Even Mike Tyson "gets it" now!

I'm not a fan, but I saw this on Yahoo.com this evening. Mike Tyson's 4 year old daughter died. She was strangled by the treadmill cord at home, on accident. It's sickening. Children should not die!

Logan just sits there

Logan just sits there in his stupid tupperware bowl, in that stupid box. Sitting, nonchalantly, on the top of my armoire. Like one more piece of clutter. One more "thing" I don't know what to do with, or where to put. He just sits there. It makes me sad. I was in such a hurry to get him here with me. I fight the weird "crazy lady" urges to take the box down and caress it, or carry it around with me. I fight the weird "crazy lady" urges to put my hand in the bowl so that I can touch my son once again. And I feel weird just letting him sit there, like a discarded item, like the box is forgotten. It's not. I see it several times a day. Sometimes I go look at it on purpose. But I don't touch it. I don't take it down. I don't trust myself. I don't want to be a crazy lady. I think holding him, burnt to nothing but dust, would be too much for my feeble mind to handle. I think it would literally make me insane. I think it would push me over the edge of reason. I just can't bring myself to do anything with his remains. I don't want to look at urns. I don't want to have to decide. I don't want to have to ask questions, make plans...relive. I think I would like him in a nice urn, sewn inside of a teddy bear. Actually, I prefer a fish. I call my daughter Muffin, she is my little bird. I always pictured my son as a fish. A cartoon like fish, soft blue and green with big squishy cheeks. Maybe large polka dots. It seems irreverent. And an old teddy bear, made special for Logan seems more appropriate. But then what? Where do I put the Bear? In my closet, so that my daughter doesn't try to play with it? I've thought about a Niche. I've thought about burying him with a grandparent. I've thought about burying him at the base of his new tree, once it's planted. But to be honest, I just don't think I can let him leave again. I think that perhaps if he was in a bear, I could hold the bear...and not be a freak. But I still can't work up enough umph, enough courage, enough strength to get an urn. So, he sits...in his stupid bowl, in his stupid box on top of my stupid armoire...and I see him every day.

It's too bad Aubrey's little brother had to die.

I'm not a tolerant person. I never have been, but I am far worse now. And to top it all off, I'm obsessive. I was reading this from Lea's blog when it reminded me of what my husbands grandmother said to me the other day...

"It's too bad Aubrey's little brother had to die. She likes company. There's still time for another one."

I didn't even respond. What do you say to something like that? Yea, it's a shame. She would have liked having him around. No kidding. Me too! She said that two days after she said this...

"Aubrey needs a brother or a sister Heather. Get busy!"

Because, after all, she's an only child because I haven't been busy.

Because, after all, she's an only child because I didn't TRY to give her a brother.

Because, after all, it's my fault she's an only child.

I have to "let it go" several times a day. The woman is 95. She doesn't think before she speaks. She's not malicious. This is what I tell myself several times a day. And they wonder why I can't bare to be around her anymore. We used to be very close. She's even had 2 miscarriages. She was very sad when Logan died. But she just can't keep her mouth shut.

And I just don't want to hear it.

Yes, my muffin needs a sibling. I tried. I really, truly did. He died. That's not my fault. And if it were up to me, she'd have a gaggle of siblings.

I just wanted my teeth cleaned

I went to the dentist today. As I walked into the waiting room the receptionist says to me "Is that a baby you got in there!?" Meaning, apparently, that my pudgy stomach still makes me look newly pregnant. Yay. As if I didn't feel down enough. Before I could think about what I was saying, I said "No. Just had one." Ok, I know 4 months isn't JUST, but whatever. As soon as I said it I wished I would have stopped at "No." or better yet, cancelled the blasted appointment I wasn't in the mood to be at to begin with. The two ladies behind the desk began they're onslaught of typical new baby questions. I found myself rubbing the top of the counter as my face turned about 15 shades of red before I said "No. My baby didn't make it." to which one lady replied how sorry she was and to which the other idiot said "well, I'm sure IT'S in a better place!" to which I replied "Well, I don't know that I agree with that." and awkwardly walked to my chair where I turned and said "IT was a boy." IT? Did she seriously call my baby an IT? I was embarrassed. Or maybe ashamed. I don't know. I don't know if I was ashamed to show emotions in public to perfect strangers, or if, as my husband suggested I was embarrassed for them and their awkwardness. Guess I'll be the topic of conversation at dinner tonight. I hate that. I hate that I feel weird about it. I wish I could look people square in the face when I tell them my son died. But I can't. I always look down or away. It's not my fault he died. But I guess deep down inside I know it was my faulty egg. My body that didn't do it's job. My body that let my son down. And maybe not because of anything I did outright, but because it was just a bad month. A bad egg. And for that, perhaps I feel shame, guilt...something. It isn't logical. Anyhow, the two ladies went about whispering (for real?? I didn't bother to look up), I'm sure about who was to spread the "news" to my hygienist. Then the idiot one decided it was appropriate to make small talk with me in an overly cheery voice about the stupid weather. "Oh, sheesh. Your baby died? Is it still cold out? Looks like rain." DUH. I knew I shouldn't have gone today. I just didn't want to go. Then, while I'm in the hygienists chair, I have to fill out my questionnaire about my current health. Last time I was there I wrote that I was pregnant. There it was. Staring at me. So, in this visit's column I wrote "Stillborn". I don't know why. I doubt they needed to know that. But it was almost like I needed a period after pregnancy. It ended. There is no baby at home. My usually very chatty hygienist was fairly quiet today. I don't know if it's because the receptionists told her, or if she saw what I wrote, or if she was just tired. I don't really care. I was glad she didn't want to chat. I didn't want to chat either. I just wanted my teeth cleaned.

2 New Song's For Logan

I added two new songs to Logan's Playlist.
They are "You Have Been Loved" by George Michael and
"If Teardrops Were Diamonds" by Dwight Yoakam & Willie Nelson

You Have Been Loved - George Michael
She takes the back road and the lane
Past the school that has not changed
In all this time
She thinks of when the boy was young
All the battles she had won
Just to give him life
That man
She loved that man
For all his life
But now we meet to take him flowers
And only God knows why
For what's the use in pressing palms
When children fade in mother's arms
It's a cruel world
We've so much to lose
And what we have to learn, we rarely choose
So if it's God who took her son
He cannot be the one
Living in her mind
Take care my love, she said
Don't think that God is dead
Take care my love, she said
You have been loved
If I was weak, forgive me
But I was terrified
You brushed my eyes with angel's wings
Full of love
The kind that makes devils cry
So these days
My life has changed
And I'll be fine
But she just sits and counts the hours
Searching for her crime
So what's the use of pressing palms
If you won't keep such love from harm
It's a cruel world
You've so much to prove
And heaven help the ones who wait for you
Well, I've no daughters, I've no sons
Guess I'm the only one
Living in my life
Take care my love, he said
Don't think that God is dead
Take care my love, he said
You have been loved

If Teardrops Were Diamonds - Dwight Yoakam & Willie Nelson
If teardrops were diamonds
And only mine were used
They could pave every highway coast to coast
And not be close to through
If teardrops were diamonds, cold blue.
If heartaches were rubies
Stacked up just like stones
There would be a mountain ten miles high
Built by mine alone
If heartaches were rubies, mine alone.
You might begin to understand
The price that love has to pay for being wrong
If sad thoughts were emeralds
And with not counting in between
Just half the ones I've had today
Could turn the whole world green
If sad thoughts were emeralds
And the world turned green
You might just get the message that
There's more to loneliness than can be seen
If teardrops were diamonds
And only mine were used...

The big bad due date

Today was Logan's due date. The day was uneventful. David took a half a day to be with me, and I appreciated having him around. I don't know, today just didn't feel like anything. I think I am on such an emotional overload I can't process my emotions anymore. Today just felt like any other day. I'm sad, but I was sad yesterday. I'll be sad tomorrow. Maybe it's because I have a hard time thinking this should/would have been his real birthday. Maybe he'd have already come. Maybe he'd have been late. My daughter was born the day after her due date, so maybe Logan would have been born tomorrow. I think I am paying more attention to how my life is right now. What it would have been like to have a newborn right now. What it would have been like to be seriously pregnant and ready to pop. The thing is, I can sort of picture it, but not really. My dreams of Logan now feel vague. My memories of pregnancy feel like a distant dream. That makes me very blue. That I'm forgetting all of the little, insignificant things. I miss feeling his tiny little kicks. It was such a brief period that I was able to feel them. I wish I would have known my time was so short. I'm glad I didn't though.

We spent the day shopping, eating out and hanging out at the house while the muffin napped. It was nice to have David around. He kept my mind busy. I didn't want to think about it too much. I'm tired of dwelling, of crying, or feeling like my heart is split open. It's just gotten to be too much! But it was so nice to have someone there who was thinking about the same thing as me, but didn't have to talk about it. Someone who would grab my hand, and I would know, and he knew too. Someone who's heart ached just the same as mine. Someon who "got it".

I had a terrible dream last night. It just proves how screwed up my mind is over this. I don't remember much, but the key points where this:

A friend's baby died. Her dad poured the "baby" into my hands. It was an egg (chicken) that was cracked open in two halves and there were 4 yolks. 4 dead babies. I turned my hands over to get them out of my hands but they clung to me in goo (like egg white would do) and I was screaming "get them off of me!!" I remember feeling horrified in the dream. I remember knowing that I had a dead baby in the dream too.

Dreams...they can beat us to death sometimes.

I don't know if things are getting better. I'm leery to think so. I think I'm just on the crest of the wave right now. Up, and so soon will be down and drowning again. But, it's a relief to be here for the moment. My DH seems to be taking it harder now. But he says he knows things will eventually get better. I guess that's good. I'm not so sure on most days. Most days I think I will always feel just shy of vomiting.

I found out this evening that another friend I knew "back in the day" also lost a baby. She didn't go into specifics, and I was sad to hear about that. Who knew I would end up knowing so many people IRL who have lost children.

Well, so much for the horrifying climax I thought this horrible event was coming too. I guess it's just indicative of what this grief is destined to be for me...part of my every day reality. No real cimax to be had. Just a steadiness. Part of who I am, like a limp I suppose. The horrible accident that has left me maimed is over and gone...now I just limp along, a constant reminder that something terrible happened once. And how many people would have the audacity to ask about a limp? Maybe one day I'll be able to just limp through life and not have too much concern about my disability, I have a dead baby. It's a fact, and something I'll "deal" with everyday...while I go about living my otherwise "normal" life.

Still breathing, and it still hurts (Logan came home)

Today my son came home. Logan was delivered to my doorstep via registered mail. Priority Mail. My delivery lady had no idea she was carrying my broken heart in that quaint little box. I had no idea that the door bell was going to announce the arrival of more sorrow and tears. David and I stared at the box. Do we open it? What's inside? This must be morbid to look. Ultimately David opened the box, convinced there would be a clear bag with our son's remains. There was not. There was a plastic black box. It looked like a trash can to me. He opened that box, and to my horror there was a small plastic bowl, much like a shallow butter bowl, packed between paper towels. We didn't open the bowl. My son arrived in a friggin' tupperware bowl. How could they? Why wasn't there a warning? Why didn't they send us a letter telling us that he'd be arriving soon (since we thought it would be August or later). Why didn't they tell us what to expect when he arrived? I thought he'd be in an urn. I felt like I'd been punched. I felt like I witnessed some horror that I had to turn my eyes from. Where's the respect? Where is the sensitivity to my intense sorrow. I was horrified enough that they were going to mail my sweet little baby, but in a plastic bowl? I just didn't know. The pain drags on. Now I have to go buy an urn. Where do you get those, eBay, Sam's Club, Wal-Mart? "Oh hey, I need a mini urn for my cremated infant, you got any?" I'm just horrified at the amount of injustice that seems to get slapped onto us day after day after day. OUR BABY DIED!! Don't we get some grace? Don't we get a pass? Don't we get something other than pathetic attempts at spoken comfort and uncomfortable looks? I need a break! I need something to go right for me. I don't want any more horrible reminders of the injustice that was dealt to me. I want to find my peace. I want my son back. I know I can't have him back, but I want him back. The irony of this event today was that, being as my son was due this Tuesday, he could have actually come home today...alive. And just in case the small box was an awful reminder that I am not pregnant, my FitPregnancy Magazine arrived in the mail today too. Thanks for that, universe. I needed one more punch in the gut. I bawled my eyes out when we opened the box. When it arrived I was numb. I just stared at it. But once the box opened, the flood gates did too. I felt like it was happening all over again. My pregnancy feels like a different life. My husband said today that "it's been a lifetime of grief" and I have to agree. We've had enough sadness to fill up an entire lifetime, in just 3 1/2 short months. I know I keep saying this, but I hate this. I really truly do. I have never hated anything this much before. It's beyond hatred. I don't know what is beyond that, but it's beyond what is beyond that. I just want this to go away. I want it over with. I want it to never have happened. I don't want to hurt anymore. I don't want to cry anymore. I don't want to miss a "should've been" or a hope of a child who never was. I don't want to see the deep sorrow in my husbands eyes anymore. I don't want to have to fake smiles, and pretend that my life hasn't been flipped upside down and imploded in on itself. I don't want to answer the shallow "how are you" questions with a sigh and a shrug. I don't want to know that my son is in a little box in my bedroom because I just don't know what to do with him right now, or if I can do anything with him at all. I don't want the few tangible memories I have of him to be in a sad little box. I don't want an afghan that I can never wrap him in. I don't want this monstrous hole in my heart where a little boy's smile, my hopes and dreams should be. I don't want this. I don't know what to do with this, or who I am supposed to be, or how I should feel or act. I don't know me anymore. I'm scared. I'm eyeball deep in a sorrow that I don't understand. I know that no matter how my son arrived home today, he would still be dead, and I would still find all of it unacceptable. This is not acceptable to me.

I'm scared, I'm angry and I'm hateful!

I feel like I'm getting sucked under again today. The maternity clothes in my closet feel like a heavy weight that presses down on me. I've been obsessing over them for a few days. Pack them away? Give them away? Leave them in my closet? I've left them in there because somehow I formed this deceptive shroud around me that as soon as we were physically cleared to start trying, we would. Apparently I was the only one hanging out with that delusion. Part of me knew it. The logical part of me knew that this was most likely the end of my child bearing days. But my heart cries for more babies. I want more children. I should be happy with one. I should feel so grateful that I have a perfect daughter. But I can't find that gratitude. I can't find the contentment to have an only child. You can't force your spouse to have more children if they don't feel like they can. I am not the only one who suffers through this nightmare. What would that do to him? What would that do to me? What would that do to the child? It makes me feel crazed and selfish. I never thought there would be such a huge gaping divide between us. But there is, at least for now. And I'm terrified. I'm scared what it will do to us. I'm scared that I'll blame him and become bitter and resentful. I'm scared that he will too, if he agrees to have more children when he doesn't really want to. It is in my nature to give my daughter everything she needs. People need siblings. They need family who will be there long after we're gone. I have always felt very strong about that. They need someone they can gripe about their parents too, someone who knows and gets it because they have the same parents. And I feel like I am cheating my daughter. And I feel like I have so much more love to give. It's only been four months. And I keep trying to convince myself that there's time, that he may decide he wants more children too. But I know that our biggest fear (at the time) came true. Our child had Down Syndrome. That was always a thought for us, for some unknown reason. We were always affraid about having a child with DS. And then it happened. I was too old. At 31, I was already too old. I waited too long. I should have started earlier. I just never seemed to be ready. It never seemed to be the right time. If I had known... I would have done it differently... I didn't know I had one shot. I didn't know I would be punished for wanting to do the right thing, to grow up, to be married, to be emotionally ready, to be financially stable. I didn't know I would be punished. I didn't believe there was any possibility that my early thirties was too late. And now I'm ready and it's too late and I've missed my opportunity to have as many kids as I wanted. I don't want this decision to be out of my hands. I don't want to be forced to stop having babies because God's "plan" is the only plan, and regardless if I understand it or not I'm just supposed to trust him. How am I supposed to trust in the all powerful, if he allows such cruelty? Did he not create my son? Did he not create the egg that didn't do it's job? I couldn't control that! I couldn't prevent that, or have known! I couldn't have fixed it. I wasn't given the chance. I wasn't given the choice. I didn't want a retarded child, but I didn't want a dead one either! He didn't have to create life that month. How many months of my life have potential babies gone by the way side? Hundreds! So why now!? Why would he not only create life from such a disturbingly bad scenario, but then to take it away in the same breath? And to leave us with THIS! This horrible ache, this fear, this anxiety. None of which I can come to terms with! So how am I supposed to think it's ok now? How am I supposed to relax and think I can wait a while, maybe my husband will come around? If I was too old at 31, what will I be at 33? I understand his reasons. Don't tempt fate. Do we want to loose another baby? Do we want to have a child with DS, since the odds are so freakin' high NOW? What would that do to our family? He'd resent me if something went wrong. It would be my fault. I have a 1/100 chance odd for a repeat...that makes my reproductive system like 45 years old. It's stupid. But I can't help the ache. I can't help the desire. I can 't help but think that God wouldn't possibly be that cruel to me again. But he is. Lots of woman loose more than one baby. Lots of woman try for years and never get any. And I can't help but think that maybe I'm loosing out on some of the greatest love because we're too scared to get hurt again. What if I have more children out there with my name on them, healthy children, that I might never get to meet because there's a huge "what if" that hangs over our heads! How will I survive? How will I ever find the sheer bliss I had just a few months ago? I feel like not only did my son die, but now all of the other children I wanted. The other children I planned on. The other children I hoped for...it feels like they have all died too. And if I have no hope, and if I have no assurance that I will come out of this on the other side, whole and unbroken... How can I be any good to anyone else? How will I be able to accept this? How will I be able to live with this? How will I not be resentful? How will I not be bitter? I KNOW that I could go on to have fifty children, and not one of them would ever replace Logan. I know that I have a gaping hole where he should be, and nothing will ever fill that. I KNOW. But I can't end it on such a bad note. I can't just fold and give up. I keep telling myself that if I did have another baby die, it wouldn't be as bad. I'd be expecting it. I'd know it was likely to happen. I'd know what it felt like. If I was prepared, maybe I could handle it. Maybe I could chance the heartbreak and devastation if it meant I might get lucky enough to have a healthy baby, even if I had to repeat the scenario a few times. Maybe I could handle it. Maybe having a healthy baby would be a salve to the heartbreak. Maybe a healthy baby in the end would make it worth going through it again and again and again. Maybe. But I think it boils down to the fact that I just can not accept that God would be so cruel to me. No. God wouldn't possibly do that to me again. It would kill me. It would push me so far over the edge that I wouldn't come back from it. He has to know that. But what if my husband is right? What if Logan's death was more like a warning? And what if we do keep pushing and we end up with a severely unhealthy child? A consequence for not having headed God's warning. What would that do to us? It's not fair to my daughter. None of this is fair to any of us, and I don't get it. I don't get why this happened. I didn't just loose my son, I lost my hope. I lost what tiny shred of faith I had. I lost my innocence. And if I were to go on to have an unhealthy child, because I pushed, because I insisted...I'd loose my family too. I'd loose my husband. I'd loose what tiny shred of happiness I have left. You'd think that would be enough to convince me to stop being foolish. You'd think. Even if he did change his mind, even if he tried to convince me he wanted more children...I'd still be leery. I'd still wonder if he was doing it for me. It wouldn't be like before. We wouldn't be in it together. It wouldn't be mutually happy. I am so hateful for what this has done to us. Scared to find comfort in each other. Scared what could come of it, what might not come of it. I hate that this has given me such fear and anger. Above all else WE are supposed to survive this. Him and I, together.

I can't celebrate. I hate that people are celebrating, and that I'm supposed to put on the happy face and play along. I don't want to play along. I don't want to share in other peoples happiness. I want to be left alone. I want to hide here in my home and not be apart of anyone else's world. I don't want to go to weddings, and showers. I don't want to hear about anyone else's problems. I don't want to hear about anyone else's life. I just want to fade away. I want to watch from a distance, when I feel like it. I do not want life to go on. I do not want to move past this part of my own life, like it never was. I don't want to talk to people. I don't want to answer the phone. I want to be left alone. I want to scream at everyone to leave me alone! Stop asking how I'm doing when you can't possibly get it. When you don't even really want to know! Stop probing me. Stop asking about it like you're being sensitive when really you just want to stare at the wreck that is me. You just want to break me, see if I'm human. See if I'm going to cry for my dead son. See if you can be the one to crack my wall. Stop pretending that you give a crap, when you just want to be needed. When you just want to be in the know. I want people who really care. Who care how it affects me, not them. Who care what this has done to ME! Who accept ME and the way that I am handling this, who don't take it personal, who don't try to inject themselves into my grief because it makes THEM feel better. This isn't about THEM, it's about ME! I hate people anymore. Why do people feel the need to call and push the subject when it's clearly a bad time? If I wanted to talk to you about it, then I would call you. I would talk to you about it. Why do you keep bringing it up and asking obvious questions? I think people want to hurt me. "It's Mother's Day, how are you handling it?"..."How the flip do you think, but thanks for bringing it up when I was trying my best to forget about it for one blasted minute!" Why? Why do they do that? So I'll turn to them for comfort? It's hideous. It makes me resent them. It makes me hateful. And I'm bitterly jealous. I didn't think I would be. I thought I'd be happy when my friend got pregnant. I was at first, but I'm not now. She tried to lump her pain in with mine. It took a few months to conceive...apparently that makes you infertile. She would complain and cry. Now she only wants a girl. I hate her for that. She should want and be happy with any baby. She should see how lucky she is to be older than me and to have a baby that lives. But she's only 12 weeks...there's still time. It's sick to think that. I don't want that baby to die. I don't want anyone to feel this pain. But it's been too easy for her. No morning sickness, so she tells me something MUST be wrong with her baby. And I just want to punch her. Is she trying to relate? Does she want something to be wrong with her baby? She asks me to throw her a shower, she shows me her maternity clothes...she's wearing maternity clothes now...ones that I wore...she doesn't look pregnant. I hate her for being pregnant. I hate her for worrying about her baby not being right, and then telling me that worrying is part of being a mother. She has no clue. My thoughts are sick, and they make me feel bad about who I am. When really, I'm just so sad. I don't want to be this person. I don't want to be at this point in my life. I don't want to be so filled with anger and hatred and sorrow. I don't want to feel scared and panicky and hopeless. I want to rewind. I want this to have not happened. I want us to be starting fresh to have another child now that my daughter is 16 months old. I want the excitement back, the pure joy of creating a new life. I can't help but feel like I should have known that was a bad month. And I know there are medical ways around having a child with DS. They could harvest the eggs and weed out the old ones. I hate that people whisper in our ears. I hate that anyone has the audacity to truly think they can have an opinion. I don't want their untainted opinions. They don't KNOW this pain. They can't even begin to fathom what THIS is. And I hate them for thinking because they witnessed it, maybe felt a little of their own over it, that they could even begin to think they have an inkling of what it is I feel and think and suffer through. They don't. They couldn't possibly.

Drama at the park!

Sorry. Some of you read faster than I can edit my post. This is MY MUFFIN and my idiot dog. I was taking a picture, we were the only ones there and I wasn't really that far away. having said that...here's the story behind this picture!

This is the park I picked out to have my son's memorial tree planted. It's a park right down the street from our home. The park I would have taken my son to play, just like I take my daughter to play there. I met with the guy from my city's DPW, they'll be planting the tree for us. I went last week and picked out a real nice Weeping Willow. I've decided to have it planted just beyond the swing set here in the photo. There will also be a plaque. He said it will be about 3 weeks before he can get it planted. I was hoping for next week (my Due date) but it took me too long to go pick out the tree. It doesn't really matter when it gets planted. We're not going to have a service or anything, we're not going to be there when it's planted. We're just going to go on our own, just the three of us, and see it once it's planted. We had to come up with what we wanted on the plaque last night so that it would be ready for today. I had a really hard time with this. Everything just seemed so trite. I didn't want some hokey poem or saying. I didn't want the stupidly obvious either (remembered always...duh!). In the end we decided on his name, the date he was still born and this "Wanted. Loved. Missed" and then on the bottom the verse from 2 Samuel 12:23 "He shall not return to me, but I shall go to him." That was my husbands idea, and I think it fit. I think those two phrase embody everything I feel about this. He is wanted, desperately. I'd have traded most anything to have him. He is loved and he is terribly missed. And no, he's not coming back...but hopefully...maybe...I'll go to him. I didn't have a melt down while at the park. I thought I would. I planned on it. But, graciously enough I did not. I already had the spot picked out. I had the plaque request typed up. I'd exercised on my way to try to burn off some of the stress of the situation. The tree was already picked out and paid for. I just had to point. It wasn't so bad. It wasn't so hard. And then, just because the universe has a sick sense of humor, my morning went south very quickly (click on story link at the top to read about that)! Anyhow, I've had a lot on my mind lately. Future babies, friends babies, baby showers, maternity clothes, memorial trees, due dates... it's all wreaking havoc on my mental state these days. I still cry, now and then, but not the whaling, gut busting, heart wrenching sobs I used to cry. Mostly I just think about all of this with a numb sadness that aches, and never completely goes away. And then I get pissed.

The Tree

I bought Logan's tree today.

A Weeping Willow.

Sigh.

I didn't see "this" coming. This ghastly feeling. I was trying to be all business like about it, but before I left the house I was compelled to write in Logan's journal. Very compelled. All I could think of was that I couldn't give my son life...so I gave him a freakin' tree! A TREE!! And the tree that I picked out seems like a cliche...weeping... It has no idea. I get there, and the guy that the city recommended for me to see was someone I knew back in the day. We worked together when I was barely 18, for a short summer. The name rang a bell on the phone, but it was a common name...I knew him the moment I walked through the doors, he recognized me too (so there was no hiding). It threw me off my game. As I explained to him why I was there (they don't sell to the public) I couldn't look him in the eye. It bugged me that I couldn't. Every time I said "memorial tree" or "my son" I looked away. I hate that I couldn't look someone in the eye when I was talking about my son. But it was even harder to look someone in the eye who knew me when I was lighter, bubblier, unscathed. He was great about it, did and said all of the appropriate things...it was just weird. I felt like I was dealing with enough, but then for it to be with someone I once knew... It was off. The nice thing was that I trusted his word and judgment on the tree. I couldn't look at the tree's. I kept staring at the root balls, and at the trunks...but I couldn't look up at the "weeping" part of the tree. It took me two weeks to even go pick out the tree... Like I was dreading it. Admitting, again, that my son died.

I feel like being stupid today. Reckless. Good thing I don't know where to go to base jump or parachute or something. I'd love to outrun this sadness. The DH is out with friends after work. Man I wish I was there getting plastered out of my mind! Well, not there...not with people we know. Guess I'll go mow the freakin' yard instead, because after all...life goes on, right?

I should be bleeding

How is it possible to feel such pain and not be bleeding?
I should be bleeding.
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Ugh, what is this feeling!?

Today I feel very weird.

I've noticed this feeling before. It seems to frequent me more often lately. I don't know how to describe it. Jittery? Maybe like I've had too much caffeine (and I haven't). Like any second I'm gonna freak out and turn into a crazy person. I mean REAL crazy. Head bobbing, drool coming out, shaking, mumbling and screaming incoherent things. Maybe an impending sense of doom? Anxious. My heart is racing, like I'm scared. The fight or flight thing. Too much adrenaline? I hate this feeling. It makes me edgy. I feel like I'm twitching. This past weekend was really stressful for me. Too stressful. I think I've developed a tick. Seriously. The left side of my face feels like its pulling. Like it's pulling my mouth down into a half frown. I can't control it. I can't see it. But, I can feel it. That developed on Sunday. My husband half jokingly wondered if i was having a stroke. I'm wondering if I should have it looked at. I can hear this conversation now..."Yeah doc. My face, it pulls down on the left. Like I'm frowning. No. You can't see it, but I feel it. OH! You think I'm a nut ball? OH! I have too much anxiety? It's crazy! My son died." Sigh. I feel like I have the shakes too, only I don't. Is this normal? [She asks half smiling] I feel like a freak lately. Sometimes I feel like I'm going off the deep end. I know that on the outside I appear normal. I know I don't look like someone who's son just died. Not IRL anyhow. But I think my brain is jacked up. I don't like feeling like any minutes something is going to jump out and get me. Or like I'm gonna fly off the deep end and attack someone. I've been trying to exercise to burn some of the anxiety off, but it's just getting more intense lately. It's starting to bug me.

More dead babies...make it stop!!

I'm not a very good blog buddy.

I write my blog for me, and lately I have found that I avoid reading other's blogs. I think it's because I soak up everyone elses grief and add it into my own. I feel like I can barely handle the sorrow I have for my son, much less the sorrow I have for all of the other dead baby mommas and Daddy's. But today I was wandering through blog land. I clicked on a few names of people I didn't recognize who left comments on the usual blogs I visit. I have so many I like to follow that it takes me several hours to read through them all...and that's when I read every day or so. Anyhow, this may sound weird.

I know that I wasn't the last one to have a baby die. I know this in my head, but my heart can't accept it. I am always so dumbfounded when I find someone who is new to this. Like I can not believe that it happened AGAIN! And I find myself having a mental freak out or an internal panic attack and I can hear my brain screaming "WHY!? God!! Aren't you paying attention!? There are babies dying down here!! Do something!" And I want to cuss and scream for all of these families that are having to endure the unfathomable. That's how I think of baby death. Unfathomable. I still, after three plus months, can not wrap my head around it. I don't get it. I don't see how in this day and age there are sick and dying babies. I can't figure out how 50 years ago we put a man on the freaking MOON!! But, science STILL can't keep our babies alive. And every time I find a new dead baby momma I am grieved all over again. I am dumbfounded and speechless. Another one? Seriously? How does this keep happening? We can split atoms. We can split what ever comes of an already split atom. But, we can't prevent baby death.

Mostly lately I've been numb. And he's right...Numb is better. It's better than feeling like a zombie all day. It's better than feeling sick to my stomach all day. It's better than staying up till 4am because I'm afraid of my bed. Numb is better than feeling the pain in it's raw state. But, I know it'll be back. It comes in waves for me. I know that the grief will come crashing in on me and drown me once again. I don't think my DH and I are on the same wave though. He seems more blue than usual. We don't talk about it much. We've talked it to death. What is there left to say? "Hey, our son is still dead!" ... "Yup" ... "Still sucks!" ... "Yup" That's all I have. I wish I could fix it for him. I wish I could say something that would make it better. But, then I'd say it to myself too. It makes me feel just as helpless to see him as it does for him to see me I suppose.

Yesterday my 9 week pregnant girlfriend asked me if I was still going to throw her a baby shower with her mom. She threw one for me. She doesn't have any sisters, and I'm her closest friend. I had to tell her no. I felt like such a jerk. But I'm afraid. I'm a coward. I'm concerned that I'll flip out. I don't want to wreck it for her. I want her to feel free to enjoy her moment to it's fullest. I told her I would come, it would be hard, but I would suck it up because we're friends. I told her once we found out the gender, maybe things will be different. Maybe if she is having a girl it will be easier for me. But a little boy? No. I know that I can not do that. I've tried to buy her Maternity clothes. I had to tell her all of the things she thought I was saving to pass on to her...I was now hoarding. She seems understanding. I hope she is. She is so scared her baby is going to die. She has epilepsy, it happens. She has every right to be scared, and I can't help her not to be. I just try to tell her to hang on to the good that is now, and if something happens to that baby...we'll deal with it when it comes. I'll help her. Sigh. I'm terrified that her baby is going to die. She can probably hear it in my voice. She says to me "I don't feel sick, do you think something is wrong? They can't find the heart beat, I should get an ultrasound. I don't have discharge, do you think something is wrong?" I tell her no. I tell her all pregnancies are different. Everything is normal. But then I tell her if she wants another ultrasound, go get one. That much stress isn't good either. Sigh. I'm sorry that I have to be a reminder to her of the worse case scenario. My other prego friend is avoiding me. I try not to let it hurt my feelings, but it does. I wonder if I would have been scared too? I wonder if I would have avoided a dead baby momma.

I can't get past the feeling that I think people around me feel like I should be moving past this now. It starting to really piss me off. I find myself being very ugly and hateful towards the world these days. I find that I have little tolerance for people and even less patience. I've read that this is normal. I also get very bummed out about the dumbest things. Like right now, I'm waiting for my Twilight book series to arrive in the mail. For days I have genuinely felt sad that I can't go hide in those books. It felt good to be there. It was a relief that I welcomed, to be lost in a fantasy...far far away from my reality. I need a new project, but I don't feel like I have the umph for it. I'm been looking at the lawn. I keep thinking I should do something out there with that. But, I just get down thinking about all of the obstacles...so I never get started. I barely even clean my house anymore. I was never much for that before, but now I am really bad. And worse yet, I care even less. I know that it probably just adds to my husbands blues, but I can't seem to get past the guilt and do anything about it. And I loathe my dog. I mean true blue loathing. That makes me feel bad too. She needs to go. I need to find her another home...but that makes me sad too. I just want to be everything for everyone...and I get so down about it that I end up being nothing for everyone.

Anyhow, Echloe is the newest dead baby momma that I follow. She's about a week in. Swing on over and give her a hug too. She needs a lot right now.

I shouldn't be doing this

I keep thinking of the way things should be. I try not to, but they sneak up on me. Like today when I drove out to our huge mall, if I were the 38 weeks pregnant that I should have been...I wouldn't be driving anywhere that far. And I wouldn't have just gone to pick up my 120 lb lug of a dog from the groomers, since she needs a "lift" getting in the truck. Like when I accepted an invite to a party in June, when I would have declined because I would have had a 1 month old. I keep thinking about how I wouldn't be doing this or I would be doing that. Every time I take an Excedrin for a headache, or a pain pill for something, or eat Feta Cheese or lunch meat. Every time I poor Vodka in my soda. Every time I roll over onto my stomach to sleep. Every time I jump on the elliptical machine. Every time I think..."I shouldn't be doing this."

Just like this blog. I shouldn't be writing a blog about a dead baby.