"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.

Days like THIS??

Momma said there'd be days like this??

No, my momma didn't tell me.

In fact, I was pretty clueless that there was this kind of pain in the world. Pain that doesn't really have a face. Pain that is so multifaceted that it inflicts itself upon me for seemingly random reasons. Why is it that some days (and this is one of those none hormonal ones, this is supposed to be my one week of peace) I feel the overwhelming urge to stuff Peanut M&M's into my mouth, just after I'd eaten lunch and am feeling rather full? And why is it that there are days that I become obsessed with getting something to drink (we're talking pop here!!) so much so that I actually get dressed (just enough not to have people stare) and go to 7-Eleven?? I've become a comfort eater/drinker. I gained 10lbs this month. TEN!! And get this, I'm trying to LOOSE weight. I don't recognize myself anymore, my brain. It's like I'm two different people. The person I was before Logan died, and the person I am now (who is trying to fake that she's still the old me!). I think I'm depressed. Seems obvious, almost expected. To be honest, I don't really know what real depression looks like. You know, when you're past the blues and you start looking for alternative methods to feel good. I cry for reasons I can't explain. I know, I know. I'm the mother to a dead baby. I should be depressed. I should cry. But at what point does it go too far? I'm too logical to kill myself. At least I'm with it that much. But getting out of bed (and it's getting later and later) is a chore like none other. And getting off the couch, well other that to do what is absolutely necessary (and frankly, the bare minimum), just seems pointless. I know I'm supposed to function, and I do what I have to, but I don't want to. I don't see the point anymore. And days when my daughter is not home...well...those days are pathetic. Makes me wonder who I'd be if she wasn't here to keep me from sliding all the way under. I have an appt. so don't freak out about me or anything. It's just one of those days. A day when I can't describe the hollow hole in my chest, days where I feel like I am literally suffocating, days when I am quite willing to curl up and drift away into oblivion. Days when the Vodka in my cabinet calls to me, and my brain argues not to go down that path. So I don't, most of the time.

I don't want to know anymore.

I don't want to know my son is dead. I don't want to know that I should have a two month old laying in that empty room. That the room should be painted blue and green with little fishies (like this one). I don't want to know that I should be stressed to the max and flipping out because I have two babies. I don't want to know this reality any more. I don't want to know this kind of heart break, this enormous amount of pain that I can't explain to anyone I know. I don't want to stand by helpless watching the pain drag my husband under. I don't want such a wonderful man to have to experience such sorrow, and to know he experiences it because he chose me. I don't want to wonder what to tell people. I don't want people remembering I was pregnant, and not being sure where the baby went. I don't want people to know. I don't want people to look at me like that. I don't want to look at myself like that. I don't want every intimate encounter I have with my husband to be laced with fear, and remorse, and longing, and memories, and sorrow, and hope for something we can't have back. I don't want to search for ways to fill the void. I don't want to long for a different life. I had/have a great life. I have an awesome husband that I don't deserve who is as perfect for me as I could have ever dreamed to hope for, and a daughter who is such sunshine and rainbows you'd wonder how anyone could find a teardrop with in a hundred miles of her. I don't want to hide my life away. I don't want to spend my free time in tears. I don't want this sorrow in my home anymore. I don't want to miss a child I never got to know. I can't mourn someone I never met. It's unreal. I don't know how to do it and it has worn me down and split my chest wide open. How am I to heal? How am I to get over, to move on from an enigma? I'm tired. I ache all over. I'm spent and I don't know how it is physically possible to still be crying after six horrible months.

I've thought about a shrink. I have, a lot. But I keep coming back to the same point...how can they help me if they can't fathom what I'm going through? How can they tell me if I'm normal, or appropriate if they haven't walked in these shoes? All they can do is pat me on the back, ask me stupid questions about how I feel when I already know how I feel, and then give me drugs. The drugs don't sound so bad. A pill? All I have to do is take a pill and then poof, the tears will go away? I'm in! But we all know it doesn't work that way, or we'd all have that pill!

My favorite movie is Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. It's a horribly tragic movie, or at least that's how I see it. The point of the movie, if you don't know, is that this man is so heartbroken over a girl that he goes in to have his memory of her erased. And the entire time they are going through the process of erasing her memory, his mind keeps trying to hide her, because though the pain is unbearable for him, in reality...in his subconscious, he doesn't really want to forget her. That's how I feel. I would give my right arm to not know what I know. To not feel the sorrow that is engulfing my heart. But really, in all of my blinding pain, I still want Logan. I still want to know he was there, even if for a little while. And though I would have given anything at all to have my son be born and grow up (there's that qualifier for you), Down Syndrome and all, I'll take this pain of knowing he was here, that I had a son...even if he died.

I'm just tired of knowing that he died. Tired seems like a weird word to use. Weary. Spent. Exhausted. Drained. Empty. I feel all used up.

Is this what it's like when a spouse dies? A parent? Do I have to go through this again? Does Logan's death hurt this bad because he was a baby? Or because he was my child? It makes me fearful for the future. I am affraid that I can not survive out-living my daughter. I can not imagine that I could survive out-living my husband. It makes me hope that my death is first, and that makes me sad, and scares me. I am a coward. I have seen that kind of darkness and I am afraid to touch it again. I don't care how that makes me look.


Anonymous said...

One of the hardest things I have had to reconcile is that even though I have been in so much pain since Sam died, I would do it all over again, even knowing the outcome. How can the person that brought me so much joy also bring me so much sorrow? I don't have the answers, I just know it's something I have struggled with. xoxo

Michele said...

In the days following the kids' deaths, I would find myself in a ball on the floor, screaming, sobbing, unable to piece together a world in which I was alive and they werent. At some point, the joy of the short time we had with them overshadowed that intense pain, although it was just below the surface. Now, I am able to grieve without falling apart (usually) but the pain is still visceral...

You are not a coward. You are a mourning, orphaned parent. We know that, one day, our parents will die... We know that we may lose our spouse... But not our children. It's counterintuitive to the way the world works. They bury us. It isnt the other way around. You arent a coward.

Sending hugs on this journey.

Mary said...

I share the same fear of loss too. I am scared that E will be first. I can't take that. It's my inner battle everyday to not be the crazy wife and constantly check on him.

Sorrow can have such a strong hold on us. I hope your day gets better. E-mail me if you need to talk.

Mrs. Spit said...

I'll pick up on the point of the doc. A doctor does not need to have a heart attack to treat a coronary patient.

If you think you are suffering from complicated grief, and you think that you aren't where you should be in the grieving process, or you think that you are stuck, or need some help to find your way, and you can't cope with getting out of bed, then yes, a professional can and should be able to help.

It's not going to be like Eternal Sunshine. It's long and slow and hard. It isn't fair or right that one very quick event should be able to devestate and hurt and make you suffer for so long, and I'm sorry. This is a hard place to be.

Catherine W said...

Oh Heather. Sometimes I don't want to know either.

I'm with Monique. Even though I wish that things had worked out differently for my little girl, Georgina, I would do it all again. For the few short days I had with her. Just to see her, just the once. Because she was and is my sweet daughter. Just like Logan was and is your precious son. He was here.

As Michele says, I think that the loss of a child is a different kind of grief. It is the 'wrong order', children don't die before their parents. Not generally.

And you aren't a coward. Or if you are, I'm one too. xx

Emily said...

Just wishing there were words to comfort you, Heather. As I sit here, stuffing strawberry poptarts in my mouth (the first food they gave me in the hospital after I had Leila, how sick is it that I find comfort in that?).

Anonymous said...

Im so sorry for your loss and how you are feeling. I can only tell you from my personal experience that seeing a professional can help. I would never have been the type to go, but crying everyday and being completely not myself was beginning to affect my 2 yr old son, I felt. So the little pill doesnt make the feelings go away, but makes it easier for me to cope, and get a few things, not everything, but a few things accomplished. Of course everyone is different, and what helps different people is different, bu ti think anything is worth a try even if it brings just a bit of relief. Ive been stuffing my face and gaining weight, too. (8 lbs in 3 mo.s!) Just what one needs after being pregnant and not bringing home your child, huh? Take care of you.

Jen said...

thinking of you and feeling the same lately...oh and I gained the 10 pounds this month too....

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