had a dream. Well, nightmare really, though at the time I remember feeling more confused than anything. I don’t remember all of the details anymore since I tried to put it out of my mind and convince myself that I was being overly dramatic and paranoid…as usual. But the gist of the dream was that I went into labor at 6 months and there was blood and lots of people and I remember thinking that no one believed I was in labor, and then Logan died. I told my mom and David about this dream when it occurred. Sadly, the day Logan was born I remembered having that dream. And here I was, 2 days shy of 6 months pregnant and Logan really was dead, and I did go into labor (even if it was induced). And around the holidays a co-worker/friend of David’s who was also pregnant and about a month behind me had a miscarriage (at about 19 weeks or so) and I kept saying that I just couldn’t imagine loosing your baby that far into the pregnancy and how horrible it was. Ironic huh? David was afraid to tell me about it, probably because I had started feeling really scared that something terrible was going to happen to Logan or that he would die. And people were dying all around us. Co-workers parents, friends from high school, old youth leaders…every week or so during the holidays we got word that someone we knew had died. And I kept thinking to myself, who’s next? Logan was. And I think I knew it! I don’t think I’m one of those people who get premonitions or whatever, but I think deep down inside I knew he was going to die. After that Wednesday when they told me there was something wrong, most would assume Downs or some deformation…but I just kept thinking he was dead. Even in the wee hours Friday morning before our appointment at the hospital I didn’t feel him move, and I tried not to concentrate on it, but I knew he was dead. David said he did too. Why would anyone who’s ever had a healthy baby and a fairly uneventful subsequent pregnancy (other than a wrongly diagnosed case of early pregnancy Placenta Previa, which turns out was a contraction!) think their baby would die? Who thinks that way? And I kept saying that to myself when I was pregnant. “Knock it off! Who thinks this way?” and it turns out I was spot on. So now I wonder if from now on I’ll always fear that my dreams are premonitions. If I am ever blessed to create another life, will I always fear that they too will die? Will I worry myself so sick that I won’t be able to conceive again, or if by grace I do will I be so worried that I’ll miscarry or hurt that new innocent life? And now I am afraid I will suffocate my daughter, and my husband. I fear her death. I keep saying nothing could ever hurt more that this, but to be honest…it happening again, or loosing Aubrey or David…I’d curl up and die.

Give me a dream, a memory...something!

I yearn so badly for a sweet dream of Logan. One that feels real, one where I see him the way he was meant to look, one that fills that gaping hole in my heart, if only briefly. I never told Logan that I loved him. Not while I held him in my arms. I want so badly to tell him that I’m sorry he couldn’t stay, that I love him desperately and helplessly and that I miss him with such a ferocity that I can barely breathe. I want to grab a hold of him and pull him close to me so that he would know; with out a doubt, that his mommy loved him so much and that she wanted him. Even if it’s a dream, I just want a memory of something. I look at David and I think “Wow! My son would have looked like that!” I look at his nose, I look at his eyes, I look at his curls and I know my son would have been just as handsome as his daddy. And it makes my heart leap, and it makes me smile. And, it makes me cry the most gut wrenching cries.

January is over

January is finally over. I'm relieved. Today wasn't as bad. I took Aubrey in to wake up daddy this morning. We laid down with him and he said "it's a parent sandwich!" I was over come with sadness when I thought that Logan should also be there. David goes back to work tomorrow. I'm scared to death to be alone. Every time I'm alone, even if he's just in the other room, I totally loose it. Worse yet, it's a really long day because of meetings he has to attend. Everything comes to head at the worse times. I'm worried about him being at work so long too. It has to be hard to go back and face everyone. People who may not have heard. People who mean well but have no idea what they are talking about. Why can't people just say they're sorry? Why do they feel the need to saying weird things like "everything happens for a reason" and what not?

Sparrow Farm Creations Memorial Prints

Songs for Logan

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