It only hurts when I breathe!

Blasted Holidays!

2011-12-15T08:49:00.000-06:00

I hate Christmas time. I mean, if I were honest, I would say that I have hated it since early childhood. My parents are divorced. I hated that it was always about them, who got us when...for how long, where we would be...know one ever asked me what I wanted to do on Christmas, where I wanted to be. And my mom was always a screaming mess of stress, Christmas morning we were ripped out of our house to go be with my dad and his family...and here I am 34 years later and I still spend every Christmas on the road. I hate it. Now we can factor in Logan and Rudy, or rather the lack there of. And its so hard for me to get outside of those facts. And everything happened this time of year. My first child, my living child, was born January 27th...Logan died the following January 24th...and now Rudy should have been born this coming January 21st. I should be standing here with a huge belly. Aching, starving, excited... And here I am again...angry, sad, confounded. And I stand here bewildered at what has happened to us. Like its all this really cruel jape and I'm the dumb blond who isn't catching on. I think that most of the time I must have this stricken look on my face. Or the "duh" look. And its narcissistic, I know, but I swear people still stare at me. Like they KNOW. Sometimes I feel like I have this weird appendage on my face or something.

I think as much as I still can not seem to grasp, much less accept, that I have children who are not with me, I think that I am starting to accept that I will be sad forever. It is my destiny to grieve. I mean shouldn't I? I have two children who are dead. Should I not be sad until the day that I die? And it [stupidly] is just starting to dawn on me. I should be sad. I should be sad every moment of every day. How weird would it be if I wasn't sad for my dead children? How cold and heartless would I be? Instead of worrying that I'm still sad, I should worry that some day I might not be sad...as much as I desperately want the sadness to go away, the sadness means that they were real, and that they mattered.

Yesterday my husband said that this year he is trying to live in the moment, to enjoy what we have and not to dwell on what we don't. To enjoy our 4 year old daughter who is going to really come alive this Christmas. It seems like a nice thing. I'm going to work on that. It seems like such a far stretch away for me. I mean we can't avoid the elephant in the room, especially now that there are two here, but we live each day living around them, with them.

I thought I was pregnant last week. I had convinced myself that I was. Funny, the things your body will do if you believe hard enough. By the time my cycle rolled around, and 4 pee sticks later, I had pretty much accepted that I was not. But I wanted it so bad. And I know that another pregnancy won't fix anything, and in fact may make things worse. None the less, I wanted it to be true with every breath that I took. My husband is not ready for another pregnancy. I know he wants more children, hoards of them, but pregnancy is such a scary prospect in this house anymore. Who can blame him? The Ectopic episode in May took a real toll on him. Most of the time I just pretend it wasn't as serious as it was, or that it didn't really happen, or that I wouldn't have died because well...I just wouldn't have. But he feels very differently about it. The heartache in this house is so great. Its breathtaking.

My 35th birthday is in April. That scares me too. How fast life has gone. When you are young you are ignorant to how fast time goes. And it has flown by for us. We thought we had all the time in the world...even at 30 when my daughter was born. But then having a baby with Down Syndrome at 31, when society tells us that it only happens to old women, will age you pretty fast. The doctors seem convinced that my turning 35 doesn't make our odds of having another child with DS any greater than they were at 32. Our odds are pretty high, in my opinion 1 in 100 is pretty high, regardless of my age.

I guess I am having a bad day. I'm not sure why today is so much worse than the others, but today is definitely a bad day. And its raining...which is always pleasant. :( Sigh.

Just when you think you've risen above it.

2011-10-05T11:43:00.000-05:00

Today I am hateful and angry. I mean really hateful and really angry! I thought I was past that now, but it keeps rearing its ugly head. I'm at the zoo. Its a gorgeous day, so we're not the only ones. And not that I begrudge all of these ladies with their tiny babies, and not that I hate the pregnant bellies that waddle by me. Its just that I should be close to 6 months along now. I should be waddling. I should have another toddler running ahead with his big sister to get a good look at the new baby elephant here at the zoo. I think its wearing me down again. For a time I was hopeful for another baby, because surely I wouldn't lose another... Lately I am keenly aware of how empty those hopes are. It leaves me feeling empty, hopeless and saddened on a whole new level. Fighting a fight I have no hope of ever winning. Trying to find contentment in a life with such missing pieces, when all I want to do is pound my fist against the walls that keep me from getting to the other side. And I hate it. I hate what has happened to us, and I hate what it has done to us. I hate that its everywhere I go, in everything I do and in everything I see. And its so hard not to feel like I deserved better, that my daughter and my husband deserved better. That it isn't fair for us to have to live in this shadow. And there are so often times when I feel like throwing my self on the ground, kicking and screaming and crying. Throwing a temper tantrum in the style that my daughter so often does. Because it isn't fair, and I want to scream "NO!" too!
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Death Barged In

2011-09-28T00:48:00.005-05:00

I came across a recommendation for this poem while reading a post on Glow In The Woods this evening. I couldn't have said this better! I thought it was such a poignant way of describing this monster known as grief!

Death Barged In
by Kathleen Sheeder Bonanno

In his Russian greatcoat
slamming open the door
with an unpardonable bang,
and he has been here ever since.

He changes everything,
rearranges the furniture,
his hand hovers by the phone;
he will answer now, he says;
he will be the answer.

Tonight he sits down to dinner
at the head of the table as we eat, mute;
later, he climbs into bed between us.

Even as I sit here, he stands behind me
clamping two colossal hands on my shoulders
and bends down and whispers to my neck,
From now on, you write about me.

From Slamming Open the Door by Kathleen Sheedar Bonanno. Copyright © 2009 by Kathleen Sheedar Bonanno.

You can find the original posting on Poetry.org by clicking here.

Thousands (a poem for my children)

2011-09-27T23:49:00.006-05:00

Thousands

Without their smiles, I will die with a thousand pleas and asking why. The sorrow that has come our way with the toll it takes and the price we pay. For the thousandth day that looms so near, our lives now ruled with mostly fear. These tears that don’t seem quite enough with trinkets to honor that are mostly fluff. Grief changes you in unknown ways. I’ve a patched up heart with seams that fray. Do I recognize you there in the mirror? Do I know the one who calls me “Dear”? This hole, this chasm, this missing piece; will consume me, I know, there’ll be no release. So a thousand days later. Oh, how much has changed! Our once perfect life has been rearranged. These children of ours, ashes now left behind, the others try hard to push from their minds. For who wants to remember a sorrow so deep, and the thousands of tears the parents still weep? They linger here still, amidst us, you know; these tiny lives with their big shadows. Dead before they ever were born. Is it not still my right should I choose to mourn? A thousand days or a thousand years, all I’ve left are uncountable tears. For who am I now, but the grief that I bear and the shattered bits of a life that’s unfair?

Written by H. Westphal

Well, at least something is growing.

2011-09-22T11:50:00.000-05:00

2 years ago this week we planted this tree in honor of our sweet Logan. Its growing beautifully and I couldn't be more pleased with the tree. It also happens to be our 9 year wedding anniversary today, though we've been together for sixteen years. Odd how time goes zooming past. When Logan died each day seemed like an eternity, but as I look back on these last 2 years and 8 months I feel how fast they have also gone. I'm relieved to be past the gut wrenching pain that crippled me. The dull ache I feel these days is almost a comfort for me. The ache means he was real.
As I laid in bed last night I thought about just how awesome my life really is, except... It makes me sad, wondering about the life we almost had, the absolute perfection. Every day it occurs to me more and more just how lucky I am to have such a perfect living daughter. She's my little miracle, the exception. And with the clearance to start trying for baby number 4 looms off in next week, I find my self anxious and scared and already mourning the children I fear that may never come to fruition. As if mourning dead children wasn't difficult enough to figure out, learning to mourn for children that may never be is odd.
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In Good Company, a stolen post.

2011-09-21T13:20:00.007-05:00

I read an excellent post today on She Brings Joy about being in Good Company when it comes to loss and the people in the Bible. I have often talked and posted about my struggles with my faith in Christ since the death of my son. And many are left with the impression that I no longer believe. And try as I may to convince people that I do still believe in God, just a different version than most people are familiar with, most people either come at me with verses that make no sense and have no bearing on my situation (therefor arguing God's case and or trying to defend Him, as if He needs their defense), or they dismiss me for being ignorant in the Word (which I freely admit to). The point is, "Anger is not disbelief." And though I freely admit to my anger towards God I know that he will meet me where I am, and work on me with what I have to offer. God can take my anger the same any parent can deal with the anger of a toddler. He takes it in stride, he understands it. He created the emotion.

I have no shame in my anger with God.

And now there is proof!

2011-09-21T12:15:00.006-05:00

Trolling blogland today I came across a link on Beauty from Ashes to an article published on Yahoo! about the higher risk of death among parents of stillbirth and neonatal deaths with in the first ten years of their child's death. I copied it below for your edification:

From Yahoo! News (that's a link to the original article)

Parents who lose a new baby run a high risk themselves of dying prematurely,
according to a British study published on Thursday.

Investigators delved
into a random sample of national death registrations for the years 1971 to
2006.

They compared deaths among parents who had been bereaved in the
first year of a child's life or whose child had been stillborn, against deaths
among parents whose baby had survived beyond the first year.

Bereaved
parents were between two and four times likelier to die or become widowed in the
first 10 years of the child's death compared with non-bereaved counterparts.

Mothers in particular were at threat.

Bereaved mothers in England
and Wales were four times likelier to die prematurely, and bereaved mothers in
Scotland six times likelier, than women whose child had survived beyond the
first year of life.

The risk for mothers lessened slightly over time,
but was still significant -- 50 percent higher -- after 25 years. After 35
years, it was 20 percent higher.

The reasons for the mortality are
unclear because the data do not give the details.

The authors speculate
there could be a link with alcohol abuse among bereaved parents, and suicide,
too, may be a factor.

Alternatively, stillbirth and infant deaths could
be more common among parents who themselves are in poor health.

The
research, headed by Mairi Harper of the University of York in northern England,
appears in the specialist journal BMJ Supportive and Palliative Care.

:::

So, there you have it. As if being the parent of a dead baby wasn't bad enough, now we have to fear our own premature deaths! Sigh.

Tears and tears and more tears!

2011-09-01T10:46:00.003-05:00

Two years and seven months later one might think that I'd have moved on, gotten over, healed...

And maybe its being in the wake of the stillbirth of my friends son that has brought everything back up front and center. Remembering things I forced myself to forget. Watching her pain is a kin to what it must've been like watching me from afar. Seeing her sorrow and grief reminds me of the sorrow and grief I had for so long, the sorrow that remains still. Knowing what's ahead of her, the horrors she will encounter that she has no clue are coming her way.

Yesterday, in preparation for our garage sale, my husband asked me to go through the baby stuff we saved from my living daughter. Sigh. It was just bad timing. This past week and a half was already filled with sorrow. Sorrow for what I have lost, sorrow or another dead baby, sorrow for the life my friend has watched go up in smoke. I tackled the chore with a margarita in hand (since my DD was at G'ma's) and forced myself to look through the baby paraphernalia, stone faced, detached and under the guise that it didn't matter anymore. Logan was a boy, Rudy a question mark (but I've worked it into my head somehow that he must've been a boy also), so ridding my home of baby girl clothes shouldn't bother me. It didn't mean I wasn't going to have another baby (my DH assured me!), it just meant that the new baby would get his or her own clothing. Like I'd ever be able to put a new baby in the few outfits that I bought specifically for Logan anyhow. I did ok, saving the last 3 bags of "neutral" clothing that I put aside before Logan died for last. There was one bag of all boy clothing, and in that bag were four very special little outfits that I bought for Logan just before he died.

I kept those.

They hang in the closet in the empty spare room...the room we dubbed "the baby room" in our new home because that is where we put all of the baby stuff when we moved in. In the end I kept very few things. A few really special dresses of my dd, Logan's clothes, and some other odds and ends. About a tenth of what was there. I did not cry. I sat there and I stared a lot. I listened to an audio book to help keep my mind busy.

Unfortunately it took me catching my brand new grill on fire and destroying it at dinner time to bring me to tears. And cry I did! I cried loudly and with everything in me. I cried for my grill, for Logan, for Rudy, for my friend and her baby, for babies everywhere, for the ghosts that haunt me, for the loss of future children...I cried and I cried and I cried.

I guess I needed to.

Missing my children

2011-08-24T13:25:00.000-05:00

Today, sitting here in this peace, I miss our children and the way our life was supposed to have been. Its moments and days like these, peaceful ones, where I feel the hole the most. Days when I know there should have been three children building castles in the sand. Three tiny shrill voices hooting and laughing and shrieking in the water and running over the sand. Cleaning sand out of three sets of eyes. Nervous because its hard to keep an eye on three small children at the beach. Don't get me wrong, I love this day here at the beach with my daughter, my living child. She fills my life with sunshine and rainbows and there are moments when I dare not ask for more, moments when I am astounded that I could ever possibly even WANT more.

Yet, I do. Because I KNOW what I had, and I KNOW what's missing.
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"Look out!!"

2011-08-21T09:55:00.004-05:00

I didn't realize how much watching someone else go through this would knock the wind right out of me. Its like watching a car wreck in motion. You wanna reach out your hand a scream "Look out!!" But the disaster in inevitable and there isn't a damn thing you can do about it.

And making food seems so trite.

The Pioneer, the Harbor and the Land Mine

2011-08-20T21:08:00.004-05:00

So, another one of my closest friends in now part of "The Club". She is in process now and will deliver a stillborn baby boy sometime in the next day or so. She was 33 weeks along with out any signs of trouble. Oh, and her birthday is this week.

It gets easier. But there isn't a day that goes by that I don't think of Logan, and now Rudy, and wonder what they would have been like. How our lives would have been. And each time another friend looses their baby I feel it all over again. I feel their pain, I feel my own. And I wonder how it could be that my life is so full of dead babies, when just a few short years ago a dead baby seemed more like a horror film than my reality. Now my horror film has sequels and spin-offs.

"They" say that God puts people in your life for a reason, and you in theirs. Now here I sit with my two newest friends, also being on my list of closest, and I will have walked this path with the both of them with in the past two and a half years, while losing another of my own in the mean time. I feel like the pioneer. And though I find some odd comfort having friends in real life who are in my boat, it sickens me. It makes me angry. It confounds me. I just keep asking how and why. And part of me feels like I'm supposed to be thankful that God put me in the lives of others who would all end up with this common bond, and part of me would rather just say "no thanks!" I'd rather have my innocence and ignorance back than to ever know that babies die, and they do it all the time.

Oddly enough I am able to be at the hospital with her and to talk her through the basics and the facts. The "what to expect when you're suddenly NOT expecting" if you will. Although I think I've removed my heart for the time being. Sort of like the wall you put up when you're holding some one elses newborn. It wouldn't do for me to sit there and be in hysterics. I felt like I talked her ear off while I was there. Nerves mostly, I'm sure. But as I left I felt like there were so many things I wanted to tell her. I wanted her to have a list of everything to expect from the hatred for the newborn's cry down the hall she'll be hearing after her baby's been silenced, to the gut wrenching feeling the first time she's realized she's forgotten she's not pregnant anymore, to the phantom kicks and the cruel joke that comes on day three when her milk comes in for a baby that didn't. I wish I could walk in front of her for the next year and warn her of all the canyons before she falls in them, before she encounters each and every idiot who's going to tell her that her baby is in a better place, and that God has a plan and that it was for the best. To be her neon sign, the one that I wanted so badly that shouted that I had a baby too, and it died, and damn it you'd better not forget it!

But all I get to be is a safe harbor, and then, maybe not. Maybe I will be a land mine. Maybe every time she sees me I'll just be a reminder that babies die.

We were pregnant together too. And it took her so long to get pregnant, and she wanted this baby so bad... And I was thrilled to death for her. And I know she felt terrible for me and helpless in May when Rudy died. Know I feel like I'm just a witness to a really cruel prank, or somehow even in on it.

There aren't enough Margarita's in the world for this.

Wasn't that supposed to hurt more than it did?

2011-07-31T20:43:00.004-05:00

One might think that I might've curled up and died after the loss of two babies. Oddly enough, I didn't. But to be honest, the loss of Rudy just couldn't come close to the anguish I had with Logan. I dunno. For a long time I thought maybe I was just in shock, it would come. The ordeal turned into a fiasco. The surgery, though it removed the pregnancy and most of the remnants, didn't fix the problem. I barely recovered from the surgery and I was being injected with Methotrexate (a drug used to both induce abortions (yay for that tid bit!!) and attack tumor cells in cancer patients) to stop (and ultimately bring down) my hCG levels. Because, ironically enough, my body just. did. not. want to accept that there was no longer a baby in there and insisted on continuing on in a pregnant way. That was SUPER! And to make matters worse we were selling/buying and moving to a new home in the midst of it all. Each day inundated with chaos and stress and a nice helping of fear over a rupturing tube when there wasn't even a baby in there any more! Frankly the whole thing was a bit much and in the end I think I was more relieved it was over than anything. But, I kept waiting, expecting that same old gripping grief to haul me under. Except, in never showed up. Don't get me wrong, I cried. I cried at weird moments. I get the familiar pangs and urges. I still count on the calendar to see where I would have been now (15 weeks, if your curious). And yes, I feel the grief at another child leaving before their arrival. But I keep waiting, waiting to be pulled under by the tidal wave of grief I'm supposed to be having.

So far it hasn't shown up...yet. It's been 9 weeks since the surgery. Maybe I was just so hell bent on not going under this time. Maybe I was too distracted. Maybe the whole "you could've died" issue kind of balanced it out. Maybe its because I really only knew about Rudy for about three weeks. Maybe its because I expected this child to die. I mean, aren't all BLM's freaked out the the subsequent children will die too? I dunno. It freaks me out a little bit. Makes me feel cold and heartless. Makes me wonder just how far down I stuff this pain, and when it will surface. One more thing to make me feel freakish.

I guess in the end I just feel like its old hat. Been there, done that. Strike two. I dunno though, I feel like my odds for a living breathing healthy baby get lower every day! Two outta three, that kinda sucks in my book! I mean really, the odds don't look good. First the stillbirth from Down Syndrome (at 31!!), then an Ectopic when I had NONE of the markers...I mean, what's next?

Most of the time I just feel like I'm standing here, poised, and telling the universe "Gimme your best shot!" Because at the end of the day, I STILL want another child! I want that child more than just about anything in the world. I figure I can handle whatever comes my way this time around, I mean, I feel like I'm getting to be a pro at the whole dead baby thing. I can handle it, as long as I get to bring another healthy one home. But then part of me wonders just how many dead babies I want on my list.

Sigh. I keep looking over my shoulder. I am still terrified of dying, and I'm convinced there is a target on my daughters back. I keep having this eerie feeling that the loss of Rudy should've hurt more than it did. I think the problem is that I keep comparing the loss of Rudy to the loss of Logan and frankly they are worlds apart. Logan was within me for six months, he moved, he had a name, we had time to plan, hope and dream. Logan was more than an enigma. He was birthed, held, cuddled and kissed though he were dead. Rudy was a glimmer, barely seen on an ultrasound, and unbelieved in since conception. Too good to be true, and so he/she was. And please understand that I am not trying to diminish miscarriages. Sadly I don't even feel like it WAS a miscarriage. I ok'd the removal of a living baby. I believe they call that an abortion, wanted or not, warranted or not. It is what it is. And in the end I am more sickened by the fact that I became pregnant and then was forced to terminate, or die. I feel like it was just one more giant "psych!" from the universe, except this time I was kinda in on it. I don't like feeling like I had some form of control over it, because realistically I didn't. But we all like to beat ourselves up and play the blame game.

Maybe it gets easier with each loss? Maybe I'm really effed up in the head now days. Or maybe, as my mother likes to point out, God really did protect my heart this time around. Can't say that I mind.

And the hits just keep on coming!

2011-06-12T12:14:00.005-05:00

You know, you'd think that loosing a baby would be enough. Baby's dead, its over, your done. But nope, not this time. Friday afternoon I got a call from the doc that my hCG levels are rising, which means that I'm technically still pregnant and that remnants of the pregnancy are still growing in my tube. Friday evening I was in the ER receiving two shots of Methotrexate (a chemotherapy drug) to stop and shrink the growth of the cells. Monday I get more blood work done and another trip to the hospital so that doctor can evaluate me again, and then again on Thursday. If the Methotrexate didn't work they'll do another round (which works 95% of the time). And if that doesn't work, they start doubling the doses. Or they'll have to take out my tube (which they'll have to do anyhow if the tube ruptures in the mean time). Its all so surreal. I can barely get a grip on the seriousness of my situation, and oddly enough I'm afraid of really trivial things (in the grand scheme of it all). Like the side effects of the Methotrexate. I already blacked out today standing on the stairs talking to my husband. Thankfully he was standing there and caught me, but it was so unexpected. That's a side effect I could live with out. Plus then there's the puking. I'm so freaked out by puking with an already sore and tender abdomen the thought of puking makes me sweat and shake. And not that I'll have these side effects for sure, but I'm consumed with fear over them. Maybe its because its the only bit of reality that I can get a grip on at the moment. Tomorrow and the rest of the week are supposed to be the hard days when the medicine really kicks into overdrive. I'm nervous to be alone with my toddler. What if something happens? What if my tube ruptures and I pass out before I call 911, and then I bleed to death right in front of her? That would so screw my kid up for life. But I'm trying not to walk around feeling like I'm dying, because I'm not. Its a remote chance. It just feels like lately, those are the chances that seem to always find their way to my door, and that freaks me out just a little. Even my doc commented on how I'm not doing anything the right way. I've been an exception to almost every rule, and that's frustrating.

Yesterday David asked me where I wanted to be buried (here or back home), just in case. That was a surreal conversation and one we quickly ended. My poor husband. He has got to be freaking out on the inside. I know I would be. He's trying to be all cool and strong for me, but it got to be messing with his head.

And how sad is it to say that I still want another baby? I do. We can't even begin to think about it until November, and David says will talk about it then. I know he's done. Who could blame him. He felt like Logan was a warning, and losing Rudy reinforced that...but now, with all of the complications and what not with this ectopic mess, I can't see him ever agreeing to a baby again.

And what am I supposed to do with that?

Anyhow, I really feel like we are on the verge of tipping over the edge around here. We're supposed to be moving in about two weeks, and I'm useless right now. I can't really help do anything, and David is having to do most of the packing on his own. Its really frustrating and stressful. We've been offered a lot of help, mostly vague help..."if you need us, maybe we can come help sometime". Well, we need it. I've said so. We'll see how much help we actually get. Lord knows we need a lot of it.

2 week Post-Op check up

2011-06-08T21:54:00.000-05:00

I'm tired of feeling like the world is viewing this as one big ugly medical procedure. That I'm just Post-Op. What about post baby killing? Because, I mean really, isn't that what went down? And they say it all delicately, politely..."removing the pregnancy". No one wants to talk about the fact that the baby was alive when he or she was so sweetly removed! No one wants to call it what is was, not even me. I always swore there would never be a circumstance in which I'd have an abortion, I feel ashamed and ill in my ignorance. And saying to me that I didn't have a choice, it doesn't seem to matter. I ok'd the "operation" to "remove the pregnancy". I swear, I feel like God is beating me up these last few years.

Most of the time I am bewildered that I am here...much less again.

Tomorrow I get the pleasure of revisiting the place where every time I have walked in, it is because a child of mine has died. It sounds so melodramatic. I HATE every OB office I walk into. Each time its like a dagger. Pictures of healthy living babies. Pregnant Chics. And I know most of them have pregger issues or they wouldn't be at a specialist. It doesn't matter, they're pregnant and I'm suddenly not...again! Guess I'm back in that selfish phase.

I'm scared. I'm scared of what they are going to tell me tomorrow, and I'm scared of what they aren't.
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Round two; Saying goodbye to Rudy.

2011-05-27T08:52:00.005-05:00

Here I am, pacing another hospital room, trying to come to terms with another dead baby. Two dead babies now. Logan ia now joined by a sibling we long ago nicknamed Rudy. A sibling only in existance a mere five and a half weeks.

Rudy was Ectopic. Located half way down my right falopian tube. A tiny, miniscule, actively beating heart pulled mercilessly from my shocked body by a robot.

I am supposed to be happy that I am alive. Lucky, they say.

Guess I'm not there just yet.

Ladies and gentlemen, we have a buyer!

2011-05-16T21:57:00.004-05:00

Its finally happened. After almost a year of having our house on the market, we have a buyer! We close on June 27th barring nothing going wrong. We also think we've found a house that we really like and will be making an offer over the next few days. The sheer thrill is overwhelming. I'm finally getting out of my haunted house.

Knocked Up, Knocked Down - Monica Murphy LeMoine

2011-03-30T12:53:00.003-05:00

This is Monica's book. She blogs about her miscarriages/stillbirth and subsequent real live take home baby over at Knocked Up, Knocked Down. Which is where you can also order her book by the same name. Its a great read, full of her typical satire and foul mouthed outlook on the land of dead babies and what it means to be a "Half-Mom". Seriously, check it out.

Cutting people off.

2011-02-21T22:10:00.004-06:00

Look out! 2 posts in one week!

This post isn't really about Logan. The issues I have with my family go back decades. But you see the thing is, when Logan died, issues I had started coming into focus a little more. Hurts became a whole lot more defined. I found myself backing away from people, closing myself off and eventually cutting a few family members out of my life. I couldn't handle the drama. I couldn't take more hurt and anger and rejection on top of the heavy sadness in my soul. And instead of talking about it, dealing with it, even screaming it out...I shut it down. I stopped answering the phone. I stopped sending gifts, cards, photos. Did this happen with you?

My dad. Sigh. Ok, so my mom and dad divorced when I was a baby. I've only ever known my dad from a distance. He lived three and a half hours away and I saw him twice a year for 18 years. I don't remember him ever calling more than once or twice in between his visits, and if I ever saw him on my birthday...it's gone from memory at this point. My dad was an enigma to me as a child. He went on to quickly marry and start a new family. This gave me a Step-brother and a sister, my only sister. After high school I moved in with my dad to attend college (he lived closer to a big city, I was tired of home, it was different). To say the environment was hostile and explosive would be an understatement. My step-mother is a therapy session all on her own. Let's just say, it wasn't easy living there. The psychosis that floated around that house was unbearable and I was quickly trying to escape that trap. Anyhow, a few years later they all moved to SC (18 hours away) and the day easily ranks in my top five days. I mean, there aren't enough hours to be had to sit and type out the debacle that was the relationship I had with those people. The cliff notes version is that my step-mother is a diagnosed delusional paranoid OCD person. And with that, I've given her lots of leeway. She's sick. She gets a pass (or at least half of one). I've just learned that in order to find happiness in my life, she is best avoided. But I guess you just expect more from your father. At least you hope for more I suppose. My dad wasn't sick or abusive. He just wasn't anything. He wasn't around, and he left you with the impression that it was somehow your fault, or something you were imagining, or that you were just expecting too much. And as an adult I've started to see that he is a pathological liar, self involved to a sickness, and the biggest drama queen I have ever encountered. Through out my adult life I just tolerated it. Whatever, its just how he was. I never clamoured for an apology like the other three kids did. I didn't want explanations or excuses. I just wanted him to be different that he was. Not change the past, but change who he would be in the future. He didn't. And when my daughter was born it became very hard to tolerate. I won't get into all of the details, but I'll say this. He didn't meet my daughter until 2 months AFTER Logan died. She was 14 months old at that point. He popped into town to rescue my sister (drive her back down south) and stayed less than 24 hours. He did this after telling me for over a year he was too broke to come meet his granddaughter. I mean, I get it. Some people just don't care all that much about being a grandparent. But you see, he did. He has 6 other grandchildren. Two of which are at his home on a daily basis. All of which he met with in days of their birth. I'm sure if I'd have screamed and ranted and demanded, he'd have come down sooner. But, I'm not into begging for love and attention. I just felt like he should've come. He knew that. He had excuse after excuse, lie after lie, story after story. It got old. I remember when I was in labor with Logan. We had to make the horrendous phone calls to everyone to let them know what was going on. It only seemed right that I call my dad to tell him his grandson had died. So I did. And instead of offering a little sympathy or even...I dunno...something, he said "this is going to push me over the edge!" I mean reading it it doesn't seem like this big deal, but the thing is I was the one in labor with a dead baby, and hear I was feeling like I had to comfort him. He didn't try to comfort me. The conversation wasn't about me and what I was going through, it became about him. And that about sums up my dad. Everything revolves around him, and if it doesn't...well by golly you'd better be sure he'll find a way to make it so. You know, I wasn't mad that he didn't ever call to see if I was ready to slit my wrist. I wasn't even mad that he didn't make an effort to be at my side during the worse days of my life. I mean honestly I wouldn't have wanted him there anyhow. But in the weeks following Logan's death they wouldn't even let me have my grief. Every call revolved around one of my siblings, and how they had wronged my dad...what new drama was afoot. The final straw was a couple of months after Logan died, after my dad drove the 18 hours (though he claimed he was so broke he was in foreclosure) to pick up my sister (and the man she had an affair with and then deserted her 2 young kids for) so that she could go back to see her kids (because apparently Logan's death was some sort of temporary wake up call for her?)...not to meet my then 14 month old daughter, not to be with his heart broken daughter who was grieving the death of her son. Anyhow, he called me drunk (a former drug addict and alcoholic, rehab, broken family - affair...the whole bit). I don't know why he called me. Guilt? Attention? Its hard to say. But he called me repeatedly, while supposedly DRIVING to my house (18 hours away) and drunk off his ass. My father drunk dialed me in the midst of my grief to whine about how terrible his life was. I called my cousin (his BFF) and told him to deal with it, I just couldn't handle it. Weeks went by with no apology, no excuse, not a word. Nothing. And a little light went off. That was the straw. I just couldn't deal with the selfishness, the drama, anymore. I had way too much reality and sorrow and depression on my plate. REAL pain. Pain I didn't ask for, didn't deserve, and didn't put on myself. I just couldn't take anymore complaining, and whining, and boo-hooing about how awful their lives were when they had NO IDEA what REAL pain felt like. Their lives were shit because they made them that way. I worked my butt off for a good life, and was dealt a grummy hand. I shut down. I never answered the phone again. That was two years ago. He's never seen my daughter since (she's now three) and never even made an attempt to. My step-mother wrote me a crazy letter around the year anniversary of Logan's death. I responded, clipped, short, to the point. I sent pictures of my daughter, they sent them back with a really nasty letter. I sent Christmas and Birthday cards and Father's Day cards, they ignored my birthday, and eventually my daughter's birthday and Christmas too. With every passing month they become more hateful and cruel. Its one thing to be mad at me, to hold a grudge against me, but a three year old? See, and that is unforgivable in my book. And the sad part is, I miss my dad. I miss who he is when he's just being relaxed, not trying to outdo anyone, prove himself or lie. It makes me so sad that my daughter doesn't know her grandpa. That he doesn't know her. The other day she said to me, "Yoo's daddy is in heaben cuz he's dead." I guess she figured that's where he was since she's never seen him. I corrected her. Momma's daddy lives far away. But it made me so angry at my dad all over again. He's quit calling. His last attempt was in November. Not that they were real often or anything, but once every few months or so. I contacted him last June to let him know my mother's mom had died. I thought it was the decent thing to do. It was a very short conversation, 3 minutes is all. He managed to get in that my sister had deserted her kids again, and that the time he called me he wasn't drunk, he'd had a stroke, oh and that he'd send flowers (which he didn't). Uh, yeah. Except that my mom has had about 6 strokes, and has never acted drunk. I mean come on, you can tell when someone is drunk. He wasn't confused, he was stupid drunk. You know, like the drunk chic who hangs on everyone and asks if they love her, is she pretty...in a baby voice. That's what he was like. I talked to him a long time that night, it was sort of funny. I got in a nice couple of digs. Anyhow, so here I am, two years later and I'm tired. You'd think cutting someone off would be easy, but it hasn't been for me. I obsess about it EVERY DAY. Seriously. There isn't a day that goes by where I don't think of it, which enrages me even further. Some times I'm sad and wistful. Other times I'm angry and belligerent. And as far as I know my other siblings have cut them off too (for other reasons). I dunno. I'm just unsure of what to do with the thoughts. Its not like I want a relationship. For years and years I've just said I didn't want anything, I just wanted them to go away. The thing is, I'm wondering if I'll regret it. I mean, I tell myself that I'm protecting my heart, that it just can't take anymore pain and rejection and drama. And I'm protecting my daughter from the pain and rejection too (since I'm well aware of the favoritism that's already been displayed against my older brother's kids for my younger sister's kids). I don't want her to be hurt. I don't want to have to explain to her who these people are, or why they do the things they do. Why they don't love her. No. I don't feel loved by them. Not one bit. I don't know that they are capable of loving. But I obsess about it, relentlessly. I don't want to talk it out. I don't want some huge confrontation. I don't even want an apology, I just want him to be different, better.

My sister. Sigh. She's the spitting image of my dad. She doesn't think so. And for the most part she's been given a pass too because I feel like when you are raised in such a warped environment, how can you be any better? And my sister has lied, and done me wrong, and stolen from me, and who knows what else. But she had an affair (used me in that too, unwittingly) and left her husband AND KIDS (9 months and 5 years old) in SC to move back to Michigan because she felt it was something she needed to do for herself. And I tried, believe me I tried to excuse her behaviour and rationalize it and psychoanalyze it. She lived with my neighbors for several months while I was pregnant with Logan. And I tried to let it go, and I tried to except her life choice and the idiot fool she left her husband for (who I dearly loved) because that's what sister's do. And I believed her when she told me she had it worked out about her kids, and that there wasn't any other way, and that she was getting them... I was on her side as much as I could be. But when Logan died...I didn't get it anymore. I didn't understand how a mother could move 18 hours away from her babies, with no hope of visiting (being as she was broke, homeless and without a car). She deserted her children. It was unacceptable. Unforgivable. I couldn't look at her. I couldn't speak to her. I couldn't stand the sound of her voice. The hatred was blinding. She was blessed with a good husband (believe me, he was good to her), two beautiful and healthy babies and she threw it away like they were garbage. And I didn't get it. I still don't. I couldn't tolerate it. I couldn't look at her and be okay with what she had done to my poor innocent nephews. I wanted to hurt her, physically. I couldn't stomach anything about her. And until a couple of weeks ago (thanks a lot facebook!) I believed she was back in SC (because remember my dad came and got her and took her home). But she's not. She's in Chicago with that loser. Her boys? Still in SC. And I know they are better off with their dad. But its still inexcusable. Fine. I get it, some people get divorced. But these parents that move away from their kids? I don't get it. I can't fathom being away from Aubrey. The very thought of not having her on a daily basis gets my insides all knotted up and I start feeling homicidal. And the problem is that here my sister is, pregnant at 19 and unwed. Shotgun wedding. Baby #2 was unplanned, and miscarried at 7 weeks. Baby #3 comes along, surprise, 9 months later she splits. And these are the people having healthy living children while mine is dead. Its not fair! And I hate her for it. I hate her for not knowing how lucky she is. I hate her for pissing it all away. I hate her for hurting those boys. And the same goes for my dad! I just don't get why people like that are given children. Why can't it be those type of people who have babies die? People who think their children are accessories, punishments, a nuisance. Anyhow. My sister has called a couple of times. I never unfriended her on Facebook, but she was silent and she left me alone. Until a few days ago when she popped up and started commenting on my wall and then sent me an email about my step-mother (her mom) being on FB (I blocked her right away). I didn't answer anything. I still can't stomach her. Then today she sent me a message on Facebook. A real confrontational one too. I didn't respond. I blocked her.

I'm not ready.

I want to forgive them. Or at least I want to feel nothing about them. It eats at me and I hate it. I just don't know where to go from here. My dh tried to convince me to call my dad a few weeks ago, and I almost did. But I got so worked up, so angry, so hateful that I threw my hands up and said no way! I know that the more time that passes the bigger the chasm, and I'm not sure if that's a bad thing or not. I feel justified in my actions. But I feel petty at times too. The reality of it is that the three of them are never going to be different. People are who they are. You learn to accept them, or you move on. My older brother doesn't seem to have any issues with it. But I just can't seem to forget. I'd sure love some input from anyone in the same sort of shoes. Its easy to say forgive and forget if you've never been treated like a second hand kid your whole life. My dh, try as he may, just does not get it. His family is fairly normal.

Anyhow, I just needed to talk through some of this. Logan's death has changed the way I feel about so many things, and the way I deal with so many things. In a way I feel its good. Its helped me to stop being a door mat and to focus on the things in life that matter. So many other things that used to seem like a huge deal now seem petty and foolish.

Just one more way I'm different now, I guess.

Because really, how much is there left to say?

2011-02-20T18:48:00.004-06:00

It's been about four months or so since my last post here. I guess after a while I've started to feel like I'm beating a dead horse. I mean, how much is there really left to say? Logan's second anniversary came and went on January 24th, mostly in silence. Not too many people even knew, or remembered, or at least mentioned it. We didn't commemorate the day or anything. I didn't cry. I mean, not that I wasn't sad, but I seemed to feel all dried up that day. Empty. Defeated. Deflated. I made a real point to try and be genuinely happy and celebratory for my daughter's 3rd birthday (a quick 3 days after Logan's anniversary), and I think I did a good job. These days my heartache is more of a shadow. Its always there, in the background. Easily found, most times ignored. But regardless of how I appear to those around me, and even how I seem to myself at times, I am not over it. I am not okay with it. I have not dealt with it, nor have I found peace in it. I guess I just feel helpless, or hopeless about ever finding the big meaning of it all. Most of the time I try to convince myself that maybe there just isn't a bigger meaning to any of it. Like so many other horrific things in life, Logan's death was just random...just like his life. No more a punishment or judgement from God than is child abduction or molestation. Horrible things happen all the time. But try as I may to be glad that we haven't had to experience other horrible things, I don't find comfort in any of it. I don't know that I'm still mad at God these days. I guess if anything I just feel abandoned by him. But then, sometimes I just feel nothing. It just happened. Its part of life. GOD didn't DO this to me. It wasn't DONE TO ME. It just was what it was. Down Syndrome happens to lots of people. Most of those babies die before birth. We're just among those numbers. But I can't get past the giant WHY? Why us? Why Logan? Why did we have to get pregnant THAT month? Its really just a big circle of whys. Questions I will never have the answers to. And even if I did, would it matter? Would any reason why be enough for me to nod in agreement, to believe it was the right decision, the only option, the best choice? I doubt it. I doubt I would ever feel ok with the reason why. I wish I could figure out a way to let that go, the question why. It eats at me.

I've often talked about how Logan's death has changed so many facets of our lives. The big one lately is the subject of another baby. I wish I wasn't so scared to have another child. I mean after I manage to get past the issues in the bedroom, then I fear having another child with DS. Then I fear the death of that child, and I fear the life of that child. Having a handicapped child certainly would change life around here, and I would have a lot of guilt. I know that lots of people who have handicapped children will tell everyone what a blessing that child is, and though I don't doubt it I fear the affect it would have on the healthy living child that I currently have. A life that would forever be altered because I was too selfish to be happy with what I had. Money that would have gone towards a better life for her (college and what not) would be used on surgeries and special care for a child that I forced into our lives. And say that child is healthy, and lives...will I ruin that child? I fear I may smother my children. I fear that my third child will forever live in Logan's shadow. I fear that my fear of anything bad coming to my children will haunt me and turn me into some uncontrollable psychopath! I fear getting pregnant, and I fear not getting pregnant. I fear that not giving my daughter a sibling will leave her lonely and "missing" a big part of life. I fear that having another child will leave less of me for her. The whole thing just flat out terrifies me these days, and has become a constant nagging in my mind. I feel like there is no great outcome to be had. Having another child will not alleviate the sadness of Logan, it may only confuse it, if not exacerbate it. I am confused, and I am scared.

Fear is what pretty much defines me these days. Fear that my living child will die. Fear that I may ruin her. Fear that I might let down my husband in my efforts to find some proverbial missing link. A link that can not ever be found. Fear that my God has forsaken me, or that I am too far gone to ever find my way back in my faith and beliefs. Fear that I will never be able to forgive God for the enormous heartache that we have. Fear that I will not be able to get pregnant, or to carry to term, or to produce a healthy baby. And oddly enough lately I have taken on this huge fear of death. I lay awake at night, I obsess about it while I'm driving. I think about my death on a regular basis and how it would affect my dh or my daughter. What will happen to me when I die. What happens if I die soon. Fear that any day could be my last. Some horrible accident or disease that steals me away from my daughter, my heartbroken husband.

Fear.

Perhaps its another phase of grief. I will hope this is the case.

Wondering, and forever altered.

2010-10-29T23:20:00.005-05:00

So.

I have to be honest. Recently a few people IRL have found my blog. It makes me feel weird. I'm a pretty private closed off person IRL and I keep my cards close to my heart. So having every raw emotion splashed across the pages of this blog to be read, picked apart, misunderstood and judged by people I see on a regualr basis...well, its awkward. I'm trying to just deal with it. This is my safe place. This is where I come to work through the horror that is having a child die before his first breath was ever taken. But I still feel weird. I don't like being that transparent. I don't like feeling that vulnerable to people I know IRL. Especially people who can not begin to fathom where I've been.

But. I'm trying to deal with it. I'm trying to get past the awkwardness so that I can feel safe and comfortable here again.

Anyway...

I never thought a year and a half ago that I would ever be in the place that I am today. Hopefully that offers encouragement to others who may just be starting out. It does get easier to live with, in time. I don't have nearly the amount of bad days that I used to. Now they're not so much bad days as bad moments. I still don't like hearing his name called out randomly, like at the Zoo today. There's just something about that. I'm hanging out, oblivious, most likely not thinking of Logan and I hear his name called and its like being slammed in the face with it again. Some people think that this would desensitize me, but I'm sorry...it does not. Not anymore than hearing my husbands name called, not any more than hearing my living child's name called. The name Logan is special for me, almost sacred. I'll never get used to hearing it called out randomly. Songs do it to me too. There are just way too many songs out there that fit how I feel. Walking this evening I had one loop through my Shuffle. Creed. Don't Stop Dancing. The very beginning of the song is this:

"At times life is wicked and I just can't see the light. A silver lining sometimes isn't enough to make some wrongs seem right. Whatever life brings I've been through everything and now I'm on my knees. But I know I must go on. Although I hurt, I must be strong. Because inside I know that many feel this way."

Anyhow, you can read the rest of the lyrics here if you want. The song tried to kill me. And like some sadist I replayed the song like four times! I'm hormonal this week. Driving back from the zoo this morning I started crying. Why? Get this. Because I started to think about if I died, that my daughter wouldn't remember me (she's just shy of 3). She wouldn't know the enormous amount of love I have for her. She'd grow up wondering about me, who I was, if I loved her. It crushed me to think of it. I don't know what my problem was. I just chalked it up to hormones. they're never rational anyhow.

I miss Logan. I miss the dream of the life we planned on. I miss the innocence of not knowing about this side of reality. I miss the thought of having my two kids, the days I had planned for us. I've come to realize that even should I choose to go on and have another child, Logan will always be missing. He should be here even after baby number three (coyly referred to as Rudy these days). It should be Aubrey, Logan and Rudy. Three. Or Four. But it never will be. He will always be missing. Its a hard thing to grasp for myself. I don't expect anyone IRL to ever get a handle on that either. You know. You're supposed to move on. Have more kids. Forget it happened. I guess. I dunno. Doesn't seem possible. I think the reality of it is that the parents of these dead children just stifle and lock away thier thoughts, memories and dreams of these "secret" babies so that the outside world won't label them as weird or crazy. Not able to cope, get over, move on. If Logan would've died at the age of five I highly doubt the outsiders would feel that way, much less have the audacity to even suggest perhaps its time to move on. But because he was a baby...because we didn't have "real" memories with him...because he didn't really have a life...we should move on. What about the memories we do have? The memories of him kicking? The memories of the sound of his heart beat? The memories of his dead body craddled in my arms? What do we do with those memories? How do we get over those? Move past them?

Logan would've been 17 months now. A month older than Aubrey would have been when he should've been born. I struggle with the fact that I can not imagine what my life would be like with a 2 year 10 month old and a 17 month old, especially one with Down Syndrome. I had no problem imagining it before Logan died...but now its just weird. I try. But I don't see it anymore, not even with Rudy. I see Aubrey with children about his age and it rips open a gash in my heart that is a fraction from being unbearable. I try to not think that she is lonely. I try to not think that she will most likely grow up to feel ambivalent, maybe curious at best, about the little boy who was her brother. This little boy that I have so much love for, she will not. I have lots of brothers. And I can not for one second imagine what my life would've been like, who I would have been, if any one of those boys never was.

These days that's what I struggle with the most. Wondering what life would've been like. Wondering what I would've been like. Wondering what Aubrey would've been like had she grown up with a brother. Wondering what we would all be like if Logan had been given the chance to have a life here on earth. Wondering, and never knowing. Forever altered, and yet not knowing to what extent or just how.

I miss that tiny life. I still have so many tears for that little boy.

::: ::: :::

On a different note I am proud to announce that I have lost the thirteen pounds of depression weight that I put on after Logan died. In fact, I've lost another pound more than that. The day that I surpassed my pre-pregnancy weight I cried. Those blasted pounds were just another reminder. I hated those 13 pounds more than any of the other ones. Put on because I just couldn't cope with what happened to me. Put on because I wanted to feel joy, comfort...anything other than what I was. Put on because I didn't care anymore. They were the hardest freakin' 13lbs a person could loose. It took me a year and nine months to get more than 3 pounds to budge. But I finally did, and though I have another 45lbs to go to my goal weight, I feel like a new person not having those 13lbs on me anymore. I blog about my struggles with weightloss in the face of depression, toddlerhood and life at my blog The Fatty Cake Girls Club if you'd like to wander on over and gawk at me there too.

Getting it together

2010-09-27T10:28:00.003-05:00

There are times when things are really bleak. Then there are times like now where things feel like maybe, just maybe we're all getting back to "normal" and life is moving forward and I'm ok with it. Its a nice relief. Its hard to be sad. It takes a lot out of me when I get depressed, and I don't like who I am. Nor do I recognize myself.

I recently decided to really buckle down and loose all of my weight. Not just "some weight". I feel like I have reasons enough to motivate me, and keep me motivated. I won't go into them all because their the same reasons as everyone else (I'm tired of how I feel/look, my kids, my spouse, etc). But recently it came to my attention that should we ever decide to have another child, I need to give that child the best possible chance to start life with. Being overweight doesn't give them the best possible chances (gestational diabetes for starters). So, if I'm ever to have another child, my first priority is to loose these 50lbs and get my butt in shape, the right way. The healthy way. Because not only does The Muffin and the Husband deserve that, and me too, btw, but so does the little sprout I'm hoping for, my little Rutabaga (my dh decided to name our next child this, just in case, because we are so tired of hearing Logan's name on a regular basis. Especially since when we picked it out it wasn't even in the top 100, and last year it was in the top 5!!). All future reference to this child will be known as Rooty! LOL! Ok, not seriously. Not that the nickname might not stick, poor kid, but we promise to only name our children normal names. :)

Anyhow, so I'm on day 8 of the most successful diet stint I've ever been on. 8 days of eating on target and burning the amount I should (thanks to Apex's BodyBugg). I have a separate blog for that (http://thefattycakegirlsclub.blogspot.com) where I blather on about my diet excursions. You can join me over there if you'd like to gawk at me and see how terribly I have struggled in the face of depression and emotional eating for the past year and a half, and how I plan to only kick butt from this point forward! It ought to be real interesting!

I'd love to know if there are any of you fellow BLM's (or dad's for that matter) who blog about trying to loose weight post traumatic event. Let me know, I'll come follow you there!

We'll I'm off to make Potstickers for lunch. Keeping strong. Not caving in to the brownies that I really want to eat (even if I have to first bake them). Not caving into the soda I want SO BAD, or the Mochas! Feeling confident that I can get through this!! I mean hey, I survived the death of a baby...anything after this is cake right?? Mmm...cake!

Waves & Stages...There and back again.

2010-09-12T20:30:00.003-05:00

Grief comes in waves and stages. We all know that. I've been there, and back again.

If nothing else has been proven in the past year and a half, this has; I am hypersensitive to everything these days. It doesn't take much to make me blue anymore. My mom used to say that things rolled off me like water on a ducks back. These days I absorb it. I store it up in little bottles and stick them on a shelf. I collect sorrow and grief in all its forms anymore.

This has been one crappy week. My emotions have been spun tight, unraveled and tangled together, only to be sifted through each night while I lay awake and obsess on things that can not be, things that might be, and things that are. Lately it is making me physically ill again. Between the mess of thinking and hoping and being so sure that I was pregnant, only to start my cycle...my house sitting stagnant on a stagnant market, with teasers dangling and nothing coming to fruition...to finally finding a new home for my dog, only to be saddled with so much guilt and sorrow over the decision that I can not sleep, and am trying to drown my sorrows in food to which point it actually hurts...and then reinforcing the issues I have with myself and my complete lack of ability to stick to my diet.

They say not to do anything major for a year after the loss of a baby. Don't move, don't quit your job, don't get a new pet...or get rid of one. Right around the time I got pregnant with Logan I started getting very disillusioned with my dog. When Logan died...well, she took the brunt of it. Some people turn to their pets for comfort. For me, Kaida was just one more thing I couldn't deal with. She stressed me out on a level I couldn't handle and I begged my husband to let me get rid of her. It took a year and a half to find a new home for Kaida, well past the "recommended" time frame, home that I thought was good enough for her. I didn't want to place her in a home where she wouldn't get anymore love or attention than we were giving her. This past Friday I found such a home. Its perfect really. Its everything we hoped for. And now that she is gone I find myself feeling as though I failed her. She counted on me to love her and give her a good home, and I let her down. I broke my husbands heart in the process. I took away my daughters puppy. I did it because I didn't think I could cope, and now I feel like a whiny selfish bitch. I keep trying to remind myself that its for the best. In the long run it will be better for everyone. Kaida deserved a home where she would get the attention she so craved and deserved. She is a great dog. She is sweet as can be, and the problem laid with me. I couldn't be the "mommy" she needed, and damn it if that doesn't ring deep into my soul on a level I can barely comprehend. But here I am once again feeling as though I failed my baby. The guilt has crept into my belly and is sitting there like a stone. I failed. Again.

Logan's death changed everything. I'm just beginning to really see this, how deeply it all runs. Just how much has changed. Things I never considered, things that are still being revealed to me. It scares me. This event that I couldn't control, couldn't stop, couldn't prevent, couldn't fix will hold a power over me that I will not ever be able to reconcile. It makes me feel broken. A deep down sort of broken. Irreparable. Scared. Sad.

Will I never be me again? Will I forever feel like the shell of the woman I was?

How I pictured my son.

2010-09-09T11:33:00.000-05:00

I guess I'm breaking some horrible law or rule or code by posting a picture of some random kid. But I did it. The thing is this little boy is exactly the same age Logan would've been. 15 months or so about now. And, I always pictured Logan looking just like this. Blonde straight hair, blue eyes. Bruiser looking sorts dude. It made me sad. This whole week just sort of sucks. Then I got to see them play together! Because honestly I just needed one more dagger!
Sent via BlackBerry from T-Mobile

I guess its happy at the park.

2010-09-09T11:16:00.000-05:00

What a difference a year makes. This month marks a year since we had this willow planted at the park near our home in memory of Logan. It was such a scrawny tree last year, but this summer it practically exploded. I guess its happy here at the park.
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I'm trying to resume life as if Logan dying didn't change EVERYTHING. But it did.

2010-09-07T11:04:00.002-05:00

So. I thought I was pregnant. Sigh. For the first time in about ten months my cycle was 3 days late. I took a test after I was one day late and it was negative, but the test had expired months ago, so I thought maybe it was just too old. I woke up this morning and I just knew I had to be pregnant. Three days is a lot late for me. And I won't lie, I was excited. I was scared too, but the hope and excitement over shadowed the fear. A few hours later I started. Of course I did. Not yesterday when I was still wondering, but today...after I had convinced myself it must be true.

The thing is, we aren't "trying". David isn't ready yet. Sigh. So he was scared, or nervous or whatever. And I think this morning when I passed the news on that I wasn't pregnant he tried to not cheer. But he certainly didn't sound disappointed or sad. I was very sad. I cried and it was weird and awkward, and I quickly hung up. Its hard to be on such extreme opposites on this issue.

I'm trying to be patient. I'm trying to be understanding. I'm trying to not loose hope. I'm trying to not see the future flying at me with the speed of a freight train and the big fat age thing haunting me. I'm trying to shut up that scary voice that says by the time he is ready...I'll be too old and the chances of DS so high it would be stupid to risk it. I'm trying to keep a clear head about the whole thing and be positive and I am trying, I swear I am trying, to be content with what I have now. It just wasn't supposed to be like this. And I'm trying to resume life as if Logan dying didn't change EVERYTHING. But it did. And sometimes that reality is really hard on me.

And today these cycle hormones are my nemesis. And today I am sad all over again for the ones that may never be, because of the one who was...and then so quickly wasn't. And all over again I hate what happened to us. I hate that I am here. I hate that Logan died and I hate that it changed everything and I never got a say in the matter.

Just for laughs

2010-08-29T17:02:00.000-05:00

I saw this at the mall today and had to laugh. It also made me think of Aunt Becky over at Mommy Needs a Vodka!
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The Dead Baby Club: Welcoming our new coauthors

2010-08-22T23:53:00.001-05:00

The Dead Baby Club: Welcoming our new coauthors: I am pleased to announce the addition of three new coauthors to the DBC blog team. Please welcome Elaine, Amanda and Jess to the DBC Blog team!

Stepping stone

2010-08-19T10:00:00.000-05:00

I saw this stepping stone while at the farmers market. I've never seen this little poem and I thought it was so pretty that I would share it.
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A hilarious post!

2010-08-10T21:53:00.001-05:00

Angie over at Still Life with Circles posted this little movie! It is so hilarious! Go check it out. No one gets dead baby humor like a fellow DBM in the trenches!

My marriage

2010-08-10T21:11:00.002-05:00

Brittany contacted me on Facebook and asked me how the tragedy of Logan’s death affected my marriage. This is what I came up with.

Prior to Logan's death my husband and I had a solid relationship of about 13 years or so. We also had a daughter a year prior to Logan's death, which I think changes things considerably. With out those two things in play, I can not say how our marriage would have fared. My husband has ventured so far as to say that had Logan been our first baby, he doesn't think I would still be around. Though I played with the idea of escaping, and though yes, having a baby living at home to help me "snap out of it" and focus on my responsibilities to raising her kept me intact at home, I think I yearned for the companionship of someone who knew what the heartbreak felt like. I doubt that I would have wandered far, or for very long since the safest most comforting place I found was in my husbands arms. They say “Misery loves company”, and David knew my brand of misery, and we could wallow in it together, and often did in those early days. But now, a year and a half later, I look back and I think that the biggest changes for my marriage were two things. First and foremost I became terrified of loosing my husband (and daughter) either through him leaving me or their death. Know one ever said that “this” would leave one feeling rational and sane. But I was terrified (and I still struggle with this) that God was gonna swoop down and take them too! Or Karma, or the Devil or just plain old fate! But that they were going to be snatched from me, and that in turn I would die of sheer misery and broken heartedness. On my more sane days I tended to cling to change number two. That change being that if my marriage could survive something so gut wrenchingly terrible and come out on the other side still in love with each other, still able to cling to each other, still able to look to the other for comfort…well then, we could survive absolutely anything. I remember a nurse saying something to me when I was in labor with Logan (whom I already knew was dead) to the gist of, “This is the worse thing that could ever happen to you, and you’ve already done it!” And I remember thinking at the time it was an odd thing for her to have said, but I so agreed with her. Because after all nothing could ever be worse than this, right? Well 18 months of time between the horror and now have taught me that no, in fact it is not the worse thing that could ever happen. Far worse things could have happened, and could still happen. But at the time I needed to hear that, and I held on to that with every ounce of energy I had in me. And somewhere along the line it became my mantra for my marriage. Nothing can happen in this marriage now that we can not survive, together. Because nothing, not even infidelity, will destroy me the way that my son’s death did, and if that didn’t destroy my marriage…well then nothing can.

However, communication is the key, in my unprofessional opinion anyhow. David and I don’t “talk” much. David’s not much of a “sit and share” kind of guy, and I tend to monopolize conversations. However, very soon after Logan died I started blogging, and I told David that if he wanted to know how I was feeling he should read my blogs. And if you’ve ready my early posts you’d know that I didn’t hold anything back, and I was about as bare as I could get. We never talked about my blog posts, but he knew where I was, that I wasn’t crazy, that others felt the same way…and that perhaps the way he was feeling might be like I was and that he wasn’t crazy either. Every now and again I’ll ask “How are you DOING?” Not really code or anything, but he knows what I mean. And he also tries to own up to his feelings as much as he can at the time. Most of the time I just accept it for what it is and know that however I am feeling, he is feeling whatever it is he is feeling. And early on I knew that I wasn’t okay and he wasn’t okay and that was okay too. Eventually we’d be okay, or we’d get help. I think we’re okay these days, for the most part. We grieved differently and tried to accept each others differences. In the end I think we’re surviving, since I think it’s a daily process, and though we’ve come out on the other side changed and with many a scars, we’re still mostly okay. We’re trying to find our new normal. We’re trying to live with the shadow that is Logan, trying to carry on life not as though he didn’t exist but as though his existence was something special meant for only the two of us to have enjoyed, even if for such a short time.

I guess in all reality I don’t really know how Logan’s death affected my marriage. I also don’t know how it affected me as a parent. Do I treat my daughter differently because I lost a son and maybe I value her life just a little more than I would have? Is the crazed fear for her life because I lost a child, or is every parent crazed out of their mind with fear when it comes to thier kids? Maybe I’m a little more tolerant to my husband’s flaws than I was before. Maybe I think he’s an extra special dad because I witnessed what he went through, and how he stood up, knocked the dirt off and picked up his daughter when I know he would have rather curled up in a ball and died. Maybe seeing my husband hold his dead son in his arms with tears streaming down his face, and not an ounce of shame for those tears, offered me a deeper connection with him. Because no matter what else goes down in our lives, and no matter who else comes and goes, we will always have that day that only the two of us will know on the level that we know it. Because no one else will hear that someone’s baby weighed 1lb 7oz, or hear the name Logan, or see a blond haired blue eyed boy, or see a child with Downs and look at me with eyes that will reflect the tremendous pain and knowledge that his will hold. Maybe he’s my war buddy. We witnessed it together, we trudged through it together, we survived it together and we came out on the other side…together. Knowing that makes everything else seem so insignificant in its light. Together we created life, and if went perfect. Then we created life and it all went wrong. We saw both ends of the spectrum together. We have our own sadistic horrible jokes that no one else would ever get. We have our shared sorrow, our shared delight. We have a life that we have built together that, though at times has been south of Hell, its our common ground, its what kept us together when grief and depression tried to rip us apart. Knowing now that not even the worse possible thing that could have happened could tear us apart, what is there left for us to conquer? If our marriage goes south at this point, well then, I guess it will be because we quit trying to survive the little things.

And I hope I never quit trying to survive.

Nightmares and things that won't go away!

2010-07-01T12:59:00.003-05:00

So, just as a preliminary statement to the dream I'm about to tell you about: Logan was induced and delivered vaginally. I've never had any major belly surgery (other than gull bladder removal) or C-Section.

Last night I had a dream, nightmare, whatever. I don't remember much but the gist of it was this; I was in a warehouse like place with a bunch of my family and we were cleaning it up and organizing (insert real life preparing to move drama here). There was chatter going on about surgeries and I made some flippant, off handed remark about "try having your belly ripped open and your uterus yanked out!" to which it slowly dawned on me that I had had a hysterectomy. I started to freak out and scream at my mother (who was spaced out and not paying attention, so I repeated myself several times) "Mom! Mom! Did they take out my uterus?? Did they take my uterus!!!??" No one was listening to me, and I was freaking! Then I woke up, with that horrible sensation that your dream was real and it takes a moment for your brain to go "Oh wait a minute! That wasn't real, I still have a uterus...I think...don't I?...oh, yeah."

Why did I dream that messed up scenario? I guess it just goes to show you what your mind really thinks. My belly was ripped open and my baby and future babies were taken from me. YANKED! TAKEN! Sigh, and there it is again. Things that just won't go away. Feeling and thoughts that just won't leave me alone.

My grandmother died two weeks ago. Thanks. Yeah, it sucked. She had Alzheimer's and it was horrible and yes she's "better off where she is" (as if that's good enough, not to mention hauntingly familiar) but it still sucked big time. The biggest thing I couldn't get out of my head that seemed to want to play in a torturous loop over and over again was the fact that I had gone through this horrible incident with Logan and was not able to go to her. I wasn't able to talk to her about it, because she just wasn't there. David thought perhaps that wasn't such a bad thing, maybe she wouldn't have responded the way I desperately would've wanted her too, since so many didn't. But I couldn't shake it. And I hated it and I felt resentful. But the other interesting thing I noticed was that the grief didn't mean a whole lot. And I realized that I have become accustomed to grief, even comfortable in grief that to add more grief didn't really rock the boat. I felt more or less like "why not" and "lump it on, I can handle it, I've been doing this grief thing long enough to be a pro!" It was a weird sensation, and other than the initial news and then at the funeral itself, I didn't cry. I just set the grief down next to Logan's, and found a strange comfort in the familiarity of it all.

Past the final milestone, and closing a chapter

2010-06-08T12:38:00.002-05:00

Seems like I have so much to always say on here, but lately I just don't "feel it". Almost like I'm moving past this part in my life where I need to dwell and talk it out. These past few months I feel mostly like...I dunno. Like it happened, it sucked, I can't change it, it still makes me sad...but...there is a whole other side to life. Things that make me happy. Things that make me smile. Things that aren't necessarily more important, but more...I dunno, current? I'm worrying about selling my house, about getting my dog a new home, about my daughter growing up extremely fast. More important? I don't know, but certainly more urgent for my attention.

The other day, a man that works very closely with my husband, his wife went into labor at 24 weeks. Their baby was born alive, and then tragically died 20 hours later. David thought this was "worse" than what we went through. I get what he meant, not that any loss is better or worse than the other, but that their situation seemed like one giant tease after another. She'd been having trouble for some time, her water broke weeks ago. But every time something happened, it seemed like there was hope. Its sad. Its sad because babies dying are sad, but its sad because I know where that woman and her family are right now. Its sad because the pain is so horrific, and nothing, absolutely nothing, makes it better. I am sad for them. I am sad for the journey they are starting down. I'm sad that nothing can stop it, and no one can help. I'm sad that they will have this life long hurt, this gapping hole in their lives where their son should have been.

I finally got Logan's ashes squared away. He is in a teal heart shaped pewter urn, sewn into an Alpaca Fur Teddy Bear (made from stillborn Alpacas), sitting in a plastic case, in what would have been his bedroom. I'm not crazy about him being in a room other than mine, but it was at the request of David, and I feel like the man should get some say so in all of this. Anyhow, the whole process sucked. The funeral home on the corner near our home transferred his ashes and supplied the urn. I had to go in and pick it out, there aren't words for that horror. Then a friend of ours added a zipper to the bear so we could put the urn inside. We had that done right around what should have been his first birthday. I'm relieved to have that chapter of this journey closed finally.

The final milestone. Logan's "birthday" came and went. We didn't celebrate. Its hard to celebrate a day that never happened, to try and guess that he would have been born at a specific time. I don't remember the day being much of anything. It was the day after my FIL's 60th birthday, and celebrating that day was tough. Knowing that we would have been celebrating both of their birthdays together. Knowing what a first birthday is like. That was tough. But it wasn't this monster gut wrenching day that I thought was headed my way. It was more or less just like any other day, just one in which I thought of Logan far more often.

So, here we are getting ready to hit the 18 month mark at the end of this month. It seems impossible that its gone so fast, especially the last 6 months. It seems so unrealistic, this life I am living that does not include my son. That I ever had a son, if even only for a wisp of a second. When I let myself think about it, think about him, it still makes me sick to my stomach, insanely sad, and confused on a level I can't even begin to comprehend, much less put into words. So I guess for self preservation purposes, I try not to think about what happened to my family. I try to dwell on the now, and the future. I hope for more children. I hope for a day where I can write in this blog and not cry. I hope for a look of peace on my husbands face. I hope for a time when this pain is gone, and not something that I have to daily push aside and try to ignore. I hope for contentment with the living child that I have, and not to forever feel robbed. I hope that my house sells, my dog finds a new home and that we may have a fresh start as a family and move forward carrying our precious son in our hearts, but leaving the horrible memories of his death behind us. That's where I am mostly these days, focused on being hopeful and having faith in a happy life I know I am destined to have.

But I still cry, and I still miss my son in every breath I take.

Making THAT call...

2010-05-04T10:48:00.003-05:00

Ugh. So, I called the funeral home today. David and I decided (or at least I think we decided) to buy an Alpaca Fur Teddy Bear from the local Alpaca farm and place a heart shaped urn inside of it. The bears are made using the fur from stillborn Alpacas. We found out about it last spring and ever since its been a thought for Logan's ashes. So, I went out online to find a heart shaped urn today. Which was full of sunshine and rainbows! ARGH!!! This sucks!! Even 16+ months later!! It makes me feel all jittery and like I'm gonna puke! Anyhow... The website specified that it would hold up to 4 cubic inches of cremains. Sigh. Seriously? So they want me to measure it?? No. That's how I ended up on the phone with the funeral home. I made an appointment for Thursday morning. I'm taking the ashes in for them to look at, and a print out of the urn. They'll be able to know. Plus, they'll put his ashes in the urn for me...for free. Which is nice. He thought they might even have a heart shaped urn. Anyhow. So. Fun stuff. Now I'll try to remain calm until Thursday. As if. David wants to go along with me to pick out the bear. I thought that was nice. I just haven't been sure how much is me pushing him to be a part, and how much he really wants to be a part of. But he did tell me that he wants to go pick out the bear. So, maybe we'll do that Thursday evening. When we recently opened this can of worms back up I had wanted to have this done before Mother's Day. But that's this weekend. And now I'm not so sure how much of that I want to try to cope with ON Mother's Day, since I have a living daughter who I'm supposed to celebrate with and try to put aside the ugliness. Anyhow, his due date, or what should have been his first birthday is May 19th. So, I think I'll have it done before then. One more chapter to close. Hopefully it will give us some added closure or something. I can't believe its take us so long to deal with this. I just couldn't ever bring my self to purposefully tear the scab off. But that's all this process really is anyhow. Picking at scabs. As soon as it starts to heal over, it gets ripped off again!

What is it about birthdays?

2010-04-23T22:35:00.002-05:00

Yesterday was my 33rd birthday. The thing is, I wasn't all that keen on celebrating. The night before I cried like a dork. Cause I'm not old or anything, right? Well, that's what everyone keeps telling me. That doesn't change the facts that two years ago was old enough. And here I am, even older. Man, time just slips away and leaves me feeling like I am grasping at empty air. So yesterday was weird. The Muffin was at grandma's, so I spent most of the morning chasing away stray tears that threatened to ruin the rare occasion of make-up that I vainly applied for my license picture. Go ahead and laugh, but I want my drivers license picture to not look stupid, and I went to get it renewed yesterday. I also went to a funeral. That's fun birthday stuff. Oddly enough though it seemed appropriate and didn't bother me. I didn't know the person anyhow, so it made it easier to go. That evening David took me to Carrabba's, my favorite place. That was great. Then I watched The Timetraveler's Wife (which is full of dead baby stuff FYI). It was a pleasant enough day, except that all day I felt the nagging urge to go sit by my sons tree. Its weird that I feel more of a pull to that tree than I do to the box of ashes sitting in my room.

Yes. Logan is still sitting in that horrid box that they shipped him to me in about a year ago. Sad I know. David and I talked about that fact today. I told him that I wanted to have Logan in an Urn before Mother's Day. He suggested that we pick up an Alpaca Fur Bear from the local Alpaca farm. The bears are made from stillborn Alpaca fur, so when I first learned that last summer I was immediately drawn to them. The current plan is to get a bear and put Logan's ashes into a heart shaped urn and have the urn sewn into the bear. I'm liking this idea. I think I might go buy the bear this week.

So here's the morbid question of the year...for those of you who had your child's ashes returned to you, (and keeping in mind that Logan was 1lb7oz) about how much ash is there? I've yet to bring myself to look at the actual ashes, and I really have no idea how much is in there. I'm afraid to look. But I don't want there to be extra ash for the urn. I don't want them to throw him away. I'd rather put the extra in a small vile or something. So, I'm hoping some of you can give me a heads up.

Logan's tree is looking so nice. It survived the winter and has nice, new, feathery leaves on it. I am so happy about that, and my heart swells every time I drive by it.

Anyhow, what is it about birthdays and holidays that I hate so much? I just don't want to celebrate. I don't want to acknowledge the passing of time. I don't want to smile and pretend I don't feel the gaping hole. I'm not sure why I feel the hole more on those days, but I do. My birthday was no exception. Mother's Day ought to be a real joy too. It would be easier if people would let me be. I get tired of people telling me to do something nice, to make sure I celebrate and have a good time. I don't want to. I just don't. Its not the guilt. I think its just that I'm sad, I notice the absence and I just don't want to pretend that I don't.

Driving home the other day I was struck by the wonderment of what life would have been like right at that moment. Driving home from playgroup, two child seats in the back. A two year old on the right, an eleven month old on the left. He was sleeping, my daughter yakking about "mo cycles" and "ruffs". I saw it plain as day. I don't do that much. Part of it made me smile, but most of it just feels achy.

A friend of mine asked my mother how many grandkids she had the other day. My mom said four. I couldn't help but notice that she didn't say five. Not that she should have. I tell people I have one child, most of the time. But I noticed. That was the part that bothered me. I noticed. And David noticed too.

The night before my birthday, while I was allowing myself to wallow in self pity and cry for my broken heart, I kept hearing this thought echoing in my head...

"I will never be normal again!"

And I know it to be true. I will never be able to celebrate my birthday, Mother's Day or any other holiday without always, always, always thinking about what should've been, what's missing. There will never be a time where Logan's absence isn't a shadow on my heart and in my mind. I will never escape the knowledge that I should have this little boy, but I don't. And I will always think about it. And I will never feel like I did before.

Misfitzita had a birthday this week too. She turned forty, and said "I'm not a girl anymore. The 30s beat that out of me. Soundly." and I couldn't help but to relate. I spent my twenties growing up. I got my career, bought a house, got married, built a home, became a wife and at 29 got pregnant with my first child, a daughter. At 31 my son died. And from that point on I have felt like my thirties will always be defined by this huge event. I will spend my thirties mourning for a life that I perfectly planned...and watched blow up in my face. My thirties were my baby making years, that's the way it was planned. This fact makes me angry too. Its like starting off the new year bad (which by the way is exactly what happened!!), it just sets the tone for the rest of the year. So, my thirties aren't looking so great, and I really don't feel like celebrating.

Flowers for Logan

2010-04-01T18:36:00.005-05:00

My husband and I took our daughter to the park this evening to play. This is the same park where we had Logan's tree planted. When we walked over to Logan's tree we were greeted by these:

Someone planted flowers at the base of my sons tree!!

I called everyone I know who knows where Logan's tree is and no one had a clue who did it. The city didn't do it because there are not flowers at the bases of any of the other memorial trees. So we're assuming a stranger honored our son with these flowers.

I can't even explain the overwhelming feelings I have. Some random person planting flowers for my baby. My sweet baby was thought of by someone other than us. Someone went out of their way to plant flowers for my son!! I'm overwhelmed. I'm so grateful. I may have to go put a sign up to thank them!!!

::: ::: :::

I also saw this written inside of a tube slide on the toddler playscape a few minutes later, and it made me smile. I'm starting to get more of a kick about seeing his name like this than I used to. It used to take my breath away, now it makes me chuckle.

A new Logan on Earth

2010-03-31T10:15:00.005-05:00

So, I have a "friend" that I made through my diet blog (we're "friends" on Facebook and talk a few times a week now). We're not real in depth intimate friends or anything, but we swap crazy mommy stories and because of how my child loss has affected my weight, she knows that I had a stillborn son last year. I've never gone into a whole lot of detail on that blog about Logan. Anyhow, she just had a little boy yesterday.

She named him Logan.

Of course she did.

I can't help it. That was the first thing I thought when I heard his name. Thankfully it was after I gushed about how happy I was that her baby was born healthy. But here's the thing, I doubt she even knows my sons name was Logan. I've only ever mentioned his name once on my diet blog and that was back in January. Who's to say she even read that post? Its sprinkled here and there on FB, but anyone who's on FB knows how easy it is to overlook a status update or photo post. So no, I don't think she got the name from me. I mean, Logan was one of the most popular names last year. But that's just the thing now isn't it? Coincidence. Everything is just one big coincidence. Sometimes I feel that way, and sometimes I feel like the universe is out to get me. To constantly send me stupid, but horribly painful, reminders on a regular basis. Little coincidences here and there. It wears on me.

So, obviously I'm happy for her and blah-blah-blah. But the thing is, she talks about her kids a lot. I mean, who doesn't? So now I have this anxiety over the fact that I know I am going to hear his name on a regular basis. Logan did this, Logan did that, Logan rolled over today, smiled, said momma...all of those things that my Logan didn't do. And each one will be one more reminder.

It makes me feel guilty, petty, selfish and weird for thinking this way. Its like his name became sacred after he died. I hear Aubrey's name on occasion, and though I try really hard not to be a snob about it (since I prided myself in picking a lesser known name) and most of the time I feel giggly about meeting another little girl named Aubrey. But with Logan, well it was almost like I felt like no one else had a right to such a precious name. Like Jesus. Ok, not like Jesus, but you get the point. The name is usually not used (ok, at least not so much here in the US) and I think that is out of reverence and respect. The name is sacred now. I don't know, I just feel very...what's the word...territorial about it maybe? And I know my Logan isn't the only stillborn named Logan. In fact I know there is at least one other blog here with a baby named Logan who died. But see with her, I feel more of a kinship than a copyright infringement.

Everything is weird now. I can't even be cool about my friends new baby because of a stupid name. And I find myself thinking that if I have another pregnancy, I'll name that baby something really unknown (though not weird, I'm not into names like Apple or Jermagesty or anything)...just so that I won't have to hear it or see it with out me going to look for it. I think that's a lot of this too. I wasn't prepared. I didn't know she had planned to name him Logan.

And just in case you are wondering if I'm some huge egotistical insensitive jerk, I didn't say anything to her about it, and I won't. This is her happy time and I'm going to let her enjoy it and not be brought down by some weird coincidence she fell into with some crazy lady she met on a blog. And I'm sure eventually she'll hear my son's name, and maybe she won't think a thing about it, or maybe she will. Either way I'm trying to be positive and look at it like there is a new Logan here on this earth and I'm going to be lucky enough to be able to bare witness to his life. And maybe, just maybe it will help to fill in that gap just a teeny bit. Maybe.

Fourteen months later and I'm tired of explaining.

2010-03-30T22:33:00.004-05:00

It's almost April. APRIL! Don't get me wrong, I'm ready for Spring and the inevitable Summer (please hurry!!) but when I take a step back and look...I just can't believe it. Fourteen months have passed since Logan died. His first birthday would have been knocking on the door in May. Fourteen months. Feels like a lifetime, feels like yesterday, feels like someone else's life. And I mean, I'm better...right? These last fourteen months have been documented here in this blog and this blog is nothing else if not proof to what life was like and is like now. And though I know that I must have survived, and I must've gotten through it...I don't know how, and I don't know when it happened. I mean, I guess I'm not really through it yet. I think that will take a lifetime. But here I am. I wake up, I live what my life is now, I enjoy my daughter (among other things) and for the most part...I'm okay. There are moments, days, even several days at times when things are ugly and tough and I want to pack it all in and head for the hills. And when those times hit, they hit hard and fast. The part that I really feel like I have a hard time coping with is the "outsiders". People who just can't fathom what a wrecking ball loosing a baby can be. How it just seems to hang around forever and change everything about you. How you view the world, other parents, your own parents, your friends, your self... Its all changed. And the "outsiders"...well, I guess its just that it doesn't occur to them, the fact that everything is different. That I'm different. My mother comment something about me not being this bubbly person anymore. I mean, what do you say to that? Duh? It seems appropriate enough. But I guess its not her fault. She had five kids, not one complication. She has her own "tragedies and hurts" that I guess make her feel like she can connect with me on some level, but I don't see the similarities. I guess that's a fault I have to work on. I dunno. How can I be this bubbly person anymore? Though I can not relate, and this is probably a very insensitive comparison, I kind of feel like maybe its similar to what happens to people who have been in the middle of a war. They go in naive and ignorant to the horrors, they come out very changed, shell shocked and very aware that life isn't all sunshine and rainbows and that no, life doesn't always get better. And no one can get that unless they were there too. I just get tired of defending myself (or feeling defensive, I don't know how much active defending I've been doing) or trying to explain myself. She said that I should go out and celebrate my birthday, do something really special this year since I've been through a lot. In theory this sounds great. But in reality, I don't want to celebrate. The coming of my birthday (or any holiday or milestone for that matter) is just a reminder of the time that has passed. One more [insert event] further from my son's life. One more event that he isn't present for. One more event where I can't overlook the enormous elephant in the room, the fact that he was planned on, and isn't present. I can't help it. Believe me, if I could escape those thoughts I gladly would. I'd love to have an event go down where the thought of his absence wasn't bouncing around in my head like a Mexican Jumping Bean. Its tiresome to remember, and exhausting trying not to. I can't win. But my birthday, my 33rd birthday, is one more year (2 in total, if you were counting like I was) since the "bad egg" was brought to life. And if there was a bad egg two years ago...well then, how many are there now? And another birthday means I'm that much older. If I was old at 31... If I expired two years ago... If time was up then... Well, where does that leave me now? I just don't want another birthday. I don't want this time to keep trudging past, pulling me further and further away from the reality that Logan used to be. Those feelings are fading. I have to almost fight to remember what it was like while I was pregnant with Logan, especially since I took it all for granted. You know, because well, my baby won't die. The memory of his precious little face is starting to blur around the edges now... And I don't remember him looking the way he did in those photos, so they don't help. He's starting to feel like a vague dream these days, and I hate that because the ugly memories are still crystal clear. How I felt being wheeled down the hall from the uber-OB's office to the birthing room, like everyone was staring at me, like they all knew. Sitting there knowing that I had a dead baby inside of my body, but not fully grasping it because I could still feel him. Sitting there feeling a baby inside of my stomach who was dead. Being wheeled by some stranger while my husband walked a few steps behind...just out of reach when I was screaming inside and never felt a stronger desire to hide behind him as I felt in those few hours. Wondering how his face looked, what he felt. Was he crying too? Was he as devastated and dazed as I was? The memory of being in that bathroom in my birthing room where I was supposed to be changing (I think) and all I did was stand in the furthest spot from the door I could get in and cry and cry and cry. The sheer terror of what birthing a dead baby was going to be like. The terror that I knew would come the next day when I would wake up and it would really hit me. The annoyance I had of having to communicate with the outside world, to let my family know what was happening to us, when I didn't even want to admit it to myself. The horror I felt as his lifeless tiny body slid out of me onto the table while my husband watched in horror...and no one caught him. The way it felt when they handed him to me and I made the sad joke "it's a boy!" because hey, that's what they're supposed to say when a baby is born. I remember that horrible walk to our car just a few hours later. The longest walk I've ever taken. I remember those moments, those feelings, like they just happened. But Logan...his actual little face, the way he felt, his little life...its fading, and it scares me. And how fair is that anyhow? Isn't it bad enough that I lost him, can't I have the sweet memories remain and those horrible ugly ones fade? Is it that I hang onto those memories tighter because they felt more tangible, more real?

I'm tired of this roll. The one of a dead baby mom. The one who can't watch a stupid movie or TV show with out thinking things like "well at least he's alive" or see another parent trying to parent with out thinking that they're taking their kids for granted, that they don't love them enough. Its an exhausting way to be. And I wish I didn't yearn for the days "before". I wish I could just accept this role my life has taken on and live it to its fullest. I feel whinny and selfish and like I'm refusing to let go. Like this role defines who I am now, and with out it that I wouldn't know how to be anymore. But I can't. I can't think of myself as Heather, mother of one. Because I can't let it go. I have pictures. I have memories. It was real. For six months I was Heather, mother of two. And that reality is too much for me to overlook and go back to being Heather, mother of one. But no one outside of this circle sees me as Heather, mother of two. And I get funny looks to comments that I make that seem perfectly coherent to me, but obviously must fall into that crazy lady realm. Like people want to say "No, no Heather. You're mistaken. You have one child." and anymore its just easier to agree, to not try to explain it to people. Like this Sunday, being Easter and all. This would have been Logan's first Easter. Logan would be almost eleven months, maybe walking by now. Maybe Logan would have been able to hunt for eggs next to his big sister. There would be two Easter Baskets on the table. Two children on the bunny's lap. A family of four in all of the pictures. How many of the "outsiders" are thinking about this stuff? Who do you think actually thought to themselves that Logan will be missing, that Logan should have been here to experience this with us? And come Sunday I'm sure there will be a moment when I look distant, lost, or sad and someone will notice and someone will mention it...and they will have never thought it would have had something to do with a baby that never quite made it to this life. And how would I explain it to them? How fourteen months later it still feels like a ton of bricks slamming into me every time I stroll down that lane? How after fourteen months, well, I'm just not quite over it yet. And if I did chance an explanation... Well how could it possibly be that I'm still mourning? There must be something wrong with me. Because its not normal right? People die, we move on. That's the way its supposed to be. That's the way it is most of the time when someone dies. But not when a baby dies. Not when the story ends before it was ever written. It all leads back to that same old feeling, I shouldn't be doing this, any of it. So, its too hard to explain. Its easier to just smile and shrug it off like that person was imaging something ridiculous. Its easier to let people think that you "got over it" and "moved on" and that you're still okay in the head and that it wasn't that big of a deal and that it didn't really change you. It's just easier that way, and these days, I'm all about doing what's easiest.

You know, I asked a question over on The Dead Baby Club Blog about how loosing a baby has affected your relationship with your parents (go add your own thoughts if you'd like). A few people commented on how its affected other relationships, and I've been thinking a lot about my husband. Not so much about how its affected us as a couple, because I think its still too early to know for sure, but how its affected him as a person. I know the ways that I've changed, ways that others can't even begin to understand, even ways that I may not even be noticing. But what about David? David's different. Not good or bad, just different. I can't quite explain it, or even single anything out in particular, but the question has gotten me to obsessing about him. How he's doing, how he's coping...is he coping? What he thinks about, what he feels about it. For the most part I splash myself out across these pages with out a whole lot of editing. He reads my blog (Hi babe!) he knows how I feel, who I've become, what I fear. But most men are so private. Men don't like to talk about their feelings. Especially my man. Its left me feeling like I wish it was mandatory for men to blog after something like this occurs. I wonder how many times I was off my rocker and David read my blog and was like "oh, I get why she's acting that way!". I don't have that. I mean, we used to talk about it, in the beginning. He used to be real up front about what was going on with him, but that's gone by the way side now. I ask on occasion how he is, but for the most part I get the same generic answer. I don't want to fix it, I don't know how. I just want to know where he's at. From what I've tried to figure out, he's about six months behind me in the grieving process. Like he took the first six months to keep me from going over the edge, and then took time to start his grieving. But its hard for me to remember where I was six months ago. I don't know. I just don't know what to say to him anymore with out sounding like a broken record, or like I'm prying or something. And no one wants to talk when they're having a bad day, and I don't want to bring it up on a good day and make it bad. It leaves me feeling lost about the whole thing. And I just want to know where he is, and where I am, so that we can try to work together and try to figure this mess out. Life was complicated enough beforehand, now its even more complicated and weird. And I can't help but have this nagging feeling that something isn't right, when deep down I know that its that damn elephant again.

I feel like I could talk for hours tonight. I have a lot racing around in my head, but I've so very tired and well...the Muffin doesn't like to sleep till noon the way I desire too. Hopefully I'll be able to fall asleep with out laying there staring into the darkness obsessing about things I can't change and fearing the ones I can.

Manic feelings

2010-03-22T22:36:00.007-05:00

I'm not sleeping again, and I feel manic. Or more like a maniac. Either way, its exhausting. I'm tired, and I lay in bed and stare into the darkness and I obsess. I obsess about my family and the crap storm I feel like I am in the middle of there. I obsess about my marriage and my husband and I feel like something is wrong there and I can't put my finger on it. I obsess about myself and why I feel unloved, and why I feel worthless and why I don't feel like there is any hope...and it hit me tonight, maybe I'm not over the depression. Aren't those key signs of depression? And I know its somehow related to my cycle. I mean all women get moody just before the start of it, but am I just fooling myself during the two good weeks that I'm OK, and then when my hormones flux I find myself in another extreme? Its messed up, and it makes me weary. Weary of everything around me. The phone rings and I'm nervous who's calling. The mail arrives with no return address and I'm leery about opening it (since my step-mother has an affinity for sending me horrible letters and trying to disguise them with no return address, sending from a different state and changing her hand writing...yeah, I'm surrounded by crazy). I've even started dreading opening my email, because there's always something in there to deal with. I just don't want to deal with anything anymore. Its making me feel panicky. I'm starting to feel trapped and that makes me feel like I have to run and hide...except that I can't, because I really am trapped. Where am I going to go? I am a wife, a mother. I need my daughter near me. I need to be near the reassurance that is my husband, his steady and constant rhythm. Remember the good old days when if you wanted to remove yourself from the world you just unplugged your phone?? Now if you did that people would call your cell, then text you, then Facebook you, then email you...there's no escape. And how do you tell your family to leave you alone with out everyone taking it personal? Its just that I guess people have always been able to lean on me, and I've always propped them up with out much complaint, but I can't anymore. I don't want to. I want someone to ask me how I'm doing, and not because I'm some circus side show or a car wreck that makes people just HAVE to look, to stand witness to the horror, or because its a juicy tidbit of gossip, but because someone really does give a crap about how I am. And not just "someone" but the people in my life who are "supposed" to love me, who are "supposed" to care. And no one ever asks. Worse yet, I get the feeling its because people just expect that its been long enough. And no, I don't want to talk to them about Logan. I just wish they'd get a clue and stop pestering me with their mundane crap. Like all I do is sit around bored waiting for someone to saddle me with their problems. Really I just spend most of my energy trying to figure out how to avoid just that.

I cut off my Dad, step-mother and sister almost a year ago. My step-mother recently sent me two nasty letters. Illustrating, once again, that they never really got how impacted I was from Logan's death, not to mention the impact that they have had on my life as well. A subject, as I have stated before, that there are not enough words in all the worlds languages to explain that topic. But the thing is, it eats at me. Not my step-mom. She's worthless and evil and I can happily live out the rest of my days on this earth with out every having contact with her again. But my dad (and even my sister)...I just don't get it. How can you have such little love for your own child? How can a father neglect, abandon and take advantage of his children for years and years? I just don't get it. I can't fathom treating my daughter with such neglect and indifference. But the reason I cut them off is because I couldn't take anymore hurt. And in the year since I cut him off he's tried to contact me three times, the last one being in September. And, ironically, its not that I want him to actually contact me because I am so done with that. I can't take it anymore. But the fact that he put up so little of a fight for his daughter... Its just one more thing.

I'm tired of feeling obsessive. I'm tired of these extreme highs and lows and feeling manic. I'm tired of me being up when David is down and vice versa. I'm tired of feeling out of control and I just want some peace in my life. Some steady rhythm. I want to feel like these uphill steps that I'm taking are actually taking me uphill, instead of feeling like for every 2 steps forward I take 3 steps back, and not loosing an weight while doing it mind you. Its an exhausting way to live and it has worn me down again. It affects my very personality. It affects our marriage, how I mother my daughter and how I look at myself as a person. I don't like this person, and I'm too worn out to do anything about it.

2010-03-21T15:08:00.000-05:00

I've been thinking a lot about Logan the last few days. Nothing has really prompted it, and it isn't making me weepy or anything, but he sits in the corner of my mind demanding attention at the most bazaar times! Every baby I see, every pregnant woman, every blond headed little boy. Each one of them jumping up and waving their arms at me, and I notice them. And I think of him.
Logan would be about 10 months old these days. No longer a tiny baby. Eating solids, sitting up, crawling and maybe even walking by now, well on his way to crazy toddlerhood. Sigh. Maybe its hormones. I think about having more children on a regular basis. I'm ready now. Well, ideally, come October I'd like to give it another shot. It has a lot to do with dates. I'd rather not get pregnant at the same time, deliver around Jan or May. I want a totally new experience. Anyhow, I just feel like I've been kicking around at my memories like one does with the moss.
Sent via BlackBerry from T-Mobile

Wanted, a new rock to hide under.

2010-03-13T13:01:00.003-06:00

I spend most of my time wishing I could hide. Wish I could disappear, be someone other than who I am, or somewhere other than where I am. But the thing is that life went on. I didn't get to sit around and lick my wounds for eternity, which is what I really wanted. Most days are good days. Most days I smile and have fun and enjoy life the way it is now. But I always have the nagging desire to run away. Responsibility keeps me here, and logic. Well, and David. I'd sure miss him. I'd take my daughter with me of course, which would be cruel to the both of them I know. But I want to start over. I want to be able to live in a world where ugly things don't keep hunting me down. Its not rational or possible, I'm not claiming it to be so. But I usually feel the shadows come creeping up behind me. The most mundane things start to overwhelm me, I become overly sensitive and I just want to sit in a corner with my hands over my ears and cry "la, la, la" as loudly as I can so that I don't hear anything else. How can I be expected to deal with anything outside of the overwhelming gunk in my own brain? I want to sit on the couch, watch a movie and fade away. I want the outside world to go away, to leave me be. I feel so attacked lately. Like people think I'm too happy, so they do there best to get inside my head and poke around, dig up bones, scratch at the scabs. I don't agree with being an addict, I know better, but I understand it now. I understand that intense and overwhelming desire to hide your mind, to numb it up and soothe the aches.

Its been weird around here lately. I can't explain it. I just feel it. The shadow that looms in the room day in and day out. The distance in Davids eyes. Almost like the both of us walk around with our hands pushed out in front of us, keeping everything at bay, even each other. I'm too tired to deal with it, to confront it. I know what it is, and I can't muster up the strength to banish it. And should I? Shouldn't grief run its course when it sees fit? Shouldn't David be allowed to go through whatever it is he's going through with out me pestering him and prodding at him. Its what I want. I want to be left alone, to deal with myself as I see fit...when I'm ready to do that. Its hard when you are feeling so much ugliness inside and the one person you would go to for relief is also feeling that ugliness. We are useless to each other.

I just want to be left alone. I don't want to deal with anyone else's problems, or insecurities. I don't even want to hear about them. I know that's selfish and weird. I know it is. But I just want to run screaming when I'm confronted with it. All it makes me do is cry. Cry from frustration, cry from sorrow, cry from feeling hopeless and helpless. Cry just cause. And I hate to cry, which adds to it. It gives me a headache.

I just want to go away for a few months. Hawaii would be nice. Just the three of us, and disappear from all of the crap that is in my life. I just don't ever feel like I got a chance to get away and deal with me and what I needed.

The new look

2010-03-06T23:29:00.001-06:00

Well I'm finally finished with the new look here. I hope it all is easy to see and navigate. If you notice any issues please don't hesitate to let me know. Thanks.

My latest obsession

2010-03-06T20:32:00.004-06:00

You know what "they" say...

So, this is my latest obsession or project or whatever you want to call it. And thanks to Emily, I've been able to stay pretty occupied lately. This is a name sculpture I made for my daughter.

When I made it I was just bored and didn't have a real plan in mind. But then it turned out pretty nice, so I thought why not whore myself out?? It gives me a creative outlet, and a few extra bucks...to help pay for my other creative outlets! :)

This one is probably my favorite. I did this one at Emily's request also. You can see all of the latest ones I've done on my scrapping blog here, or you can go see them in my Etsy store here. I thought they all turned out pretty cool and thought I would brag a bit. ;) Hope ya'll don't mind!

Oh, and about the mess that is this blog...I'll get working on cleaning it up ASAP! Sorry.

Most days I am smiling, genuine smiles.

2010-02-26T11:19:00.006-06:00

A fellow DBM and I were emailing and she said this:

"I often look at you and how hurt you still are and wonder what's wrong with me. Why do I feel pretty okay at 9 months and you're still so hurt at a year?"

The thing is, Logan's blog is where I sift through the intense stuff. I don't use this blog, just to blog about my everyday life and goings on. I have tried to keep it exclusively about the muck I am trying to sort through that is wrapped around Logan. I noticed recently myself, the folks who read Logan's blog don't get to see the times that are good, the days that are happy and filled with laughter. Part of that is unfortunate because it does give the impression that I am still neck deep in depression. I am not. I think that I came out of the deep depression at around 10 months. I had weeks where I would feel great, and then I'd have a few rough days or a week, and then I would surface again. Most of the time, these days, I'm angry at the people around me for their stupidity. A lot of this stems from unresolved issues I had long before Logan. I think about Logan everyday, but it is a very rare thing for me to cry over (maybe once a month, maybe). I struggle also with the fact that David is so far from having another baby, which in turn makes me feel like I am grieving the other children I always planned on. I find too that my grief cycles on about the same wave as my menses, meaning hormones are playing a major role in that. Not that I am trying to minimize my grief, but I think that I come across a whole lot more sad in my blog than I do in real life...if for no other reason than because I don't blog about the sunshine. The point is, no matter where others may be in their grief, its probably all normal, I am normal. Everyone grieves differently, and at different lengths and degrees. Sometimes I read other stories, mom's who seem to be coping better than I am and I wonder. Sometimes I read stories about mother's who see far more filled with sorrow who's child has been dead far longer and I think to myself that I don't feel nearly that sad, what's wrong with me?? So you see? I think that it depends on the person. And I also think it depends on the time. Grief comes in waves. A mom may be feeling great now, and in three months feeling devastated. Maybe not. The point is no one should feel weird at all. Perhaps some find more comfort from the Lord and that gives them a peace many can't get a grip on. I've thought about that. Maybe if I could let my anger go, maybe I could find peace and comfort in Christ again. I don't know. But I do know this. So many of us try to over think this whole grief thing, and I think its just best to let it be and it will take care of itself. For months I wondered if I needed a shrink, if I needed pills. Now I see that I just needed time. Within 6 weeks I was questioning my sorrow. SIX WEEKS! I laugh at that now. Six weeks was a blink in the cycle of grief. I was just in a hurry to get it over with. These days I let it be and when I am at a high point I try to enjoy it, and when I am at a low point I take it for what its worth and know that I will cycle right back out of it, because that's what I've done for the past 13 months now.

But life the way it is now is bearable, most days. Most of the time I find myself going about life the way I used to, perhaps a little more intense and a little more sensitive than I used to be, but I don't walk around dusting and sobbing. I enjoy my old hobbies, my old shows. I enjoy my friends, have made new friends and go out and enjoy their company. I enjoy my daughter, my husband...not the dog. I still can't find it in me to tolerate the dog (who incidentally puked on the floor this morning because she doesn't know how to moderate her water intake!!). I'm not nearly as angry in general, or as angry with God as I was even a few months ago. I'm even contemplating returning to church again. I've started to look at Logan's death as horribly unfortunate for me, not personal (most of the time), and not some horrid act of God so much as it happens sometimes, and sadly it happened to us. Not that there aren't moments where I fall back into the mindset that God is punishing me, has it out for me, or abandoned me..because I am human and I still have those thoughts on occasion. For the most part these days are filled with laughter and life, new plans and hopes for the future. Instead of bad days or weeks, I have bad moments. Logan being dead makes me sad. Its just a fact, not one that will likely ever change. I can't believe that at 80 I won't still feel sadness for my son. But it doesn't rule my life anymore. It doesn't trump every thought that I have, every event that takes place. I think I have learned to try to accept it instead of fighting it off and trying to understand it. Sometimes really crappy things happen to people. Guess it was my turn. It could have been so much worse, and for that I am thankful that it was not. I believe that certain things will always tug at my heart. But I am long past breakdowns. I am long past feeling the urge to have my eyeballs floating in vodka because I just don't want to feel the sadness anymore. Yesterday I even decided that I was going to move Logan's box of ashes. Which means I have to touch the box. Open the box. Remove the inner box. I haven't touched that box since the day it arrived so many months ago. And I surprised myself by realizing that the reason I wanted to move the box from sitting askew on the top of my very dusty armoir was because I was tired of seeing a box sit up there. I've decided, for now, to place him in the hat box on the stand near my bed. The hat box is empty anyhow. I couldn't bring myself to put him in the armoir or in the closet, but I thought this was a huge step for me. So, at some point today, the box will be moved. And I can say with almost all certainty that it will not make me cry. Almost. Being that close may affect me, but the thought of it does not. I guess I can't be sure.

So no, the year mark was not some magic date that set me free. In fact, I went into a real funk for a few weeks around that time. I will say that I do notice that every month I feel a little less sad, a little less depressed, a little more hopeful and normal again. And here at 13 months I can say with out a doubt that I will survive. My life will go on. I will find as much happiness again as one could hope for. I know it now because I feel it, and not because some one assured me it would be so.

However I will continue to have bad days here and there, how could I not? I will always need a safe place where I can come and sort through the struggles I face being a DBM. And I will use this blog to do just that. I just wanted to share with everyone that though it may seem like I am really struggling on a daily basis, in fact I am not. Most days I am smiling, genuine smiles and feeling real deep down satisfaction and happiness. But, I think, my memory of Logan will always hang around like a shadow. I'll find better ways to work around it, through it and with it, but I believe it will remain. How could it now? He was my son.

Crap! Where'd I put that armor!!

2010-02-23T08:33:00.004-06:00

I've been feeling very attacked lately. By people who are close to me. People who ought to know better, be softer, love me more, catch me, take a bullet...you know, those people. But lately those are the ones I want to run from, hide from, close myself off from. I "see them coming" and my first instinct is to flinch, put my hands up, protect myself. It seems off to me, when I sit and I think about it. It makes me bitter. It makes me hateful and angry. And again I feel myself withdrawing, turning in, turning away. And I start to feel like I let my guard down, didn't put my armor on. Its my fault really. I have always kept everyone at an arms length, don't get too close, don't know too much. I don't feel comfortable in intimacy. I often recoil and shrink back when people touch me, I don't like it. I feel a sense of insincerity about it all. Like a snake coiling around its prey whilst singing a pretty song. I haven't always been that way. Its something I've picked up as an adult. But years upon years of feeling kicked around, stepped on and beaten down by the ones who are supposed to protect you will leave one feeling very defensive, skittish and distant. When Logan died I wanted to disappear. I wanted to fade away. I didn't want to die. I didn't want that kind of attention. I just wanted to not be noticed as I faded. I wanted to be left alone. And because I was so raw and angry early on, I was able to shut down and ignore and run and not many thought too much of it. These days I feel like that is not possible anymore. Like I am being sought out intentionally. Called to reconcile, called to state my case, defend myself, account for the behavior that is found unacceptable by people who can't fathom. And these days I feel like I am frantic in my search for where I stashed my armor. When I started to let the defenses down, when I started to "fade in" and people thought it ok to share their view of me, with me. I need that sign back. I need a T-Shirt, maybe even my baseball bat again.

And all of that leaves me feeling like all I've managed in my adult life is to let people down. My mother cries for a relationship with a fictitious daughter. I say fictitious because I will never be, could never be, the daughter she so desires. It leaves me feeling not good enough and alienated. My father, humph! There are not enough words in all the languages of the world for that mess... But it has left me asking why? And it has left me feeling ugly, shoved aside, overlooked, abandoned and so many other feelings that I don't even know the words for. [think scene from Hope Floats where her daddy drives away and leaves her screaming in the drive] My stepmother likes to remind me. Likes to send me hateful letters that make me feel as though I am to blame. Likes to make me feel as though I am the delusional one, the childish one, the selfish hateful one. The same woman who hasn't spoken to me in almost two years. The same woman who didn't acknowledge my son's death and chose, instead, to scream hateful things at me from the background, through the phone. This leaves me feeling like my head may start spinning, fangs may be produced and horns will shoot forth from my skull all while a demon-like guttural scream rises up from the depths of the darkest parts of my soul. And in the midst of such things I feel repulsive and disgusting to my beloved. Which leaves me feeling unsexy, undesired and gross. Not what a woman wants to feel, not to mention the affects it has on our intimacy.

Now I feel as though I have come full circle. I feel like I am back to feeling like I was better off locked away. And I yearn for the permission to fade away. I yearn for the acknowledgment that its normal, expected and okay to run and hide from the real world when I find it so difficult to accept my new reality. One that will always have one child less than should be present. And regardless of how many people, in their numerous ways, try to convince me that because they know loss and pain that they understand mine, when I can not begin to think they do. I do not try for a moment to understand what it would be like to loose a spouse, a parent or to have had cancer. I can not comprehend the pain of wanting to bear children and not having my body cooperate and get pregnant in the first place. I do not understand the pain of infertility because I have not been infertile. Those are different pains, different losses, ones I can not comprehend. But I hear it all the time. Loss is loss, pain is pain, and I say it myself. But the reality is that divorce and rejection are different realities then parenting a dead baby. Having your parents die, or your spouse is not the same has having a child die, nor is having a child die the same as a parent or spouse passing. I can not explain it. I do not try to put them in the same category. Its like saying the love for your child is like that of the love for your spouse. I can not try to reason with people that no, my loss is not the same as their loss. I am stymied as to why people want so desperately to find that common ground with me. Why people want to say to me "I've known loss and pain in my life also, so I understand." No! No, you don't understand. You may understand that I'm in pain, that I'm sad. But you can not possibly begin to understand the sadness that comes with loosing a child, anymore than I can understand the pain of divorce. I don't pretend to understand. I don't yearn to get on that level with those who do. My first thought is always, "Wow, that really sucks! I can't imagine." I don't know, maybe that makes me a cold person. But for me to sit here and say that I understand the pain of having my child die from cancer at 5 years old, after I've had a chance to get to know this child, their personalities and have made countless memories with them is misleading and grandstanding. I do not know that pain. I only know mine. I only know the pain of having what I understood to be a healthy and uncomplicated pregnancy for six oblivious months that turned into a stillborn little boy who died from complications with Down Syndrome. And I can not assume to know what it is to have a child with Down Syndrome, mine died before I ever got to know him. Another DBM blogger (and I am so sorry I can not remember who it was) compared the understanding of the pain of a baby dying with someone who tried to assume that they could understand based on the fact that their child almost died something in the form of this: "It would be like looking over the edge of the cliff at the churning murky waters and imagining what it would be like to drown. I don't imagine what it is like, I know what it is like." Thinking of how you would feel in that situation is so far from the reality of what it is that it becomes and insult, at least to me, for people to tell me that they understand...because they have known pain? I sprained my back once, but I can not fathom how it would feel to break it. I have been burned, but I can not fathom what it is to be on fire. I have been dumped by boyfriends in the past, but I can not begin to fathom the pain and rejection that comes with divorce. I just wish people would stop trying to understand and spend more time listening, nodding and admitting that they have no idea what I am going through, how I must feel, or this kind of pain. So much more pain could be avoided, I could stop feeling like I need to cower in the corner and protect my already damaged heart from those who love me. I didn't just loose a baby. When Logan died, everything that is ever connected with a child, with a person, died also. My hopes and dreams for him. The plans I made as a mother with a 16 month old and a newborn. The thoughts I had of my son and his daddy fishing, playing ball, building Lego castles. The thoughts I had of my daughter being a big sister, of my son being the first grandson to my mother, the first nephew to my brothers. The day dreams of my son learning and growing beside his grandfather. Thoughts of him as he grew, the person he would become, the life he would lead. The idea that there was this little man who I was in charge of forming and shaping and molding into a loving man, husband and father. That maybe I could somehow get retributions for the hole that my father put in my chest by helping to mold this young man into a great man. Do people think about those things when they tell me they understand? And not just say they understand but actually try to argue and convince me that they really do understand. Do they know that each and every time I see my husband holding a little boy, talking to a little boy or even looking, himself, at a little boy that my heart shatters again and again? That my heart shatters for the pain that is my husbands. Pain that I feel responsible for. Pain for not being able to understand what it is like for him, as a man, to have lost his son, and all of the hopes, thoughts and dreams that he possessed? Do not fool yourselves into thinking that you understand. Though pain and sorrow may be comprehensible to many, the pain and sorrow of loosing a child is beyond the understanding of anyone who has not walked this lonely heartbreaking path.

The problem with me though, maybe I'm being too judgy. I leave little room for others to make mistakes and hold people to the same standards of which I try to hold myself and I know that is a serious fault that I have. I know that, mostly, people are trying to find their own way, that they are sad and confused also. There is little else in this world that is more confusing and heartbreaking than the death of a baby. I understand that people falter because of this. And for the general population I will usually let it slide. People say stupid things when they are nervous. Anyone who knows me in person knows that I am the queen of this fault. I suffer from foot in mouth disease. My issue is more personal. My issue stems from holding to those standards the people who love me. Love me. I am aghast that anyone would want to argue about my sorrow with me, much less those who are supposed to love me. I can not help but to be judgy of those people. I did not realize that I was so judgy until recently. I've always been boastful about the way that I am not in denial of who I am, the faults that I have. Up until a few days ago no one would dare call me judgy (probably because they're afraid of being attacked). My new friend called me judgy one day. The thing is, I actually like her more because of it. I am so tired of fluff. I'm tired of asking people how I look only to hear that I look fine when I know that I have toilet paper stuck to my shoe and lipstick on my teeth. Why is it that people find it so hard to be honest? The fear of rejection perhaps. If I tell you what I really think, will you still like me? Anyhow, my new friend (coincidentally, a fellow mom in the pits) has right to think me a stalker, since I behave more like an obsessed school girl than anything (much to my husbands amusement). The thing is, she has a confidence in me that those who truly know me, wouldn't bother with. Its nice to be with someone who is so full of optimism for you that hasn't been tainted by years of recognition. She is my consolation prize. Don't get me wrong, knowing that I wouldn't have met her acquaintance had Logan survived, the circumstances of our friendship does not make me begrudge the gift that I see it as. Its refreshing to be with someone who is such an intrigue, who seems so mysterious and brilliant, someone who seems enthusiastic about life even in the wake of losing her own children. Its comforting to have someone in your corner who's foundation holds similar stones as your own foundation, and yet their structure is so completely different you find your self staring in awe. If I were asked about the good that has come from Logan's death, it would be making a new friend. A normal, not loony friend. Be advised though, it is not wise of you to point that out for me. I do well in finding what little good I can in the death of my son and I will be damned if someone else points it out for me.

This post was really long. I didn't realize I had so much pent up inside these days. I try to empty the "bottle" often so that I don't explode. However, lately I find more comfort in denying that I am being affected. It is easier to not deal with all of the crap that I feel pushing down on me than it is to stand up and call it out. It is easier to not admit when someone hurts you, than to show them your cards. My mother said that I keep my cards close to my heart. Isn't that the golden rule? Never let them see you sweat? Never let them see you cry? Don't wear your heart on your sleeve for someone to come along and knock off. Its easier that way. At this point in my life, I have enough going on with out trying to wade through the muddled mess that is the psychobabble and ignorant bible thumping that seems to want to come my way on a fairly regular basis.

Now, get off your lazy bum and help me find that armor. I know its around here somewhere...

Courage at the keyboard

2010-02-18T22:08:00.004-06:00

Maybe its the year mark. Maybe people feel like enough time has passed now and that they should be granted the freedom to speak their mind, regardless of how it rips open my (very shoddily patched up) broken heart. Maybe people are just that thoughtless. Maybe people find courage at their keyboard the way so many find it in a bottle. I do not know.

I do know this...

It has been a year (almost 13 months to be exact). And no, enough time has not passed for comments such as:

"...not let the loss of Logan be wasted, a missed lesson & understanding, in vain. There's a reason, and God wanted you to find Him in it! God...the Author of life."

There's no point into going into the rest of the argument, and I am not taking this opportunity to bash the person who wrote this, or their beliefs. I will clarify that I do not believe that my anger at God (mind you, not for my son's death, but because he was created using a bad egg knowing full well his demise) will cause the loss of my son to be a waste. I do not believe that God allowed/caused/didn't prevent my sons demise because he wanted to teach me a lesson or understanding, thus I am not sure how his death would be in vain. In vain of what exactly? I do not believe that there is a reason, and I do not believe that God was using this to prompt me to "find" him, and since he is all knowing...he would've known this and that it would have been a waste of time.

The point here is, more or less, a big fat WTF?? I am grappling with the understanding as to why some find it their duty to explain God's mission. Why they are the self appointed ambassador's of his great wisdom. I know that so many turn to faith in the midst of their grief, and I think that it is a wonderful thing...for them. I wish I had the sort of faith that prompted me to run to God for comfort. But I don't. And I really am struggling with why there are so many people out there who are so quick to condemn and shame grieving people when those who are grieving falter in their faith, blame God and are honest in their anger. I could have worn a mask of false faith. I could have pretended to "run to God" or "give it to the Lord" as so many have suggested. I didn't. I have been up front and honest about my lack of faith, anger and questioning of faith. And yes I scoff and roll my eyes at the simple idiocy so many paint God into. I believe and accept the basic principles of Christianity, I just question its ambassadors and their self important need to "comfort" those who are ear deep in a pain that so few can begin to fathom.

Someone said the following to me once. It helps to feel like there are believers out there who aren't all gung-ho trying to argue God's case for him and accept that grief can not be argued out of. I found the words to be profound, and felt like for once an outsider might have actually gotten it.

People really upset me when they don't have enough knowledge to explain things, and they try to make up crappy excuses as to why God "does" something. Who says God "does" everything? And really? Do we have God all figured out to know Him so well as to know what He's thinking and if He's blessing somebody to say these "words of comfort"? People shouldn't preach and try to say something if they don't know enough of what they're talking about. It sours everything, it's NOT the order in which things are supposed to be handled. I'm sorry that you have become the receiver of this kind of treatment, that would get real old, real fast. I am sure, they were talking out of frustration in the argument and not even thinking about everything they were saying, using God to prove that they are right. That you shouldn't be mad at them for what they said, since it was of God. Sure, they believe in and love God, and in their heart they have the faith to put certain situations in His hands. But that's them, and it's a childlike faith. Which of course we are supposed to
have. But for heavens sake, there is a lack of wisdom in trying to win over one who is heart-broken in the middle of an argument and for the benefit of sticking up for God. Sometimes I wish I could get that through people's heads. God doesn't need us to "stick up" for Him. He'll deal with things in His own time and in His own way. WE need to quit getting in the way.

Anyhow...

I have been feeling very attacked lately, on several fronts. And I don't get it. The only thing I can conclude is that the general population must think I am "milkin' it" and that after thirteen months I should be well on my way to creating that replacement baby, forgiving God, and moving on. And in my own ways I am. Life is much different for me now than it was even 6 months ago, three months ago. But I still feel the pulsating emptiness that is my son's spot every waking moment of my life. The thing is, I haven't asked for anything from anyone. And all I've really desired in this whole mess is to be left alone by those who can't find it in their selfishness to step aside and let me be. Why is it that I feel like it is expected of me to comfort them? Especially when I never asked comfort of them, only space, and a request that has been denied time and again. I don't know, maybe its selfish of me to not have the time, space or desire to handle or care of the (what I now feel to be) mundane idiocy of those around me. When Logan died it became very apparent to me that I had to use every ounce of energy and strength I possessed to not fall off of the deep end, and I stopped caring how that affected anyone else. And, call me selfish if you will but, I still do not have the strength, desire or will to tolerate or empathize with the drama and chaos of the lives of those around me. Its like I feel as though I am using all of my available resources to keep it all together, to hold myself intact so that I do not explode into a million pieces of sorrow and disappear into the inviting depths of my despair. And if I let one of those resources slip, then all will be lost. The hardest part is that so often the majority of the insult has come directly from those closest to me. Those I depended on to hold on to me, prop me up, save me. This is where I feel the most let down. The few people who should be on my side, are the ones attacking. And the ones on my side, the ones who ended up being the ones who truly held me up, they are all complete strangers. Strangers who relate and "get it" because they've felt this pain, they've stuck around to say "Hey, its ok. You're normal, this is all normal. You'll survive, I did." It adds a new dimension to my pain. Its become so obvious to me why so many become reclusive and alienate themselves after a great loss. I feel that I can only handle so much. I feel as though I am skittish of that final straw. It makes me angry and loathsome and gives me the desire to lash out at people who must feel as though they are being thoughtful and well meaning. It leaves me confused, flabbergasted and appalled. It leaves me just a little sadder than I already was. A little more frightened. A little more fragile, and a whole lot more likely to close myself off from a world that wants to injur my heart further.

Flippin' off the blues!

2010-02-14T23:59:00.002-06:00

I've been blue lately. If I'm honest I'd say its been since just before Logan's anniversary. That's like 3 weeks now. I don't feel like I'm in the pit...yet, but I've definitely been wallowing in the deep end. I hate having the blues. It really messes up my day(s). Nothing gets done. I beat myself up and give in to all sorts of self deprecating talk and behavior. I keeps me from sleeping. Like tonight. Pile on top of that some other unfortunate events that have gone down in my personal life recently and you've got a real recipe for a blues fest. My eyeballs would be swimming in vodka right now if it wasn't for this stupid Metformin, which frankly I'm not sure has done so much to help. The problem is that I have faith in people, and I take them on their word. The doc said it would help...I believed her. But...

I have really gotten bad at wishing my days away. Which is not good for someone like me who has a hard time letting go of the past, and is very much afraid of growing old and dying.

And I tell myself all of the time, things have got to change. I need to change. I need to buck up and get it done. Force myself to be the "Suzie" that my dh thought he was getting when we got married. But I struggle with pulling myself up and dusting myself off. I struggle with caring. The evidence is all around me. Everything from the laundry that I haven't managed to get on top of since Christmas time (no joke), to the dust that is literally hanging from my ceiling fan blades, to the dog goop that is slung on my walls to the fat that graces (and not gracefully I might add) my rear end. The thing is, I care. I do, deep down in side. At night when I lay in bed and realize that another day slipped past where I failed at being the person I wanted to be, the person my daughter deserves, the person my husband counts on. I care when I am fighting the urge to hurl something through my large kitchen windows because I am so sick and tired of the grime and clutter. The never ending-ness of the mess that I not only can not seem to get a handle on, but certainly can't seem to maintain. I care when I finally catch a glimpse of my fleshy, repugnant body that I honestly don't recognize. I do care. But apparently not at the moments that count, or not enough.

But, tomorrow is Monday, and like most Mondays it will be a starting over point for me...again. Tonight as I sit her (caring) I'm determined to flip off the blues tomorrow and try to finally get the upper hand on my day to day existence. I feel so out of control and so stuck, the least I can do is gain some control over this house and this body. Maybe then I won't feel so stuck in the blues all of the time.

Babyloss Momma Theme Song!

2010-02-12T21:24:00.003-06:00

Monica over at KuKd (Knocked Up, Knocked Down) wrote and recorded a "theme song" for babyloss momma's that I thought was great and had to share! Click here to go to her blog to hear the song!

A year ago this time...

2010-02-11T12:09:00.003-06:00

Do any of you go back and read your blog posts from a year ago or so? I got to wondering how I was doing around the 2 week post-incapacitating-horrible-event. I was seriously enraged. Funny, I still feel that way a lot of the time. I guess the anger is the part I hung onto the most. Then I found this paragraph in a post that really sounds like something I could have still written today. This is from a post from around the 8th of last year:

Today I took down all of the sympathy cards and threw 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 their 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.

I still feel that spot. It never did get mixed back in with the rest of me. And it is still a weird gnawing sensation that I can't quite put my finger on. And it does feel very much like hunger. Maybe that's what it really is, hunger pangs. Hunger to be filled with everything that should have been Logan. Its uncomfortable, still, twelve months and two weeks later.

Too many thoughts on Thursdays

2010-02-11T10:21:00.003-06:00

Music speaks to me. It always has. I have always found solace and comfort in the words that other people write. I find a sense of peace in knowing that everyone has these deep emotions that they can't express with out the shield of music. I used to be a poet. I used to write song lyrics. I didn't share them with many. I have thousands. Thousands of pages of unheard words brought forth by a broken heart, a new love, feelings of insanity. I've always needed to get them out. I talk a lot. I talk too much. I talk in circles, I repeat myself and worse of all I have a terrible memory...so the stories change, get tangled and take on a life of their own, sometimes with a form that is far from the original. I loath this about myself, and am not in denial about it. But I have always been comforted by the fact that I can express how I feel through symbolism and story telling, even if at times it doesn't make sense or sounds corny. It is what it is and sometimes people express themselves in odd form. I mean, look at Picaso. Sorry but no. He was not a good painter. BUT, he was good at expressing himself and a lot of people were provoked by his work, that made him great! We are all artists in our own ways. Through words, through tangible media, through food, through decorating...and the list goes on. I don't compose poetry or song lyrics anymore. In fact, the last poem I wrote was for Logan. It's buried somewhere in this blog. I'm not sure when I stopped writing. I think it has been in the last 5 years or so, when life took on a comfortable and protected feeling. I married my long time love, we had a nice home, cars, toys...everything I could want or need (short of a child). Eventually I had a daughter. Things were perfect. How many poems can one write that are coated in bubble gum? The urge to write faded until I realized that I don't need to write anymore. I don't have these awful emotions to get out anymore. Life was just the way I wanted it and I couldn't have asked for anything more. Then Logan died. And suddenly I found myself so far over that chasm that I couldn't form a coherent thought. I didn't have the urge to make rhymes or even sublime thoughts. I just sat and stared. Any desire to produce anything was gone. Except the urge to write in this blog. I think this blog saved me. I still needed to talk, to get it out, but somehow the thoughts and heartache I had for my son seemed so much more substantial and important than any I'd had before. I couldn't degrade his memory with a hokey poem that no one would read. I wanted to be heard this time. I wanted people to know my devastation. I wanted people to know that my heart was irrevocably broken. And anyone who reads this blog, they know. My husband knows. But most importantly, I know. And in the end that's the only thing that really mattered anyhow. Admitting that my heart was broken. That this tiny little soul, with a blink of an eye life span, took a huge chunk of my heart with him when he went.

I don't know what it is about certain days. Why some days, even now a year later, I feel trapped, lethargic and inconsolable. Why I wake up and have him on my mind in that instance, and why it hangs over me like a storm cloud all day, pressing me down. Maybe its because its Thursday and my dd is at Grandma's. Thursday's are quiet and leave a lot of room for shadows to creep in. It usually starts with a song (this is where I go back to the whole music thing from earlier). I'm driving the Muffin to Grandma's and some song comes on the radio, presses me down. I drop her off, I drive home, thoughts churning, more music playing, more pressing down. It is easy for me to find Logan in almost anything. Someones words, a little blond haired boy, a break-up song, a monkey, food... I hate to say he haunts me, because that just makes it seem ugly and scary. I think its my mind that haunts me. My mind always whispering terrible thoughts into my proverbial ear. Thoughts I have no business allowing to stake claim and plant them selves deep in my subconscious, letting their roots dig deep and torturing me. I'm an avoider. I hate tense situations, drama and confrontation. I'd rather ignore it. Pretend it didn't happen. But I can't avoid what happened to me. I can't avoid that there was this little life churning away in side of me for six months with out a lick of problems and then BAM!! Dead. Down Syndrome is detectable, and we had no warning. I don't know, maybe its better that way. Maybe in my ignorance I would have wished him dead rather than to have a crippled child coming in and "messing up" my perfect little bubble gum world. Wishing, because I wouldn't have had a clue about the pain of loosing a baby. Because maybe a lot of people don't really think of a fetus as a person until they're here. I mean, I always thought a baby was a baby from conception...but it wasn't a person. It didn't have a life, or a personality or face. It was an enigma. I had trouble with that with my first pregnancy with my daughter. I couldn't connect. It never felt real. After her birth I was overcome with emotion and a love I couldn't fathom before. The months following her birth I was in awe of how I just loved her with every fiber of my being and that nothing else mattered. But while I was pregnant, I just didn't get it. When I got pregnant with Logan I was still nursing a 6 month old. I was exhausted. I was sick. I didn't have any energy to be concerned with anything other than the current moment and situation. I feel like I missed a lot with Logan during those six months. I took for granted that I'd have all the time in the world to get to know him and right now my very young daughter was my main focus. Oh the things I would change if given the opportunity.

These are just too many thoughts for a Thursday of little consequence.

So the song that sent me spiraling today was "Nothing Compares to You". You remember that song don't you? Late 80's early 90's? Sinead O'Conner in black with that stark white bald head and the single tear on her cheek. I loved the song then and found out years later that Prince actually wrote that song, and recorded it himself. But this part:

"It's been so lonely without you here. Like a bird without a song. Nothing can stop these lonely tears from falling. Tell me baby where did I go wrong?"

That was the one that got my head spinning like the chic in Poltergeist. Because that paragraph brought with it a million dreaded thoughts that I couldn't shake. It is lonely here. Even with my dh and the Muffin, its lonely. There is a missing life. There is a missing face, a missing voice, a missing personality that I wanted so badly to get to know. Would he have been like his sister, or a force unto himself that I can only guess at? And it leaves an eerie feeling in its wake. Silence, even in the midst of the noise and chaos that is my two year old, there is an eerie silence that should have been filled with his voice, his chaos and noise. And I can't help but to go back to the same old question, what did I do wrong? What did I do that would warrant not being able to mother Logan outside of the womb? Was I going to fail at it? Was having 2 kids so young and close together going to cause me to be a bad mother, so he was spared? And I feel like if I had that answer, even if it was one I didn't want to hear or know, would I be better able to accept this? The pathetic part is that I just assumed that by the time the year mark passed that I would have this greater knowledge. That I would have begun to accept that I have a dead child. Don't get me wrong, time has controlled the bleeding. I don't "lay here on the couch with my heart hanging out" (Garth Brooks) anymore. But its still very tender, and sometimes it still bleeds. I know I'm an impatient person. I expect fast results, and I want them now. And you can't rush grief. And if you ask around, these parents who went before us...years ago, when they're being honest and they don't think anyone is looking...it still hurts for them too. And I think that scares me. To know that I will always feel this ache. And in a way it comforts me and brings me some element of peace to know that this ache, this ache means that I had a little boy and my time with him was not enough.

These dreary days.

2010-02-10T15:35:00.002-06:00

I've been feeling dreary lately. Could be the cloudy/snowy weather, it always seems to provoke the blues in me. I dunno. I feel disconnected again and out of sorts. I've let my diet slide for the last few weeks, started drinking loads of pop again (running for comfort perhaps??) and not wanting to clean or shower. This used to be common place for me, earlier this year. But the last couple of months I've managed to stay afloat and breathing normal. But I feel blue these days, impatient and irritated by the mundane things in life.

My new friend, the one who had a miscarriage recently, is so sad. The thing is I like her, a lot. Stalkeresque liking. And it breaks my heart to know she feels such sadness, sadness that I can relate too. And I have this overwhelming urge to comfort her, to protect her, to shield her from this devastation...and I feel helpless and clueless about how to do that. And I guess its because I know that I really can't. Baby loss trauma is one that each person has to wade through in their own way, on their own schedule and no one can fix it, or make it go away. Grief has to be dealt with, it can not be sugar coated or ignored. It can not be fixed with soup or margaritas (believe me, I tried). But I can't help myself. I am obsessed with how she is doing, how she's feeling, what can I do to help? And I feel like maybe I'm being overbearing or weird and freaking her out. And I struggle with knowing where the line is. Am I calling too much, not enough? Am I pushing her to handle her grief like I handled mine? Am I being a pest, or does she want me to call/come by and is too reserved to ask? I get the feeling that she feels like she is an annoyance or a bother to others. And all I want to do is stand in front of her and protect her from the crap that is flying her way. To be a "force field" for her and help her through the most horrific thing the average person will ever go through. But the thing is, we're new friends. I've known her for a year and only recently been a friend to her outside of our children's playgroup. And I don't want to come across as overbearing or needy or smothering or whatever. But if anyones gonna understand her pain, isn't it me? I don't feel like I'm doing enough, or doing too much and its a weird spot to be in. I suck at making new friends.

My other friend, the one with the newborn who has colic... I need to call her. Selfishly I can't seem to work up the umph to do it. She's a compulsive complainer, I love her anyway. I complain an awful lot myself, so who am I to judge? But the thing is, lately I've been feeling weird about her. I know it must suck in a way that I can not imagine to have a baby with colic. To never get peace or rest or feel like you can comfort your child. It must be heartbreaking. And get this, she NEVER complains about it (at least not to me). I'm sure a lot of people feel weird about complaining about their kids to me now days. But I know she wants to, and who could blame her? And I feel guilty about it. I told her having a baby is the most incredible thing ever, that there is nothing but sheer joy! I was wrong. I assumed because my first born was sheer joy, that hers would be too. But its so hard for me to hear that she's miserable, that she isn't enjoying these early days with her daughter and I can't help but think of the alternative (dead baby, not happy one!! Go figure!) and it makes me sad. I want her to be happy no matter what. To know that she is so lucky, because these few bad months will pass and she'll outgrow the colic and then it will be better...her baby lived. And I hate that I feel those things. Hate it. I hate that it is so hard for me to empathize and feel compassion for anyone who has a hardship, because hey, at least they don't have a dead baby. I know how it sounds, I do. I know I sound selfish and bordering on loony. And I know I should suck it up and be a good friend and listen to her hardships without thinking she's ungrateful for her gift. But, like I said, I'm feeling blue these days. I'm missing my son and I'm sad that I know another mother who's baby died and I can't help her. And right now that just seems so much bigger than colic.

A Slideshow for Logan

2010-02-08T10:51:00.005-06:00

I've added a slideshow of the pictures I've uploaded to this blog since the beginning. Maybe a few extra's. Enjoy.

Logan's name at the Waterfall

2010-02-08T08:55:00.001-06:00

I love it when parents come up with a way to memorialize our children. Seems I can never get enough of it! Waterfall Angels is just that, a beautiful way to remember our babies. Lisa (mommy to Jasper) is writting names on a lovely river rock and then taking them down to Rainbow Springs State Park in Florida and taking pictures. She then lovingly uploads them to her blog for the parents to click on the photo and save a copy to their computers. I just loved the ones she did for my sweet Logan. You can see them here. Thank you Lisa for giving me one more sweet reminder.

Her? But not me?

2010-02-04T21:08:00.000-06:00

A local woman stabbed her baby with a butcher knife. She gave birth to a healthy baby, and then stabbed it! And THIS woman got a live baby, and mine died! Her, but not me?! I don't see the logic, the everything happens for a reason crap!
On a side note, they think the baby will survive. And yes I think its sad that this chic was mental. That's not the point.
Sent via BlackBerry from T-Mobile

My friends baby died.

2010-01-31T21:33:00.003-06:00

My new friend lost her 2nd pregnancy this past weekend. This one was 9 weeks. It makes me sad. It makes me feel so helpless listening to her cry and ask questions and wonder. There should be four children in her life, there are two. I found it interesting to hear her mimic so many of the same doubts and thoughts and guilt and feelings that I felt after Logan died. 9 weeks, 13 weeks...not much different than my 6 months. And our friendship is so new... I'm at a loss as to what to say and do. I don't want to be all like "yeah well, I so get THAT!" and calling her too much, but I don't want to not call her enough either. Its left me feeling so odd. Makes me wonder about my friends and family...how they must've felt when Logan died. Its so sad. It makes my heart ache. She wanted that baby. Didn't matter to her that it had been 9 weeks. Doesn't matter to me either. I just feel so ugly inside. Dying babies is something I will never be able to come to terms with, regardless as to the gestational age. And I hate that I know of another baby that wasn't compatible with life. I feel "honored" (if that's the right word) that she called me, felt weird that she might have felt obligated, felt sad that she knew I would understand her pain, but "glad" (again with these positive phrases in unfortunate ways) that I was here for her to talk to. I found myself saying "I'm so sorry" a lot, and "if you need company call me..." We all know how that worked for each of us. I never asked for anything. I never wanted anything. I just wanted to be left alone, and yet...not. And here I am on the other side of the fence feeling helpless and stupid, when I feel like I should have all of the right words and answers...because I've been there.

But I'm dumbstruck.

Because everything happens for a reason right??

2010-01-28T10:37:00.002-06:00

That's what I've heard countless times over this past year. Everything happens for a reason. God takes all things and uses them for good. I have a very hard time not scoffing at those sort of comments these days, ones I would have used myself in years past. I will not in the future, I can assure you of that. Because I have realized that just because something happens, and though it may happen for a "reason" on occasion, it doesn't always have to have a reason, or at least a good reason, or a good outcome. Sometimes things just happen because that's life, and sometimes it sucks...really fracking bad! And though good things may come out of terrible things, do they always? And is it always God, or is it just the way he designed this universe? Every action has an equal and opposite reaction... For every good there is a bad... Yin and Yang... There is no day with out the night... But I do believe that every thing that occurs in our lives is shaped and comes out of everything we've experienced in the past. Everything. How would my life have been if my parents wouldn't have divorced? Would I have grown up in the same town with the same people with the same influences? I would have been a different person, had different opportunities. The day I suddenly decided to move in with my dad so that I could attend college was the day that changed everything in my life. I hated living with my dad. Every moment of the 18 months or so that I was there. But it brought me here. I gave me David and Aubrey and yes...even Logan. With out that decision I would have nothing that I have now. What if we'd have bought that home a few years ago? There wouldn't be an Aubrey...maybe not a Logan...Maybe Logan would have been our first baby. Everything affects everything else.

Which has had me thinking lately...how has Logan changed my life? Are there any good things that have come from it?

Logan's death gave me the courage to not care about the insignificant things in my life anymore. It gave me the strength to rid my life of the people who brought me down so low it physically affected me. It gave me a greater appreciation for the life of my daughter. On days where I'm not feeling overly raw and sensitive, it gave me more patience for her and her antics. It gave me empathy for other families who've been through a loss more horrible than imaginable, unless you've had one of your own. It gave me an anger towards God I never thought possible. Its made me question every belief I've ever had, every motive, every ounce of grace and love I've had preached at me my whole life. Its made me scoff at the very mention or thought of God. It's given me the ability to understand myself at a deeper level. Its given me a new view of my husband as both a man and a husband and even more so as a father. Its made me realize that nothing that has ever happened to me before this, and probably not likely to happen after this, was ever really that big of a deal. Its made me afraid to hope, dream and plan. It's left me feeling powerless and with out any control. Its given me cyber friends with whom I connect with on a level I don't normally connect to people in real life with. Its changed the way I dream about my future, my family and our lives together. Its made me very irritable and impatient with selfishness and insignificant wants, desires and boo hoo's of the average person. It makes me very opinionated and judgemental about other's pregnancies and choice of infant care. It makes me fear another pregnancy, and yet gives me a greater desire for another child. I have even less empathy for the average person than I did before, and that was not much to begin with. "What? Your life sucks? Well, my baby died..." I know its selfish or self centered, but it is what it is. But the "nicest" change or event to come out of my son's death is that I have made a couple of new friends whom I really like. Local friends from my daughters playgroup. Friends who I wouldn't have ever met because I would've been home exhausted and very pregnant and not out looking for a distraction. Or I would have been home with a baby and a newborn, not at all wanting to go to a playgroup. I started going to this playgroup about a month after Logan died. One of the ladies and I really connected here recently and I think I might have actually made a real (no-crazy) local friend who I have a lot in common with. I've been in this town for almost 15 years and she will be the first friend I made on my own (I have one friend through my dh, an hour away and a tad loony) who actually lives close by. Something I've needed and wanted very badly for a long time. I like her, I like her dh, her 2 kids (and a baby on the way) and my dh likes her dh. That's always a bonus. So, even though a lot has come out of Logan and his death, and not all of it is good, in fact some of it really sucks, there are a few nice things. I'm trying to focus on those nice things.

But, to be honest, I'd rather have my son than a new friend.

A new friend as a consolation prize isn't such a bad thing though. And I still don't want to hear that everything happens for a reason, because I still haven't found one that justifies my son's death. And I don't want to hear that God uses all things for his good, because that doesn't make me feel better. It doesn't offer me comfort, and it makes me wonder about the type of God who chooses to use the bad things for good. Did I really need to experience this horror?? In fact, the more I hear about God and his mercy and how blessed I am or should feel or whatever. Or, the more I hear how God has a plan for me or how much he loves me and wants to comfort me the more pissed off I get. Especially when it comes from the mouth of those who have no clue what I feel or what I have been through, and especially when it comes from the mouths of those who I feel should be supporting (if not understanding) me the most. Nothing makes me more angry than hearing any of that. The harder people push God on me the harder I push back, the more I reject it. I'm not sure why people don't see that. You want me to come back to God, shut up and let God do the talking. Nothing you say to me can convince me of anything. There is no proof in your life that backs up how great God is. Loosing Logan and being a Christian has given me a whole new perspective on how non-Christians must view Christians, how they respond and feel about God when it isn't something that's been ingrained into their heads since their youth. They must sneer at everything. Christianity must be a huge joke to them because I find it so severely hard to feel otherwise myself. God is the answer? What happens when God is the problem?

I'm not sure where that tangent came from.

Anyhow, my point is that in this coming year I'm going to try to focus on what I have and not what was stolen from me. To focus on where I am and am going and not on where I should have been. To focus on what is, and not what isn't. To focus on the good things and how I have been changed for the better, and what benefits I can enjoy now...like my new friends, and my new found intolerance for the insignificance of stupidity that has tried to drag me down my whole life.

And yet, part of me still scoffs. Because deep down, I don't think it was an even trade at all, and I'm not sure I really want to focus on the good.

I surived the one year mark

2010-01-28T10:16:00.003-06:00

I survived the coming and going of Logan's angelversary on the 24th, though I guess survive is a relative term these days. The 23rd seemed to affect my dh a lot too since that is the day that we found out Logan had died (at which point they induced labor and I gave "birth" the following morning). Until he mentioned that fact, I'd never given that date much thought. My big days were the 24th and the 21st. The evening of the 21st was the day the uber-doc thought Logan probably died (based on the condition of the placenta and Logan). We didn't do anything special to commemorate the day. Seems terrible in theory, but neither of us felt like it was a day to commemorate. Logan was not supposed to have been born until May, so it wouldn't have even been his first birthday. He didn't die during an early birth, he was forced out after he died. The day was just an ugly day that shouldn't have happened. So, we did what was best for us. We woke up (at 3:45am thank to my dd who decided it was morning) to a warm (for a January in Michigan), rainy, gloomy day. It fit perfectly and was in great contrast to the stark bright and bitterly cold day of last year. We ate breakfast at the IHOP and spent the day lounging around the house, relaxing and watching TV. Thoughts of Logan and the mention of his name laced its way through just about every sentence that took place over those few days. And when they didn't his shadow still remained in a more distinct fashion than it has as of late. The only thing that might have made it obvious that day that something wasn't quite right was the fact that we were both very irritated and moody, snapping at everything and everyone. There was an aura of anger that lingered, until my daughters birthday (yesterday) gave us pause for happiness. Such an odd feeling to be so horribly sad and angry and bitter and to also feel such an enormous sense of joy and wonderment and to feel truly blessed at the same time. Such contradiction that eases through our lives like it belongs there. I guess it does now. I managed to keep myself together (I think we both did) until late the evening of the 24th. The only thing I really wanted to do for Logan that day was to write him a letter in his journal. I do that very rarely. It was too much. Too much honesty bubbling to the surface. On a routine basis I think I manage pretty well at keeping my honesty, and the raw emotions that must still linger, in check and locked away. But man, let me start writing and everything pours out. I couldn't finish the letter. I didn't want to talk to him anymore, it just hurt too much and talking to him like he was still here was too much honesty all at once. David came down stairs where I was hiding in my Scrapbook Room writing just moments after I finally broke down. We stood in the doorway and shared our common sorrow for several minutes, then shook it off and tried to go to bed.

What else is there to do but to shake it off and keep moving?

Here it comes...

2010-01-21T21:33:00.004-06:00

So, here it comes. Today, a year ago, our horror began. Today is the day they told us there was something wrong. By the 23rd we knew he had died, the 24th he was stillborn.

Today I coped. Today I thought a lot about him, but it didn't pull me under. I thought a lot about what happened and the way I felt, but the day progressed in a "normal" fashion. I didn't cry, yet.

Last night...well... Here's the thing. I realized last night, after a small rift with my dh, that I feel like I have no control over much in my life. And that really bothered me. It came out wrong, and I took it out on my dh and was in a desperate search to reason that my thoughts were normal "wife" thoughts. But they quickly turned into Logan thoughts. And I realized that's what the issue really was about. Oh, not that I didn't really want what I was asking my dh for, but that the reason I got so angry (and later so sad) was really just because I struggle with control more so this past year than I used to. There have been so many things in the past year that have happened to me, that I had no control over, that it has really left a scar, or more realistically an open wound. Not that there haven't always been elements of fear of loss of control, and the actual inability to control everything around me (I once haunted myself in my sleep because I felt so out of control), and not that there won't always be that. No one can control everything around them all of the time. Other's free will is often involved (divorce, job loss), or circumstances beyond ones immediate control that make it impossible to control a situation. But after Logan died, it became very real, and very obvious to me that there is actually little in this life that one can control. I couldn't control what happened to Logan. I couldn't control the pain I felt from it. I couldn't control my husband and force him to have another baby right away, or move, or so many other things. I couldn't control the reaction of other people. I couldn't control my response to them (ok, this might be debatable). I couldn't control so many things that seemed so life altering, anymore than I could control the weather. Which has left me feeling so very insecure and vulnerable. Two feelings I despise. I miss the illusion of control I thought I once possessed. I miss the prospect of a new life in this home. I miss the dreams I had for Logan, the plans I made, the big sister I saw in Aubrey, the Mommy and Daddy I saw in us. I miss the family I framed in my head, the way it was going to be. And because of things I could not control, those dreams and hopes and plans are gone. I miss being able to relate to other women on a natural level with out them second guessing my words, thoughts or intents. I miss being able to think innocent thoughts about babies and being pregnant and frankly, sex, with out the constant sad reminder of what no longer is.

I miss the innocence and the comfortable naivety that used to be mine.

And I would gladly have given all of those up and so much more if I would have been able to have had a healthy Logan, or even, selfishly, one not so healthy Logan.

I miss him.

I miss you baby boy.

Reminders in the mail

2010-01-12T21:42:00.002-06:00

The hospital sent us a card "In Memory" of Logan for the anniversary of "our loss". It was nice. A nice reminder that they gave a crap enough to log it into a computer and let us know that they kept track of it. But I'm tired of getting unexpected reminders in the mail.

Feeling surprisingly OK

2010-01-10T14:45:00.005-06:00

I'm feeling surprisingly OK these days. That seems weird to me, given that Logan's angelversary is a mere 2 weeks away. I've been thinking about him and what happened in the days surrounding his death a little more than I usually do. Like today, a bright, sunny and bitterly cold day...just like the day that Logan was born dead. And I remember walking through the parking garage at the hospital just a few short hours after birthing Logan, walking away numb and empty and shocked and confused. I remember thinking how far away the car seemed and how long the walk felt. I remember thinking that I would never forget those few moments there in that garage. Leaving, un-pregnant, whip lashed, disconnected...and with a strange feeling like I was in a dream or like the last several hours hadn't really happened. Today I remember that like I was just there. This morning I had the strange thought that a year ago right around this time my son probably started dying. I was so unaware, so clueless. I was sitting around, tired, happy, fat, and thinking that though I was miserable (I was never a gracious pregnant lady) that my life was pretty darn great. I was planning my daughters first birthday (just three short days after Logan died) and feeling Logan's faint kicks (which even then seemed odd to me, but hey, every pregnancy is different, and the doctor had just taken a peek at him and he was fine). I remember being afraid of how I was going to have a newborn and a 16 month old. I remember wondering if my daughter would notice, if it would affect her not being the "baby" anymore. I remember hating the winter cold and looking forward to May when Logan would be born and the three (or four if my dh came along) of us would be out in the new double stroller we had just bought that week (or were about to go buy in a few days) walkinf in the sunshine. I remember planning days at the park (where his tree is now planted), and wondering how on earth I was going to grocery shop, go out of town to visit my family, go to the bathroom...

But these days life just seems to be going forward. We live our lives around the giant elephant in the room. It's still there, but it isn't the main focus anymore. A very common subject, but not the only one. Time marches on, and I guess I'm marching on with it, instead of standing still and looking around in horror the way I used to. I'm starting to feel in this life how I felt in my life before Logan was conceived...aside from the fact that he was conceived and its now a gaping hole. But I try to focus on my life now, even if he is still in my peripheral vision. I feel like "Ok, there's your year. I let you take a whole year and wallow and excuse and cry and deal and feel and heal and avoid and be lazy, but now its time to start looking forward, planning, doing and living." So, that's where I'm at right now, today. I'm ok. It still makes me horribly sad, but I am positive the worse sadness is now behind me and that perhaps I am coming out of my depression. Of course, I'm keeping in mind that this all comes in waves and lulls. And I'm still going to allow myself to feel the lulls if/when they arrive. But for now, today, I'm feeling like a survivor. And I'm feeling like there might actually be a life for me beyond Logan, with out Logan.

Having said that, I still seem to have baby fever. I look at babies when we are out and about and I miss that stage with every fiber of my body. And I am still having a hard time accepting that Aubrey may be my only child, and that perhaps my child bearing days are over. I'm having a hard time accepting that perhaps its been taken out of my hands, when I wasn't ready for that to happen. I'm trying to be. I know that it isn't set in stone, not yet anyhow. But I am really struggling with being content as we are now. I still want a larger family. Not a huge one, but a few kids have always been where I wanted to be.

Someone asked my mother on Facebook the other day how many grand kids she had. I answered for her. Four granddaughters and a grandson in Heaven. Part of me answered because I was afraid she'd leave Logan out. And I know that technically she has 4 grandchildren. But Logan was here. He counted. And I still want everyone to know. I don't know if it was the appropriate thing to do, the appropriate place to say it, or even the appropriate person to say it to...but its done. Sometimes it still takes my breath away how adamant I feel about his existence. How quickly I am to tell people that he was here. How quick I am to get angry if he isn't acknowledged.

I'm fearing the next couple of weeks. I'm fearing what I'll feel, or what I won't. What I'll do or not, and if I'll regret the decisions I'm making about how to acknowledge this horrible day. I've read so many nice stories about those who have celebrated the "First Birthday" with various styles; releasing balloons, planting tree's, hosting parties, donating their time or money to worthy causes... But the thing is, January 24th wasn't Logan's Birthday. It wasn't even close to what was supposed to have been his birthday (May 19th). I didn't go into natural labor prematurely. Logan just slipped away, and I happen to have gotten "lucky" enough to have had a misdiagnosis of previa that prompted an extra ultrasound appointment that alerted the doctor of Logan's condition and prompted a visit to the pro's at the hospital. I carried Logan around in my belly dead for about two days. The uber-doc determined that Logan had probably died the night of the 21st, the night of my ultrasound. The ultrasound that wouldn't have even happened had it not been for a misdiagnosis. And I often wonder what would have happened if they hadn't induced me. Forced me to give birth to my dead son. The doc said that I would have probably gone into labor on my own within a few days or weeks. Probably. Or they wouldn't have been able to find a heartbeat at the next months appointment... Or... I'm glad it was fast. I'm glad I didn't have to walk around knowing he was dead. I'm glad that I didn't go full term thinking I was having a healthy baby boy, and then be slammed in the face with that horror. But, I wish I would have known that Wednesday of my ultrasound that he was dying. I would have liked to have been able to say goodbye, to have held him a little tighter in my belly while he slipped away. To have been aware, and not sitting around ignorant. But maybe knowing would have been even more excruciating... Anyhow, back to his angelversary. I just can't come up with anything that feels right. Its not a day I want to celebrate. I don't have any interest in visiting his tree that I see on a regular basis as I drive by the park. I have no desire to have a party, or a memorial, or a rememberance ceremony. There is no grave. He still sits in that stupid box on my armoir, where he has been for months. I don't really want to "do" anything to "remember" the day. It was a horrible day. I'd rather forget it. But since that won't happen... My dh feels the same way. It wasn't his birthday, it wasn't supposed to be, it shouldn't have been and it wouldn't have been had he lived. We don't celebrate the days our other loved ones die. Why celebrate Logan's? Because he was our son. And that's where I'm stuck. Part of me wants to do something, the other part doesn't. I don't want the time of my daughters birthday to forever be surrounded by a time of grief for a brother she was never aware of. That doesn't seem fair to her. But it seems odd to just treat it like any other day. When I think about that day, the vision I have is of me writing to him in his book. I have a journal where I used to track my pregnancy, then his death and have now written a few letters to him in. And maybe that will be enough, I don't know. But I'm afraid that I'll regret not doing anything more, and I'm affraid that doing anything will seem forced and weird. Last year I had so many ideas, things I wanted to do. One thing was to buy a star and have it named for him. But I don't even have that desire anymore. Now I just feel like maybe I'm wanting to commemorate the day because its what I've read so many others do. Its ok to do your own thing and no one should pressure themselves into following some status quo for The Dead Baby Club. I'm not sure why I feel weird about this.

So, we're in the home stretch. The horrible first year is coming to a close. By this time next month things should start feeling... feeling what exactly? All I know is that a year was supposed to be the magic number. I'm not expecting to wake up on the 28th and feel magically better or anything, but I'm hoping for days filled with more peace and acceptance now that we will be beyond all of the "firsts". Time heals all wounds, they say. Guess we'll find out.

I've added a few new songs to Logan's play list that I've been collecting for a few months. I've linked them to their lyrics in case you thought they might also be fitting for you.

They are as follows:

My Immortal - Evanescence

How Can You Mend a Broken Heart - Bee Gee's

Glory Baby - Watermark (about a stillborn baby)

Don't Wanna Cry - Pete Yorn

and the most fitting for me right now...

I Still Miss You - Keith Anderson

I also wanted to add these two, but I couldn't get them on www.playlist.com so...

Living for the Night - George Straight

What's Up Lonely - Kelly Clarkson

Thanks for being there for this past year. I can honestly say with all confidence that if I didn't have this blog and the support and love of my readers all through the horror that loosing a baby is, I'm not sure I would have survived, or at least have come out on the other end with out being a total nut job. This blog has saved me, at least a little.

First Christmas

2009-12-25T19:37:00.000-06:00

This was our first Christmas. I'd be lying if I were to say that I didn't have a very nice one and enjoyed this holiday. I didn't cry. I didn't obsess. But I thought about Logan a lot. I thought about what he'd be wearing, how he would've responded to sitting on Santa's lap last night. I thought about how big he'd be, and that he'd still be a baby and that everyone would be oohing and ahhing over him. I thought about the fact that life would be so different than it currently is. The good and the bad. It's interesting that I can think about it logically enough to recognize that babies aren't all fun and games all the time. All in all I had a nice few days and allowed myself to enjoy the holiday. I missed Logan today and I thought about him a lot. But I smiled and still enjoyed myself.
On a different note, I did go ahead and buy that ornament I mentioned in an earlier post. I hope everyone was able to find some peace and happiness these last few days. Happy holidays everyone.
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Counting Down, God and the Holidays

2009-12-17T21:30:00.003-06:00

I feel like I'm counting down.

38 days...

Thirty-eight more days and it will be a whole blasted year. 365 days. Gone. Things aren't that different, not really. Christmas is still coming. Its still winter. I still get up every morning and go about my day. Except now I think about the box of ashes still sitting on the top of my armoire where I put them so many months ago, trying to forget about them. That didn't work. I think about how different life would've been. I think about what I'm missing. I think about the life that he should have been living. I'm not much different to look at I suppose. I'm ten pounds heavier, my eyes are perhaps a little clouded, distant, sad. You wouldn't know it, unless I told you. You wouldn't know that there is love for two children in my heart. You wouldn't know there are two realities to my life. The one everyone sees, and the one that has Logan in it.

I got my hair done today. I've just really been needing a change, some improvement, something different. For the love of my husband (and the unrealistic fear of him not wanting me anymore) I didn't hack my hair off. But I changed it. I've always done that. Something bad happens in my life that I can't control and I hack off all of my hair. Like its the one thing I can control, so I do. Seems insignificant and pathetic, but pain and confusion and helplessness manifests itself in weird ways. The stylist ask me about my daughter. I've stopped telling most strangers about Logan. I never thought I would, but I have. Early on I took pleasure in seeing the shock and horror. Like maybe they felt a fraction of what I did. And early on I was so scared of loosing his memory, his proof of existence that I wanted to voice him constantly. I wanted to scream "Hey!! There was a child here!! He was real!" But mostly now days I feel like its a cheap way of whoring him around. Like he is too special to me to put out on display. He is mine. My private memory. No one deserves to see my love for him. No one deserves to know him. He was mine, mine alone. And no one could love him like I do. Obviously my husband does, but random people do not get that privilege these days.

I keep thinking about that ornament. I want to go buy it, but I keep putting it off. Part of me thinks I need to let go. Ornaments and trees and knick nacks are not going to keep him here. Part of me is afraid that I'll forget about the ornament and next year I'll be sitting around decorating my tree, feeling jolly about the holiday...and BAM! I'll find that one. And I'll remember it all over again. Humph. Like I'll ever forget this. Like I'll ever forget him. And then part of me wonders, will it just make me sad every year to look at it? Like I won't be sad enough, and this will just be more salt. But part of me thinks Logan deserves a spot on my tree just as much as Aubrey. And that ornament just fits. It says "Rest in Heavenly Peace" and not "Baby's first Christmas" because, after all, it is not and I'm hoping he is. Its astounding the amount of emotions that a dumb little piece of plastic can bring forth.

Tonight I am sad, and I am not sleepy. A bad bedtime combo around here. My dh starts his 16 day vacation tomorrow. And we're making room in the basement for a pool table. And we're turning what was supposed to have been Logan's room into a shipping center for my eBay crap. And I desperately wanted change, and yet it makes me sick to my stomach to go through with it. Like if I left it a half torn up guest room, and never changed it into anything. Not a little boys nursery with little blue and green fishies, not a shipping center...than maybe it'll be like nothing happened. "There never was a baby, see!! Its just a guest room." Damn that room that sucks the wind out of me every time I walk through its wretched door. Tonight I just want to lock the door and pretend that room was never even there. That stupid room that I stood in so many times and considered how I would set it up. That I would put the crib in the far corner like I did in Aubrey's room. That the built in shelves would have nice little baskets stuffed full of all of the baby needs. Green walls, blue curtains...little comical fishies floating across the far wall. I hate that room. I should paint the walls black.

I've never seen the time 10:07 on a clock since that day. Maybe its the single ounce of kindness God is tossing down at me, maybe its my subconscious being fearful around that time every day, so I just don't look. Who knows? My mom would say its God. He loves me. He doesn't want me to be sad. Someone posted on a friends wall on Facebook today (on an unrelated topic) "Its like praying for God to take away someone’s hurt when maybe its the hurt that will bring them closer to him." Why do people even begin to think they understand God? Why do people feel like they have the right to interpret God. Why do people assume they know what God wants, feels, thinks? I don't get it. And I hate it. I hate that people preach to me, at me, about how God feels about me, what he has in store for me. To be honest, when people around me even mention the name God, it makes me recoil. It makes me shut my ears. It makes me want to punch them in the face. Maybe its not about God at all. Maybe nothing is. Maybe its just the way it goes sometimes and it sucks and it hurts and its ugly and it is what it is. Maybe its not part of God's plan. Maybe God didn't have a thing to do with it. As a protestant I grew up believing that God's hand is in everything. My husband, as a Catholic, grew up believing that God's hand is in the big stuff, but not the day to day menial stuff. That used to blow my mind. Why would he plant a garden and then not tend it? Now I just think that people try too hard to find God in everything and that maybe he created us, and created life, and let us have our way with it. I mean, that's free will and all. If my having created a baby was anything, it was a result of sex. A consequence. There's an egg, the sperm finds it, bam! There's a baby. Mine didn't work. Throw it out, try again later. Sigh. But the thing is, I don't even buy it. Only God can breathe life into existence. How many women try and try and try for a pregnancy only to get nothing? God chooses when life happens and when it does not. An he CHOSE to create life using an egg that he KNEW wasn't suitable. And he did it anyway. That's what I can't get my head around. I know why Logan died. I accept it. Not compatible with life. Fine. Got it. He wasn't compatible because the egg didn't split right. Fine. Got it. But why life that month? Why not the month before? Why then? A year later and I still can't get my head around it. And I hate that people say that God uses all things for good. All things?? How is this good? Because I wrote a blog that might have helped someone else cope? No offense but I could give a crap. I mean, I'm sorry for your pain, but I wouldn't have volunteered for this or anything. Given a choice, you'd have lost. How can you take a rape, or child molestation and make it into something good? How can you take these horrible sick cases of these grown men raping and torturing and mutilating a young child and make it good?? HOW?? Where is the good in any of that?? And why? What's the point? Why give me something that brings me an unbearable sadness so that he can make something good out of it? Why couldn't me make something good out of nothing? He's God after all. My questions go unanswered. And you know why? Because NO ONE has these answers. I get responses like "well we can't understand God" or whatever. But that's the lame answer you get when people don't want to look the horrible stuff in the face and call it what it is. It sucks. Its ugly and there is no answer. The human interpretation of God is not the answer, not to this. Sure, he might help me to learn to cope, learn to heal, learn to move on...but it will always still be there. The big black gaping hole that contains the minuscule memories of my sons very short life. He can't take that away. Or at least he won't. It makes me miss my Gramma. She always seemed to have the right kind of answers when it came to God, or anything. She is in a nursing home, 200 miles away, and incoherent. Alzheimer's. Explain that one to me too while you're at it. On second thought, no, don't. I'm tired of explanations. I'm tired of ignorant people yammering at me about their insignificant knowledge about God.

I don't realize how angry with God I am until I start typing these posts. And I'm not trying to start some theological debate, and I don't want anyone witnessing to me, I get enough of that already. I grew up Christian. I already know. Doesn't change what I feel. Doesn't change the facts.

I miss the desire to celebrate. Birthdays and holidays come and go and I find that for the most part I just drift through them and try to get past them. I yearn for that old care free innocence of celebration. Not that I don't think I deserve to celebrate. Not that I don't think I deserve happiness, smiles and good times. I just don't care about them anymore. It doesn't feel right. Like there's something just a little bit off. Like when there's a dinner after a funeral and everyone's hanging out and chatting like nothing happened. Like its just some big reunion, and that they’re not all there because someone died. That always felt weird to me. Someone died. "HEY! I know, let's go eat!" Weird. Christmas Eve marks 11 months. Its like a mile marker in a marathon. One mile to go. Seems so dramatic doesn't it? And I know it will be like every other milestone I've encountered thus far. The hype and build up to the day is far worse than the day itself. I've had several weeks of numbness and being able to hide and this week I feel like its coming front and center again.

I just get so bummed out. Life isn't supposed to have been like this! I should have the house decorated to the nines. I should have pictures of my two kids with Santa. I should be shopping for a little boy. We should be taking great home movies and laughing and building nice memories. But we're not. I don't want to decorate. I don't want to celebrate. I don't want to do anything. I don't want to remember. I don't want to think about what isn't happening, what's missing, what went wrong, what life has become or hasn't. And for some reason the holidays are really kicking my butt about it all. I hate it. I want it to go away. I want to feel the sun on my face again.

I Resolve

2009-12-17T20:32:00.000-06:00

I stole this from Mary.

"I RESOLVE"

THAT I WILL GRIEVE AS MUCH AND FOR AS LONG AS I FEEL LIKE GRIEVING, AND THAT I WILL NOT LET OTHERS PUT A TIMETABLE ON MY GRIEF.

THAT I WILL GRIEVE IN WHATEVER WAY I FEEL LIKE GRIEVING, AND I WILL IGNORE THOSE WHO TRY TO TELL ME WHAT I SHOULD OR SHOULD NOT BE FEELING AND HOW I SHOULD OR SHOULD NOT BE BEHAVING.

THAT I WILL CRY WHENEVER AND WHEREVER I FEEL LIKE CRYING, AND THAT I WILL NOT HOLD BACK MY TEARS JUST BECAUSE SOMEONE ELSE FEELS I SHOULD BE "BRAVE" OR "GETTING BETTER" OR "HEALING BY NOW".

THAT I WILL TALK ABOUT MY CHILD AS OFTEN AS I WANT TO, AND THAT I WILL NOT LET OTHERS TURN ME OFF JUST BECAUSE THEY CAN'T DEAL WITH THEIR OWN FEELINGS.

THAT I WILL NOT EXPECT FAMILY AND FRIENDS TO KNOW HOW I FEEL, UNDERSTANDING THAT ONE WHO HAS NOT LOST A CHILD CANNOT POSSIBLY KNOW HOW I FEEL.

THAT I WILL NOT BLAME MYSELF FOR MY CHILD'S DEATH, AND I WILL CONSTATLY REMIND MYSELF THAT I DID THE BEST JOB OF PARENTING I COULD POSSIBLY HAVE DONE. BUT, WHEN FEELINGS OF GUILT ARE OVERWHELMING, I WILL REMIND MYSELF THAT THIS IS NORMAL PART OF THE GRIEF PROCESS AND IT WILL PASS.

THAT I WILL NOT BE AFRAID OR ASHAMED TO SEEK PROFESSIONAL HELP IF I FEEL IT IS NECESSARY.

THAT I WILL COMMUNE WITH MY CHILD AT LEAST ONCE A DAY IN WHATEVER WAY FEELS COMFORTABLE AND NATURAL TO ME, AND THAT I WON'T FEEL COMPELLED TO EXPLAIN THIS COMMUNION TO OTHERS OR TO JUSTIFY OR EVEN DISCUSS IT WITH THEM.

THAT I WILL TRY TO EAT, SLEEP, AND EXERCISE EVERY DAY IN ORDER TO GIVE MY BODY STRENGTH IT WILL NEED TO HELP ME COPE WITH MY GRIEF.

TO KNOW THAT I WILL HEAL, EVEN THOUGH IT WILL TAKE A LONG TIME.

TO LET MYSELF HEAL AND NOT FEEL GUILTY ABOUT FEELING BETTER.

TO REMIND MYSELF THAT THE GRIEF PROCESS IS CIRCUITOUS~THAT IS, I WILL NOT MAKE STEADY UPWARD PROGRESS. AND WHEN I FIND MYSELF SLIPPING BACK INTO THE OLD MOODS OF DESPAIR AND DEPRESSION, I WILL TELL MYSELF THAT "SLIPPING BACKWARD" IS ALSO A NORMAL PART OF THE GRIEF PROCESS AND THESE MOODS, TOO, WILL PASS.

TO TRY TO BE HAPPY ABOUT SOMETHING FOR SOME PART OF EVERY DAY, KNOWING THAT AT FIRST, I MAY HAVE TO FORCE MYSELF TO THINK CHEEFUL THOUGHTS SO EVENTUALLY THEY CAN BECOME A HABIT.

THAT I WILL REACH OUT AT TIMES AND TRY TO HELP SOMEONE ELSE, KNOWING THAT HELPING OTHERS WILL HELP ME TO GET OVER MY DEPRESSION.

THAT EVEN THOUGH MY CHILD IS DEAD, I WILL OPT FOR LIFE, KNOWING THAT IS WHAT MY CHILD WOULD WANT ME TO DO.

2009-12-16T13:08:00.003-06:00

I've spent a lot of my life looking behind me. Wishing all the old things were new. Panicking at how fast time flies by. Childhood, highschool, college, my twenties...poof! Gone. So fast. So fast they just whipped by, pulling years from my life that at times I stop and stare and wonder how it happened. This has always made me sad. These days though I'm rushing through it all. Like maybe if I press forward this will all be over sooner. The logical part of me knows better, but I find that I am very emotionally driven as of late. And I hate that. I hate that I can't stand still long enough to listen to reason, and if I do I usually just shove it aside. And I hate that I'm rushing through life. Rushing through the cute growing years of my toddler, just so that I can get beyond a pain that I keep hearing you can never really get beyond. I know that in a few years I will look back on this past year and know that I should have slowed down and taken the time to smell the roses with my living child. Enjoyed every moment with her that I could. I owe that to Logan don't I? To enjoy my daughter? To make every waking moment with her count, to make it pleasurable, to make it worth while. I wish I didn't feel like my patience died that day too. Not that I've ever had an overabundance or anything. But I feel so raw all of the time. So spent. So done. So tired. So drained. I've started feeling like enough is enough. Knock it off already. He died. You're sad. I get it. Stand up and dust your self off and keep walking. But then the other part of me want to throw a tantrum. Wants to pount. Wants to feel sorry for herself and pretend that she's the only one in the world to have to go through this...like other's haven't been through so much worse. I have one dead baby. He wasn't my first. At least I have a child who is alive and healthy. At least I'm not like some woman who have had dead baby after dead baby after dead baby, or never able to conceive, or struggle for years with infertility only to have the child die as its being born. At least I don't have that. I wish that mattered to me.

I didn't decorate for the holidays. I'm not in the mood. I don't have the energy. And I use my 22 month old as an excuse "Oh, she'd pull the tree down" or whatever. But truthfully, I just don't feel like the hassle. Its like that with so many things these days. I need to just buck up and do it. Clean, laundry, bathe...

I don't cry much at all anymore. Logan is becoming such an enigma for me. I have a hard time picturing life with him in it anymore. I feel more and more like it happened to someone else. I miss my baby belly. I never thought I'd ever say that, but I do. I miss the thought of new beginnings and the excitement of a new baby. I spent the last two Christmas's pregnant and exhausted. Waiting. Impatient. Excited. This year I feel empty. Its odd how not finishing a pregnancy will leave you feeling like life is unfinished. I feel stalled. Like I'm still waiting for him to be born. Waiting for something. I spend most of my time trying not to think about what happened. Which in turn leads to less blog posts. I find myself eager for major change. I want to move. I want to remodel. I want to overhaul myself, my home, my life. Unfortunately (or fortunately) my husband doesn't have those same needs, or if he does he's at least rational enough to know what's best for us.

I can't leave life this way. I can't go out on a bad note. I feel like I have to try to have another child. I want to prove to myself that it doesn't always end badly. I want a happy ending. I don't want to always walk around feeling like life is unfinished. We started a family and then stalled during round two and never got back up on the horse again. I KNOW this sounds terrible. And no I don't think another baby would replace Logan. And no I don't think that it would make all of the hurt go away, but I have to believe it would help to heal some of the hurt. Not now. I'm not ready for a baby now. But someday... I have to feel like I still have that option. And dang it if I don't feel like that option has been torn from my hands. And I hate that I wanted this big family and now I have an only child and a dead child and so since I had one die then that's it, no more babies. And I hate that I should be content. Hey, at least I have the first one. Right? We're all thinking it. I SHOULD BE CONTENT. Aubrey should be enough. She's the light of my world. But I guess it makes me feel like I was hungry, so I got Aubrey, and then I was thirsty, so I got logan. Well hey, at least I'm not dying of starvation!! They're like apples and oranges to me. Having Aubrey doesn't minimize or erase the fact that I don't have Logan. Sigh. I so wish it did.

I added a new quote to the top of my blog. Its from a song by the Counting Crows called Its Raining in Baltimore. The quote is: "You get what you pay for, but I just had no intention of living this way." I've heard that song a million times over the last decade. But that line hit me so hard the other day. Maybe because it resonates that sentiment that maybe I didn't deserve Logan, or maybe I did something to deserve this pain. You get what you pay for, right? Maybe I didn't pay enough. But, regardless of if I paid enough or not, I never would have chosen this path. Who would? But I feel that so hard these days...I had no intention of living this way.

I can't believe its almost been a year. 39 days to go.

This

2009-12-03T08:57:00.001-06:00

This morning is not starting off good. I have zero patience and feel wound tight and ready to explode. I've been feeling this way a lot lately. I have a cold, so I know that isn't helping. And my 22 month old has one too AND is teething. So we're both whinny and irritated.

I thought I was doing good. For some time now I haven't really been feeling anything. But last night my husband and I were snipping at each other and he said "There's the girl I've been seeing for the last three months!". And the anger came boiling to the surface. You know that anger. The one that pokes its head out everytime you realize that this has changed you, that this has changed everything around you, how you view life, your partner, yourself, your future, your past, every one around you. And I got pissed that I let it change me, that I couldn't stop it from changing me. That every innocent thought, is no longer innocent. That I can't think warm fuzzies about making babies with out remembering that one died. That I can't think about my annual Christmas picture without realizing that last years picture had a very pregnant looking woman in it, with her husband and daughter...and this year there isn't a second child to add. No transition. He was there last year, he's not this year. No sign or caption explaining why. Future generations will look at those pictures and be confused, wonder what happened. It made me so angry to realize, and have it voiced by my husband, that I'm different in a bad way. I'm not happy. I don't look forward to anything. I don't want to celebrate. I am angry that this has turned me into someone I don't recognize. That it has taken away what little bit of self worth, will power, motivation and what not that I used to have and that now days I just feel like a giant worthless blob who doesn't hold up her end of the bargain. I'm no wife to my husband. I don't care anymore. And it makes me angry that I don't care (so I must care a little or something), and that most of the time the new me beats down the old me until all I do is sit and stare. Depression. Yeah, I know. No pills they say. Gotta deal with it. Its expected, its normal...blah, blah, blah! WHATEVER! I'm angry that this has given me depression. I'm angry that my life is slipping away, my marraige, my daughters days. All slipping by while I'm just too spent to do anything about it. I feel torn. Torn between who I feel like being, and who I know I am supposed to be. Torn between cleaning this house, cleaning up myself, loosing this ugly weight that drags me down, being a good wife, a good mother and just loosing myself into the blob on the couch who doesn't understand why this happened to her. What did I do? What did my dh do? What did that poor baby do that warranted this. What did my dd do to deserve being born into a family that so soon after her birth would try to fall apart? Why us? Yeah, yeah. I know. Its not our fault, we didn't do anything to deserve this. God has a plan. Yeah, whatever. It makes me so angry that I want to throw this computer through my window. I don't want to be this person. I don't want to have this ugliness hanging over me and every thought I have and every thing I do. I want it to go away. And I know I sound like a 5 year old stomping her foot. I know it sounds ridiculous. But it is what it is. Its not fair, and I don't want it. I want my old life back. I want that innocence back. One freakin' month ruined everything. And I'm tired of living with it. I hate this new me. I hate what I do, how I think and what I know. I am pissed that I couldn't stop this from ruining me.

I can't believe its December. Christmas is just 3 weeks away!! I'm a month and three weeks away from Logan's anniversary. Almost an entire year yanked from my hands. A year spent being someone that I'm not. A year. Gone. And I'm glad its going. The year mark is the magic number right? The day when POOF everything is better and back to normal, right? Yeah. Right. Its sad to say that I'm looking forward to February. I have never in my life looked forward to February. February is frigid cold and boring. That's why they invented Valentine's Day. Threw in a little excitement. But this time around, February feels like a little light at the end of the tunnel. I'm probably setting myself up for a huge dissapointment, but I'm clinging to in anyway. I need to find hope in something. I need to think there will be an end to this.

The Holidays and more PCOS

2009-11-19T14:10:00.000-06:00

The holidays are coming.

It almost sounds ominous. Like “look out, the boogey man’s coming!” I’m trying not to think about it too much. I’m trying not to dwell on it. I’m trying not to sit around and count the months, and stare at the date on the calendar. I’m trying not to tell myself that this would have been his first Thanksgiving, old enough to eat mashed potatoes and yams or other smashed up Thanksgiving fare. I’m trying not to think about how hard these holidays would be with an insane 22 month old and a 6 month old. How traveling back home would have been chaotic and stressful. I’m trying not to look at all of the First Thanksgiving and First Christmas bibs, stockings and outfits. I’m trying not to think about what I would have bought him for Christmas. I’m trying not to think about what happened to us, what we lost, what we miss. I’m trying. For the most part I’m winning. Or at least I think I’m winning. I continue to stuff my face with anything that brings me a little pleasure. I continue to try not to think about it, instead of just not thinking about it…naturally. It seems like the worst is over though. Like the first 9 months were intolerable and now I’m sort of just coasting through. So sore, so numb, so devoid…but at least not feeling like I’m burning alive, gasping for breath. Now I’m limping along. Trying to get to that one year mark and just get it over with. Rushing along my life, my daughter’s life, my son’s very short existence. I can’t believe I’m knocking on the door of a year. Seems like yesterday, seems like a hazy dream, seems like someone else’s nightmare…seems like a lifetime ago. So many weird things that swirl around the whole dead baby thing. So many things I’ve yet to be able to comprehend, and now have lost all interest in trying to comprehend. Just go away. Leave me alone. I’m tired.

Yesterday I went back to the uber-OB. Turns out the nurse I saw last time while the doc was in surgery doesn’t know what she’s talking about. Gotta love that. Turns out I DO have PCOS and am Insulin Resistant. Yay. But, I did get to stop taking the pill, and am now taking an anti-diabetic that will help with the PCOS and even weight loss. But, now I have to really buckle down and eat healthy, organic, unprocessed food and exercise. I did that about half of the time anyway, but I couldn’t loose or was still gaining. She says it will also help with some of the exhaustion and depression. Not all, but some. Nature will still need to run its course. I should be sad. It was traumatic. No depression meds. You need to feel it, deal with it, and cope with your loss. We can’t put off the inevitable... Ok. Sigh.

So that’s where I am these days. Trying not to think about it. Trying to move on. Accepting that it happened, it’s over, I can’t change it. Trying to accept it anyhow. Trying not to be hateful or resentful. Trying not to blame. Trying to enjoy what I have, find the happiness in my daughter’s life, the happiness in the holidays, the happiness in a good marriage with a guy that even God himself couldn’t replace. Trying to be content. Trying to be happy, really and truly. Trying not to fall of the deep end, run away, scream, give up, curl up and die, shut out, or… You name it. Because it always feels like its right there. Like any minute its all going to come crushing down on me. Like any minute I really am going to flip out, and my mind will wander away and I’ll never be right in the head again. Although, honestly, I feel like I won’t ever be right in the head again anyhow. I feel like I’ve been messed up. Seen too much. Know too much. Must be like post traumatic stress or something. But I keep trying right? I keep breathing. That’s gotta count for something…right?

My new button

2009-11-09T00:21:00.002-06:00

So I finally decided to try my hand at making a button. Here's the graphic I decided to use. I'll be changing the look around here for the next little while, so please excuse the "dust".

If you'd like to "grab" my button, you can find the code on the right sidebar.

October's Secret Garden Meeting

2009-11-06T13:54:00.000-06:00

This is the October Version of Carly's Secret Garden Meeting. You can view that here.

So this meeting we would like to talk about where you are. Where are you at in your grief. Has it been years or just weeks since you lost your baby. How are you feeling. How do you hope you will feel in the future. Have you found any peace at all?

It's been 9 months 1 week and 6 days since Logan died. I've talked a lot this week about where I think I'm at in the process of grief. Numb. Empty. Nothing. Uncaring. I haven't been crying. I haven't been sitting around moping or wishing. I haven't anything. I go through the motions of life and try not to get too involved. I try not to commit to too much. Some days I think "Oh I should go do this or that, or visit this person or that." But I don't follow through. I don't "want" to do anything. I think I am still overly sensitive about a lot of things, and it doesn't take much to hurt my feelings, or make me angry. I feel tightly wound, and ready to shatter. I'm still having a lot of trouble falling asleep, and then getting out of bed. But I don't really "feel" anything. I don't "want" anything. I want to be left alone. I want to not exist in this life.

Peace? Aren't we all still looking for peace? Does that ever come? Do I have that to look forward to? I have moments, little flickers of peace here and there. My daughter gives me so much of that. My husband has a hand in that too. Sometimes I can sit here on my couch and watch him playing with our daughter and I think "Who could possibly want more than this right here?" and then I remember... And then it makes me sad all over again, and then it makes me guilty for feeling sad for not being content with the daughter that I have. It's messed up.

I hope in the future I will feel the way I used to feel...pre-dead baby. But I know that's not likely. What I am hoping for is that we will be able to move on as a family. That we will be able to find the courage to try to have another HEALTHY child, a child for its own merrits and not as a replacement. I hope that I move out of this depression with the passing of the one year mark. I hope that I don't "ruin" my daughter by smothering here and fearing for her life at every turn. I hope that a day will come when I don't feel like at any second I'm going to flip out. But mostly I hope that my dh and I will find healing, forgiveness and sweet thoughts about our son as the fore front of our lives and that I'll be able to raise my daughter with the belief's that I grew up on, and actually do it in a convincing way because I will once again belive them myself.

What happens after you've given up?

2009-11-06T13:02:00.000-06:00

This is part of a post I wrote today on my diet blog The Fatty Cakes Girls Club that I co-author with a skinny friend of mine. My post have taken a different turn recently. I used to keep Logan and the "issues" I have with that tucked neatly, safely and mostly secretly tucked away here on this blog. But, reality is what it is. And my reality is trying, struggeling, and failing daily to get a handle on my weight loss and fitness in the face of depression and emotional eating. So, lately the two issues have crossed each other and I thought I would share a little of that here. Maybe this would be a more appropriate post for The Dead Baby Club Blog. But, here it is anyway.

What Happens After You've Given Up?

Seriously. What happens after you've given up? I need to find an article or something. But this is where I am. I've given up. I've tossed in the towel on pretty much everything around me. I hate who it makes me. I hate what I look like, how I feel. But I don't seem to know what to do now.

I joined a group on SparkPeople.com for depression. The thing is, it seems like a joke to me. I'm not sure how people really find hope or comfort in those things, but they must. I don't. I'm not "just" depressed. Its not some chemical impalance or something. I'm insanely sad, and for good reason. Most days I'm just numb. Numb is better than gut wrenching tears, or not. I haven't decided yet. For those of you who missed it, I had a stillborn son in January. It was unexpected, as I guess most of the time it is. Anyhow, I know that the crap that I'm neck deep in is all normal. If I went to a shrink they'd give me meds (which I'm not keen on) and tell me that its all part of grief and its normal. That I just have to weather the storm. So that's what I do. Everyday I tread water, metaphorically of course since treading water would make me loose weight and since that's not happening... But everyday I just survive. And I'm tired. I'm tired of having to work at it. IT being everything. I just don't have the energy, the will, whatever. Anyhow, this group...its been no help. They say things like, step 1) get up. 2) Brush your teeth and comb your hair 3) get dressed....uh hello? I know that its like that for a lot of people. And frankly if it wasn't for my daughter...I'd still be caught at step one. What I wouldn't give to just sleep through this mess. But seriously, reading on the internet that all you have to do is get up and "tah-dah" life will be better, its a farse. No duh. I know I need to get up, get presentable (pony-tail style, right Jules??), eat, stay alive. Its the things that I don't "have" to do. Like eat decent food, exercise, clean the house, maybe even shower... :) I wish it was that easy. Just do it. Just say it, and it will be so. But it's not. I've tried to fake it. I've "just done it" and nothing stuck. I do the bare minimum. Some days I get a spark, and on those days maybe I work out, or maybe I grocery shop, or clean. But those days are few and far between. It feels like it takes all the energy I have just to survive the day. To be a good mommy to my daughter, to be an acceptable (or at least not repulsive) wife to my dh. I don't have strength to be anything else, for anyone else. Unfortunately, or fortunately depending on how you want to look at it, a tiny spot in my heart still desires for those things...on occasion, when that spot isn't being over run with the other crap.

I know this isn't really the "place" for that tangent, but I know that lots of people read this blog, and lots of people struggle with various forms of depression or other issues that make loosing weight seem impossible, and sometimes it is. The point is that other people have these struggles too. Not everyone wakes up one day and decides that "today is the day" and boom, everything falls into place and the weight just goes melting away. Weight loss is a hard battle faught by millions of people, a lot of whom are depressed or are emotional eaters. A lot of whom struggle with getting out of bed, much less on the elliptical. I guess the good thing is that even if I've given up, it's temporary. I'm still blogging. I lay my heart out bare and display my humiliation of 9 months of failed weight loss attempts for everyone to judge, and have opinions about. And maybe someday I'll be able to look back and marvel at how far I came. Maybe someone will read these posts and see how low I was, and then read how I succeeded and maybe they'll be inspired. Maybe that's what keeps me trudging on, even after I've given up.

So Fatty Cakes, what keeps you going when you've given up? What's the huge motivator that pushes you to keep trying even after years of failure and embarressment? Why are you here?

::: ::: :::

So, this is to all of you in DB land. Have any of you been trying to loose weight? I mean, we're all just like "normal" post-partum mums. We all needed to loose that baby fat. Luckily, or whatever, I didn't need to loose the "baby" weight so much as the fat butt I had prior too. I gained a mere 6lbs in the short 6 months I gestated Logan, which at the time they were congratulating, and only just begining to raise an eyebrow about. No, I don't feel like my lack of gain affected Logan's development. I'm about 40lbs overweight, so low gain was encouraged, and Logan's issue is genetic (DS). Anyhow, after Logan died I discovered for the first time that I am an emotional eater. The only comfort I could manage to find was in food and soda. Anything loaded with sugar. Anything that gave me that slight rush, even if only for a second. That caused me to add an additional 10lbs to my already fat butt. For the most part I've overcome the emotional eating thing (though I still struggle with finding comfort in a bottle of pop or a Mocha). I still have a lot of bad days, though I try to see it for what it is. But I can not for the life of me stick with a diet or exercise program to save my life. I keep thinking, why bother? Why make myself more miserable than I already am? And I just can't seem to talk myself into keeping at it. And sadly, it adds to the depression. Its like, I sit here and I know what the problem is, and I know how to fix it (because I lost 40lbs a few years ago when I put my mind to it) and yet, I just can't seem to get up. I feel like a boiled frog. I know what's happening, but I can't work up the strngth to do anything about it. And I HATE IT! I don't know this person!

Sadly I thought I was having a few good weeks. But what I am realizing now is that they're just weeks of voids. There is no comfort to be found anywhere in anything. And I've just gone numb. I don't care. I don't care that I'm drinking soda that a couple of months ago I convinced myself was poison. I don't care that I'm eating nasty, tasteless food from some joint because at least I didn't have to cook it, and now I don't have to clean it up. I don't care that my hair doesn't get brushed, or that I'm not showered. I don't care that I'm not working out, and only mildly care if I gain weight. Most days I'm just relieved not to have gianed any weight. I don't care that my house is a mess and that I don't have any clean clothes. The only thing I care about is trying to make David happy (or at least not adding to his depression) and making my daughter smile. Which frightens me because I never wanted a spoiled child, and she may well end up that way because I am so desperate to please her. Although, momma still knows what a time-out chair looks like.

So if you've lost weight, or kicked some other habit, how'd you get the umph after loosing your baby? Where'd you find the desire to give a crap? Even after figuring out that it was something you HAD to do, how did you ACTUALLY manage to get it done?

Poop and Taco Sauce

2009-11-05T08:28:00.003-06:00

You would not believe what happened to me yesterday evening. I'm convinced I was trying to put myself in the looney bin. It was like one crazy thing after another.

I'll start with the poop. POOP? Yup, poop.

My 21 month old is learning to go poopies in the big potty. So, being that we had a successful event the night before, when she said she had to go "ca ca" (not a word I taught her!! Thanks Grandma!) I took her seriusly and we ran into the bath room and whipped her diaper off (whipped being the key word here) and practically tossed her on the potty. My dh came sauntering in. Its a family affair. I mentioned "Hey, I smell poop already!" to which he pointed at the turd on the floor. Oops!! Must've flung that there when I whipped that diaper off. He commented that is was a good thing he didn't step on it. Then I noticed that SOMEBODY had! Clearly, there was smooshed turdness going on. I grabbed the muffins foot and sure enough! Poop. Poop on my sweet darlin's foot. Not that her baby foot hasn't seen a poo or two in its short little life. But it totally freaked her out! She was so bummed she started to cry. Daddy swooped in for the rescue and whisked her little booty up onto the sink and counter to wash her foot off before she had a total melt down. And believe me, it was on its way! But before I could scream out about the poo on her bottom...ugh. Smeared on the bathroom counter (not to mention the little potty seat where it smeared itself upon the rescue mission). Oh, and did I mention that all the while this is going on I am trying to eat a melting, sticky Skinny Cow Ice Cream Sandwich!!?? I couldn't set it down in the bathroom, I didn't think about setting it down in my panicked rush to get the muffin to the potty...and I couldn't manage to eat it fast enough! Sadly, I don't remember how it tasted. But then, maybe that's a good thing. I'd hate to associate the taste of an ice cream sandwhich with POOP! Although, that could do wonders for my diet.

Now, this little slice of my own personal heaven came in the face of a dinner disaster just minutes before. I made taco's for dinner. Nothing fancy, just taco's. It was a harried event though. I didn't even start them until my dh walked through the door after 5pm (which involved a previous poopy event), I had the shakes from being so hungry, the muffin was in tears from hunger, the dog...oh don't even get me started on the beast! Anyhow, we were all a little frazzled, cranky, and ready to cry. First off I used skunky cheese in teh beans and on my dh's taco's. Luckily he caught the horrid wiff before I ruined my own. But being that I have a "thing" about hot food (something I clearly picked up from my mother) I was destined to a dinner of soggy, cold food. It's part of being a mom. So, I remade the dh's taco's. Then, I sit down to my now cold taco's. I put the taco sauce, that I thought I alone used, on the table as dinner was starting. Weary, blurry eyed I sat down to eat, grabbed the bottle of sauce and gave it a really good shake. Three to be exact. And sat there frozen in shock as I realized that the taco sauce now covered my face, hair, shirt and jeans...not to mention the table, chair and floor. I'm shocked it wasn't on the wall...or the muffin for that matter. I actually laughed. More like hysterics I suppose. That point you reach that if you don't laugh...some one is sure to die. Sigh. My dh was so sweet and cleaned up the floor while I cleaned off my face.

Mind you, this all happened on one of my "rough" days

The "other" baby boy.

2009-11-01T18:46:00.000-06:00

[Knock on wood] I've been having a few good weeks. I say good in relative terms. I'm not a bawling mess. I'm not sitting around staring out the window and depressed. Actually if I had to say what I was now I would say I'm nothing. I don't feel anything. I don't feel angry, or depressed, or excessively sad. I just don't feel anything. My biggest issue right now is not caring. Not caring about anything. Not how I look, not how I smell, how I eat, my weight, my health, my house, my dog, my friends and family. Nothing. I've just given up the desire to care about anything these days. I'm keeping busy. I'm not dwelling on my plight a lot. I'm just existing. I feel detached. Like maybe if I stay over here in this little box I won't have to feel anything too overwhelming. I'm never in the mood to do anything. I think, "oh I should go visit so and so, or go do this or that" but in the end, I don't. I just never seem to "want" to when it comes time. I just don't "want" to do anything. I still just want to sleep as much as I can, and zone out into a book or the TV or a movie. I have a toddler, so obviously I can't do that all day, but when it comes to my free time, I just zone. I don't scrap much anymore. I don't blog much anymore. I don't email much or play on facebook much. I don't do much of anything.

Today we went to visit our friends who had their baby boy last week. 9 1/2 months after Logan died. It was the first baby boy I've held. The first baby my husband has held. We survived. Actually, for me, the nice part was that I didn't feel "anything" twards this little boy. I was excited to see him, enjoyed holding him and really didn't connect my feelings for my son with this little boy. That surprised me. All of these long months I've sort of looked at it like Logan left, this little boy came. But nothing. I didn't feel angry, or sad. I was more thinking of my daughter at her birth. It was nice. I was nice to see that I didn't flip out, or get jealous, or bitter, or resentful or cry. I just enjoyed seeing him. I enjoyed their happiness. I'm releived to be past it.

Halloween came and went. This was the first "holiday" where I didn't find myself obsessing over the fact that Logan should be here, and isn't. I had fleeting thoughts about what I might have dressed him up like, but for the most part I was distracted and consumed about Halloween with my daughter this year. I enjoyed the entire day and only stopped to think about his absence, and what I would have done, later that night while I was laying in bed. I realized it this morning and it felt like perhaps that was sort of a break through for me.

On the way to our friends house this afternoon I found myself thinking about how old Logan should've been right now. 5 1/2 months. Sitting up on his own. I would have been starting him on Rice Cereal this week or next. I try not to think about how old he would be, where he'd be at developmentally. I think it would be too much to handle. Only on occasion do I stop to think where he'd be. But today it dawned on me that he wouldn't be a tiny baby anymore. He'd be moving on into becoming a big boy. He'd be wearing 6 month old clothes. Nursing less, experimenting with solids, sleeping more. Maybe trying to get around. I've always thought of him as this tiny baby. Perhaps he'll always be a tiny baby for me. But today, for a few minutes, Logan wasn't a tiny little baby. And maybe it made it easier to hold my friends baby. Maybe, just maybe, I'm moving forward a little further. Maybe I won't die after all...

Don't hold your breath though. Christmas is coming. Winter is coming. The anniversary of his death is coming.

Logan's Pictures

2009-10-12T19:22:00.000-05:00

The 2 photo's that I had retouched by http://www.babyangelpics.com/ were finished today. All I can do is stare. There's my baby. There's my son the way he was meant to look, and not forced to look like unnaturally due to death and early birth. Gone are the stupid fake flowers covering up half of his face. Gone is the reddness, the peeling skin, the shinny spots. Gone. And left behind is my perfect angel faced baby boy. I'm speechless. I'm awed. I now have a picture that I can print, scrapbook, show off with out the fear of people freaking out. Pictures that I can look at and see my son for who he was before he died. I'm thrilled with the results. I'm not ready to share the photo's just yet though. I still feel so violently over protective of his memory, perhaps hoarding what little bit of him belongs to me. But I wanted to tell you all how pleased I am, and how highly I recommend this free service. Such a thoughtful and wonderful service to offer parents of stillborn children. That is there catch though. I do believe that they require the children to have been stillborn.

Its the little things...

2009-10-07T19:10:00.002-05:00

The little things. The stupid insignificant things. The ones that shouldn't matter, but now suddenly do. I hate those things. I hate the mountains that are made out of every mole hill. I hate that my heart breaks so easily now days, that I feel so burnt out, so raw, so abused. I hate that it is so easy for people to hurt me, to offend me, to leave me feeling abondoned. I hate that I have to force myself to let my daughter out of my site. I hate that I fear for her life, jump at every bump, scream at every fall, fear every tiny questionable thing. I hate what this has done to me.

Angel Pics

2009-10-06T00:11:00.000-05:00

I stubbled across this site today while working on The Dead Baby Club blog. I was looking for ways to memorialize our children. Angel Pics is a photo retouching service that allows parents up to two free photo's to be retouched of their stillborn child. Tears immediately welled up as I realized that my terrible pictures could be fixed. No stupid fake flowers, no lace, no red skin, no peeling skin... just a picture of the way he looked, before his birth damaged his fragile skin. And free!! Not charging some astronomical amount and taking advantage of the fact that I was in such grief. And annonymous too. All done in seconds on my PC. I uploaded the photo, stated what I wanted changed. They say its due back to me o nthe 12th. I'm shaking with anticipation. Finally, a photo that I won't feel leery about showing people. Finally my brothers will be able to see what their nephew looked like. Finally I'll be able to look at my sons face and not be distracted by the phoney weird things they added to the photo. To look and not see the horror so blatently. I had to share this. I am hoping they turn out nicely. It seems legit. I'll keep you all posted.

Depression makes me tired, and I'm tired of the depression

2009-09-27T10:22:00.000-05:00

That about sums it up. I'm tired. I feel like I've been tired my whole life. These last 8 months have felt like an eternity, and yet they feel like they have flown by. I'm tired of the depression, and I can't seem to shake it. And I'm tired of how wiped out it makes me feel, and I can't seem to do anything about it. They don't want me on Anti-D's. I'm thankful for that I suppose. That they aren't willing to just throw drugs at me. They keep telling me that I'm normal. This is normal. My baby died, I should be depressed. Its all normal.

I don't care if its normal. I'm tired of it.

I'm going to look into the St. John's. They have me on The Pill, so I have to be sure it doesn't interact with that. I just have to get around to finding out. That's another "thing" about this depression I can't stand. I have no motivation, no umph, no desire. If it weren't for my DD I'd sit on the couch all day and watch TV. If it wasn't for my DH I'd prolly never shower or change my clothes, and to be honest, that's a rare thing around here now! I'm tired of feeling like my life has been stolen from me. Like everyday I have to barter for time, for energy, for umph. Its really taking a toll on my well being. I am feeling more and more like I am failing. Failing at mothering, failing at being a good wife, failing at being alive. I've been reading on how people cope with depression, and it all just seems hoakie. Day one, get out of bed. Day two, brush teeth. Day three, Brush hair. Seriously? I have a daughter, I'm already out of bed, and though it might take me hours to get to brushing my teeth or hair, eventually I do get it done. Its the other stuff. Laundry, cleaning, cooking, exercise, taking care of me that I have problems with. I still read to my daughter, I feed her, I play with her, I do what I should. I try to remember to feed my dog, but I can't seem to talk myself into taking her for a walk. Its terrible. I hate the way that I've become but I can't seem to talk myself into being anything better. I hate when the phone rings. I hate when I have to go out and see people. I hate when I have to get together with people, put on my happy face, and perform. Part of me wants to get with my friends and be normal...the other part, can't seem to make it out the door. I make plans, or I want to make plans, only to end up canceling, or wishing I had, or never making the plans in the first place, but then thinking maybe I should have because I need to get out. Its a big circle. Like now, I know that I need to go rewash the laundry that has been sitting in the washer since Tuesday. I need to go clean up the kitchen, pick up all of these toys...but I'd rather sit here and ignore it all.

Except now my laptops battery is dead.

Waking Up (New Moon)

2009-09-23T13:42:00.000-05:00

Time Passes. Even when it seems impossible. Even when each tick of the second hand aches like the pulse of blood behind a bruise. It passes unevenly, in strange lurches and dragging lulls. But pass it does.

Even for me.

Thats from Chapter Four of New Moon (Book 2 in the Twilight Saga). It struck a nerve with me today and I found myself nodding my head.

Seeing Logan's Tree for the first time

2009-09-23T12:58:00.000-05:00

This odd feeling seems to be the norm lately. The shadowy, gnawing ache. Sometimes it comes front and center, but most times these days its been hanging out in the background, vaguely reminding me that I'm hurt. I'm not fond of it, but it is certainly better than being in the gut wrenching pain all of the time.

After almost exactly 8 months since Logan's death, his tree finally made it into the ground at the park down the street. We went and visited it yesterday for the first time, on our anniversary. It just seemed appropriate to me. The tree wasn't planted exactly where I wanted it (close to the toddler playscape) its off to the right a little, and away from the playscapes. I think the tree is better off in that location, further away from idiotic teens who are known to linger in the park and make trouble. The tree looks nice. I couldn't help but feel like its presence was insignificant. A sad replacement. "I couldn't give you life baby, so here's a tree." I don't know. It just seemed...lame. I have trouble convincing myself that the tree is to let the world know that there was a little boy here, and not a ridiculous replacement of him. David appreciated the tree. He felt like I did a good job. I stood there a minute, alone, and contemplated. I felt more apologetic than anything I guess. I just kept thinking I was sorry. Sorry I couldn't make it work, sorry I couldn't save him, sorry he wouldn't get to experience life, sorry that I planted this dumb tree...just sorry for everything.

I pushed Aubrey on the swings while David took a few minutes to himself at the tree. It seemed odd. Aubrey has no clue. "Hey mom, we're at the park, let's swing!!" Like I could explain to her why we were really at the park. The day was riddled with oddities, the visit at the park no exception to that. A young girl, maybe 8 or so, came riding up on her bike and started asking all sorts of questions about the tree. Did you plant that tree? Why? Why would you plant a tree when you son dies? How old was he? So you only knew him for a few days? Oh. You didn't even get to hold him? (I left out that detail) What was wrong with him? What's that? Are you sad? Well at least you have her. You can have another one. Where is he? (Ok, this info was a bit much for her perhaps but I didn't know what else to say, I was in shock). She wouldn't go away. Here we are trying to find peace, trying to not attack the tree in our fury, trying not to have a mental breakdown in the middle of a park and this little girl wouldn't go away!! We eventually left because she was so annoying. The night went on to give more and more odd things to me.

But, the tree is in and that makes me relieved, if nothing else. Relieved its over with, the waiting anyway. Now for the ashes...

Our Anniversary and Logan's Tree

2009-09-22T13:04:00.000-05:00

Today is our 7th wedding anniversary.

I don't feel like celebrating. I guess its a nice day and all, and it really isn't a reflection on my marriage or how I feel about David. Its just that I can not find any joy in celebrating anything.

The only plans we really have made for this evening is to walk down to the park and see if the city planted Logan's Memorial Tree. I talked to the dude last week and he told me Friday or sometime this week. We're assuming it's there. If its not it would really be par for the course, I suppose. Maybe even a little expected. But regardless we're going to go see our son's tree, the closest thing we have to a grave marker.

Today hasn't been a bad day per say. More of a bleak day. A blah day. I'm tired and a little worn out from the late nights with my mother's visit over the weekend. And I look around me and see all that I should get done today. I just don't have the will. David will be home in a couple of hours, so I need to at least go shower and look presentable for our special day. I also need to wash laundry and pay the bills, because hey...life still goes on.

On a side note, anyone know what happened to the spell checker with this new post editor? I don't see it. That is a necessity for me! LOL!

Alone...listless

2009-09-18T21:56:00.002-05:00

I keep hearing that song over and over. Pearl Jam. Daughter.

Alone...listless...breakfast table in an otherwise empty room
Young girl...violins...center of her own attention
The mother reads aloud, child tries to understand it
Tries to make her proud

The shades go down, its in her head
Painted room...can't deny there's something wrong...

Its odd, even to me, how I place myself in the most obscure places. This song doesn't have a thing to do with my "situation". Maybe its the odd pain I feel from the song. Maybe it's Eddie's voice. I dunno.

David is up north. He left today. My mother is coming in tomorrow. I just wanted a normal weekend. I don't want visitors. I don't want to entertain, to clean, to talk, to relate, to defend, to perform, to hide... I want to just be here with my tiny little family safe in the cocoon of my deceptively "normal" home. I go out, I perform, I interact with the "others" because I know its what's supposed to be done. What's normal in the real world. I do what I am supposed to do, in hopes of moving on, getting over...forgetting. Whoever wrote those rules don't have a clue. Sadly, I think it was me. Is isolation a stage of grief? First we feel isolated by our "freskishness" and then we resort to isolating ourselves, because really who understands you better than the evil voices in your head? I'm quite content to hang out alone these days. I used to be very social. But now, now I just want to hide away (Hey look at that! Another PJ song!!). Sadly I don't want my mother to visit. Its not her, its not personal. And I want her to see her granddaughter, I do. Its just that... I don't have the energy. That seems to be the common theme these days. I don't have the energy for much of anything. Energy, motivation, desire...whatever. They say its part of depression. Why is there no cure for depression? Something so prevalent in our society and the only thing they have a drugs that mask it, but none that eliminate it. The mind is a tricky place I suppose. And I fight with myself daily, wanting the drugs, not wanting the drugs. Wanting relief, but what if?? What if David announces that he's ready for another baby and then I have to wait another 6 months to rid my body of the poisons that are masking the pain? What if I could find relief in those pills? What if he never wants to have another baby because I won't "snap out of it"? Then there are always the thoughts about the head shrinker. I guess I'm just afraid I'll hear more of the same "these things happen" or "your grieving, you should be depressed". Maybe I'm afraid he'll tell me to buck up and stop wallowing in self pity. Maybe I'm afraid he'll make me cry. I'm tired of crying. I'm tired of such an overwhelming sorrow. I'm not sure I want to pay someone to tell me I'm normal and then make me cry. I can get that for free anywhere I like. My thoughts follow me around closer than my shadow. I try to convince myself that its best if I stay away from the sadness of others, if I stay away from my own sadness. But I guess the reality of it all is that I'm just avoiding the truth that has so confidently perched itself upon my heart. I'm sad. I'm so achingly sad that if the world stopped spinning, I might not notice. I swear it, if my daughter wasn't here I would easily allow myself to slip under. And what an enormous burden to place on the tiny shoulders of a 19 month old child. She wasn't intended to be a buoy, but how she has turned into one. Keeping momma afloat. It breaks my heart all over again. I look at her and I think how lucky she is to not be old enough to even realize there is something to be grieving for. And then I look at her and am saddened to know that her baby brother died, and she doesn't even know it yet. Will she ever know it? Will I lock him away like a dirty little precious secret? Everything in this "reality" contradicts itself. Oh how I want her to know that we did want her to have a little brother, a playmate, a partner in crime. Someone she could go to and complain about her parents to, like a sibling can only relate. Baby, Momma tried!! I desperately want her to know. But when she is old enough to process this information, will I still be willing to relive it, to pass the sadness on?

I've been hiding a lot, if only mentally. I've been hanging out in Forks, Wa. with Bella and Edward (Twilight) on audiobook. I walk around with my earbuds in listening to my iPod all day long, trying to escape my own life. Trying to be immersed in someone else's elation and tragedy, if only fiction. I've discovered that I can't sit around and watch TV or movies all day, so this is my alternative. I began to wonder today how rude it would be to walk around listening while my mother was here this weekend.

My mother. She has no clue. How can she? She had 5 children, they were all surprises and they all lived. I don't think she even knows how to handle me. I think my darkness frightens her. God is the solution to everything. Take your pain to God. Give it to the lord. I scoff. He gave it to me, why would I give it back? God is not my solution. At least not right now. And I think that scares my family. I am hostile, and I am bitter, and I do not want to hear about God and how they think he is the answer to my sorrow. He is the reason, at least in my book. At least for now. So, most of the time they go on as if my life didn't stop. Which is good, for the most part. At least until they start really wanting to know how I'm really doing. I try not to hide too much of it. If I have a total breakdown I want them to not be completely shocked, I think. The other day my older brother asked me how I'm doing, to which I replied "some days are bad, some days are not so bad" to which he replied "Why? What's wrong?" I simply stated "Logan". He went on to say he figured but wanted to make sure it wasn't anything else. I really have to restrain myself from saying DUH!! and smacking people in the forehead (like the V-8 commercials). I hate that people ask me how I am doing because really we all know that most of the time it's in a cashier-esque fashion. No one wants to hear the truth, they want to hear you say "fine" and move on. "I'm fine, unless you consider the GAPING HOLE in my heart where my little boy hangs out". I mean really, how do you answer that question? "Hey Heather, how's it going?" "Oh fine, I didn't cry or kill myself today, so I must be having a great day!" People don't want to hear that. I don't want to hear that. What the hell do you say to that? "Oh, well that's good?!" Seriously. I struggle intensely with the random social politeness I'm supposed to display.

I've gotten really paranoid lately. Its weird. It makes me feel weird. I feel like they're all looking at me, talking about me. I wonder if people can tell. The other day when I left the OB's office and those two pregnant chics were in the waiting area, I couldn't look at them, but I felt like they were staring at me, like they knew! I wonder if people think about it all the time (I'm guessing this is just a narcissistic feeling). I wonder if people try to think about what it would feel like if one of their babies had died in the womb; what they're lives would be like with out that child.

David is up north hunting with his dad and some friends. I'm glad. He so needs to get out of this house and away from me. It was hard letting him leave. I really had to struggle to keep myself from begging him not to leave me. Don't leave me alone in the silence with these wretched thoughts!! But I wanted him to go. I want him to feel "normal" again and be with other men, and not surrounded by child bearing woman (at work). My daughter wailed when he left. I thought it was a good idea for her to see that he was leaving. When he walked away and got into the truck she bawled. My heart broke. His heart broke. And I realised that I couldn't explain to her that he was coming back. And I realised maybe we should have just let her think he was at work. And I was afraid that her outburst tainted his weekend. Gramma will be here tomorrow, she won't have time to think about her daddy.

I sit here on my couch and obsess about whether or not Logan's tree went into the ground tonight. David and I decided to wait to go see it until we could both go at the same time, together, as a family. Its made me very restless today. I even found myself drawn to that area during my walk this morning. Not to see the tree, but in hopes that I would see a truck or something. Some sign that they were indeed planting it. I saw nothing. I'm hoping I don't accidentally drive by it this weekend. I'm hoping that I keep my wits about me enough to avoid that area. Its on a common route home. I pass that park quite often.

Well, its almost midnight. I'm tired, I'm roasting for some stupid unknown reason (since apparently my hormones are FINE!), and I know I need to get up early to straighten the house before my mother arrives in the morning. So, with that... I'm off, and hoping for a restful night and easy sleep...in a very dark and quite house...alone. (She shivers because yes, she is afraid of the dark and things that go bump in the night!)

Memorials

2009-09-17T11:03:00.004-05:00

Yesterday U of M held a memorial service for the babies who get donated for study. Logan was included in that. I didn't go. Part of me thinks I should have, but the biggest part of me is tired of trudging through these swamp like waters of baby loss. I'm tired of being reminded and I'm tired of dealing with it. I feel like the more time I spend in dead baby land, the more sucked under I get. The more depressed, the more lonely, the sadder I become. So, lately I've tried to steer clear of anything that might pull me back down. I don't know if that's healthy or not. Frankly I don't care. I just need a break from the glum. I need a break and fresh air.

I talked to the Forestry Supervisor (which is a funny title since I live in the suburbs and not Montana or something) yesterday and he told me they will be planting Logan's tree on Friday, or sometime next week (weather permitting). David and I have agreed not to drive by and look with out the other. I'm anxious and it will be very hard for me not to be obsessive and go look every ten minutes. My mom is coming this weekend and David will be up north, so we're going to wait until next week to go look at it, together. I'm happy, nervous and sad all at the same time. I'm happy it's finally getting done, 4 months after the initial start of the plan. I'm nervous about how it will affect each of us to have to see this tree all of the time. I am planting it at the park where I would have taken Logan to play...the same park I take my daughter to play at now. The same park that my husband drives past everyday to and from work. I didn't really think that through before I decided to plant it there. I just assumed I would want it there, I assumed David would want it there, but I think it will be very hard for him to drive by and see that reminder everyday...at least for a while. I wanted it to be on public land so that if we ever moved we could still see his tree, visit his tree. Its the closest thing we have to a grave marker at the moment. But I never thought about what it would be like to see his grave marker every day. I just wanted the world to see it. I want the world to know that there was a little boy, and he made a huge impact on our lives. A weeping willow in the park seemed the perfect way to do that. But again, it makes me sad. Sad that I am planting a stupid tree for my son instead of taking him to the park to play.

Last night was a tearful night here. I feel so helpless and useless when I see my husband grieve. I just assume that's how it must be for everyone else. What can you do? Nothing. So I sit there and try not to cry too. Tears are contagious for me. Lately I keep thinking about how I never saw it coming. This wasn't ever anything I ever thought possible for my future. I mean who does? But I often sit around and think how I live in the house that 14 years ago my husband and I (who had only been dating for a month) took our 2 younger siblings trick or treating at, and never once did we ever think we'd live in that house a few years later. Or how 14 years ago I tried to imagine what life would be like married with children. I assumed I'd have 3, and well before I was 32 years old. But I do not. I have 1. And never in a million years did I ever imagine myself to have a child die. And now it makes it very hard for me to look forward and not see calamity. Because I experienced a very horrible unexpected reality, I can not even venture out to see my future. Maybe its because its too painful. I'm scared to think of myself with three children now. I'm scared to hope for more. Because now, no matter what, I'll always be plagued with the "what if" scenario. We talked about DS when we decided to have kids. We talked about Spina Biffada too, since that is a very real threat in my family. But honestly I guess I never thought it would really happen to us. That's scary stuff that happens to other people, not us. Our baby wouldn't die. God isn't that cruel. But now that I know the reality, now that I know that no matter how great the odds are in our favor...it's always possible. And that is the scariest reality.

I've also been thinking a lot about why David's son died. I mean, my life is filled with unpleasant things. My parents divorced when I was a baby. My dad is a jerk. My brothers have all had there fair share of devestation. My grandparents and mother too. So to be honest I can see how and why having my child die would fit into the equation...but not David's. David has always been such a good person. His family is well built and functions well. David has always strived for the best, done his best and is an honest good man. I can find no reason what so ever for his baby to have died. You can look at my life and see how it could have happened, but not David's. Which leaves me with the blame. If he'd have married better. If he'd have dated around and found a different option than me. If I had been content with an only child as he was. If I had really thought it through and agreed with him that we were pushing our luck with having another baby at our age. His son is dead because I am never content. Perhaps that's the "lesson" or "reason" every one keeps telling me God has. Maybe it's that I was never content with what I had, and now I will never know real contentness, because something will always be missing.

I've been thinking about my son's ashes a lot lately. We need to get the urn. Need to. We've been avoiding that for too long. We need to put the proverbial lid on it. The thing is, what if I like the one I get, but then change my mind later? And I don't know that I can pour my son's burnt up tiny remains into a new container. I mean, there must be dust left behind in the bag or bowel that he is in. I can't just toss that into the trash, that's my son!! I thought I would take it to the funeral home here and let them do it, that way I won't ever really know what happened. I'm not stupid. I know that when they put his ashes in the container they didn't get every last speck out of the furnace or whatever. But I didn't have to be there, and I didn't have to see it. I can't just throw his dust into the trash can like it's garbage. And the other thing, I don't know where I want to put the urn. I'm thinking of getting an urn that looks like a statue. That way I don't have to answer questions or make people feel weird if they see it. They won't even know. Having someone cremated in my family just isn't accepted. I didn't want Logan cremated, it was the only option I had if I wanted U of M to do the autopsy, and at the time that seemed the most important thing. And I'm not sure I want it stuffed into my closet. Even now I can not bare the thought of putting his ashes into my chest or my closet. That is why they continue to sit in that wretched box on top of my armour. He needs a place in this home. A place that is all his. Not a shrine or anything, just a spot for Logan to be. I've contemplated a place at a cemetery, or burying him with my grandmother or David's...but at the moment I don't want him anywhere but with me. And frankly I'd carry him in my pocket if I didn't think David would commit me. I've thought about dividing his ashes up, but the thought of having a vial that contains maybe a piece of his toe and a piece of his ear...its just wrong. I can't do it. And I know that its because this is not a natural process in life that it is so hard to rectify it. You can not come to terms with something that is so beyond reason. I just wish I could stop trying so hard to come to terms with it.

Writters block

2009-09-13T08:17:00.000-05:00

I used to be a poet. Not the happy sweat poet. My poetry was dark and sad. Its how I used to cope with my overbearing emotions. But since logan's death, the saddest possible day of my life this far, I've had writers block. And though I feel like this blog has helped me to work through a lot of the darkness, I realized tonight that my writers block is due to the fact that I feel like my words are severely inadequate.
Sent via BlackBerry from T-Mobile

These things happen...

2009-09-10T12:55:00.005-05:00

I just thought to myself yesterday that it was probably a good thing that I haven't been blogging much lately. Moving on right? Healing? Whatever.

Today I got back my results from my hormones tests and had my annual. The doctor had to be in an emergency surgery, so I saw the nurse practitioner instead. All of my hormones are normal. Great. So then what's my problem? No PCOS, just cysts and one tiny fibroid. Apparently you get those from being fat! Funny that I didn't have those when I weighed 200lbs, but I have them now when I'm 170lbs.

Oh, and get this. Apparently it's been long enough. No kidding. After 7 1/2 months I shouldn't be crying anymore, it's been too long. I need to consider Zoloft. I need to consider a therapist. I need to loose weight.

I'm getting more pissed by the second actually. She made me cry. She made me cry several times. Why don't I get a room that doesn't have pictures of all of the other babies that lived? Why is this dumb nurse assuming that I am trying to have a baby now? Why is this nurse assuming that it was difficult for me to get pregnant? And did she seriously just tell me that if I get pregnant to come in right away so that they can do tests "so you won't have to go through all of this again."?? Excuse me? Apparently I need genetic counseling. Apparently my DH does too. We need to find out if there is anything in us that caused the baby to have Downs. WHAT? Caused?? But I thought it was random. I thought it was a fluke. I just wanted a pap. I just wanted the results from my tests. I just wanted to be someone else today. One of the naive ones.

Tears. Lots and lots of tears, in public. I hate public break downs. I had to walk past two pregnant woman who both stared at me. They're wondering, trying to figure out my story. I'm tired of people wondering about me. I'm tired of having to re-tell and re-explain my story over and over again. Why didn't the NP read my chart first? Why did I have to choke out that my baby died in January. She called it a miscarriage a few times. I didn't correct her. I wish. I wish that he would have passed silently out of existence. I wish I didn't have to know he had a face, and tiny little hands and feet. His perfect little pouty mouth, is button nose, his funky toe. I wish I didn't know he had a name. I wish he would have been a sad medical procedure that is so common that people say they're sorry, and then move on. I wish I didn't know what it was like to hold such a warm, tiny lifeless little boy in my arms. I wish I didn't know what it was like to have experienced a horror that is so unaccepted by the general population that people can't talk about it, or look me in the eye. I wish I wasn't the topic of conversation, or gossip or even the sad thoughts and concern that I am for people who know me, and even worse for those who don't. I wish this wasn't my reality.

I'm tired of people telling me that "these things happen" and I'm really tired of hearing it from doctors. Cancer happens too. Co-joined Twins happen too. Child molestation and murder and abortion and so many more unspeakable things happen too! No shit it happens! It happened to me. I KNOW it happens. Stop telling me that these things happen! I know! I get it already. It happened...it happened to ME! It happened to my husband, and it happened to my son! I don't care that they do happen and I don't care for what reason (even if it's God's and not one I'm meant to understand) what I care about is that it happened to ME, to US! Why does everyone feel the need to remind me that "these things happen"?

I just want a doctor who gets it. I want a doctor who says its normal to be sad and cry for 8 months. Its normal to feel like you are loosing your coherency with life. Its normal to want a baby one minute and not the next. Its normal to be scared and mad and resentful and to ask a million questions and to feel like its not fair. I want a doctor who understands that not everyone would choose to abort a baby that is not perfect. I want a doctor who can just go with the flow and get it. I guess what I want is a doctor who has been in my shoes and who is trying to help others. I want help, I do. But I want help from people who can grasp the complexity of what I am going through. But they all want to shove pills at me, and tell me to hop back on the horse. I don't want to. I want to stand here in my little dark corner and kick the dirt around and cry and scream and be sad and miss my son and wallow in the pity that is mine! If I had my way I would have chosen not to have gotten pregnant then. I didn't know! I didn't realize that I could have a child who could be so ill. Incompatible with life. I can't get that phrase out of my head. I feel incompatible with life now too. I just want to scream at people to stop looking at me!! Stop thinking about me!!

So now what? Am I just lousy at dieting? Was I doing it wrong? Am I imagining the heat flashes? Did I gain 13lbs so fast because I was a pig? Am I moody and crabby and argumentative just because I'm mad at the world? Whats with the headaches again? Is it not enough to snatch my son out from within me, but now the universe is trying to pull me under too? Do I not deserve a break? No. I'm no one special. I don't deserve a beak or anything else. It just the way the cookie crumbles, because hey...these things happen. Right?

I guess I should clarify something. I am having more good days then bad ones now, lots more. I don't sit around and cry all day. In fact, I don't cry over Logan much at all anymore. Don't get me wrong, there's a constant dull ache where I think his 4 month old smile should be. Not too many minutes go by where I don't think about what should have been. An event doesn't go by where I don't think he should be present. But I'm past the screaming pain that had me curled up into a little quivering ball of goo. And now I am usually either wistfully sad or bitter and angry, when I'm not smiling at my daughter and living "normal" life. Life is what it is now. I go about my days and there is a shadow of sorrow, but not the heavy shroud that it was. I thought I was doing ok. I thought I was moving on and healing at a "normal" pace. For the most part I just want to fade into the background. Some people call this pulling away or turning inward. I don't really want to be around others. I do it because it's normal, and its what I'm supposed to do. But all I really want to do is burrow down with my DH and DD and block out the rest of the world. There was a time when I wanted to be at the epicenter of every family gathering. Now, I'd rather sit on the couch and watch TV. Zone out. Block out. Ignore. Hide. Whatever. I don't want to stumble onto conversations about me and my DH. I don't want other people trying to explain us or defend us in their own ignorance. I don't want people to ask about me. I just feel like its because everyone wants to be in on the latest gossip. "Pst, are they going to have another baby?" "Pst, I bet its hard for her to be here with all of these other babies." STOP IT! Yes is makes me sad seeing all of these babies and not being able to show mine off too. I don't know if we're going to have another baby. Why do you care? Does it matter to you? Does my speculation about procreation have any impact whatsoever on your existence? Its like I want to close the blinds on us. I want to be able to peak out on occasion, maybe let a little sunshine in here and there, but then close them when it gets dark or I don't want nosy people peaking in the windows.

I don't want to be here anymore. I don't want to be on this blog, in this frame of mind, in this house, in this state, on this couch, in these tears, in this pain. I don't want to be here anymore. I want to get as far away from it all as I can, and I just can't seem to figure out how to do that.

Taking Measure

2009-08-30T21:27:00.003-05:00

You know, I've always been one to measure my life in milestones. I'll think to myself, "Wow, I've been with my DH long enough I could have gone through HS almost four times!!" Weird things like that. Anyhow, I find that I do that with Logan too. When it was winter I kept thinking if I could get past the winter things would be better. It would be a new season, it wouldn't feel the same. And here I am, faster than I can blink, knocking on the door of autumn...winter fast approaching...again. Its a strange feeling, how fast its all going. Seven months have come and gone. Three seasons. Winter. Spring. Summer. Fall is usually my favorite time of year. And though I am still feeling that old familiar prick of excitement in a hazy far off sort of way, I'm dreading what it means...and longing so much for it to go by quickly on one hand (to be past that scary one year mark with Logan) but for it to slow down because it's passing faster than I can comprehend and my daughters very short, and very endearing baby/toddlerhood is flying past and I feel like I miss so much and that I don't want to forget anything!!! (How's that for a run on sentence!?) It is bittersweet in it's truest form and ever so confusing for me. I just want to get as far away from this pain and these memories as I can. They keep telling me, "the salve of time" so I'm running for the salve with all of my might. But I feel so conflicted because I know that I spend a lot of my daughters life in mourning. And it shouldn't be that way for her. And it makes me sad. And I want it to be over with. I want to be here for her 100% and not with half of my mind wandering through dark alley's when I see her do something new and exciting! So as this winter comes screaming up on me, yes I get to get past the 1 year mark of my devastation...but it also means my daughter will be two, and I feel like I have missed out on so much of these last several months.

PCOS

2009-08-25T11:51:00.002-05:00

According to my ultrasound it does appear that I have PCOS (Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome) since my ovaries are loaded with cysts. I won't be seeing the doctor until Sept 10th for all my results (from blood tests and what not). I'll know more then. I have started the Pill, much to my dismay. However, like my husband said to me "We won't be having a baby while you're messed up either." So, I'm trying all I can to get "fixed". I've done some reading on PCOS and see that eating a "clean" (unprocessed food) and Organic diet to aid in controlling the hormone jig the cysts seem to have my body in. That is proving to be difficult to do cold turkey, so I've decided to phase out the enormous amount of processed food in my home, and to try to buy Organic when I can find it. Meat and Dairy seem to be the most important, but I'm having trouble finding local organic meat. I did find a service that delivers organic fruits and veggies (www.doortodoororganics.com) to my home at no extra cost. And according to my 2 Organic friends, their prices are very competitive. And hey...they bring it to me!! I like that. I have another friend who's mother has access to organic beef, so she said next time she goes to get some she'll let me know (it's a couple hours away). But I'm still looking for eggs and cheese. I just finished reading the book Master Your Metabolism by J. Michaels and it is all about how to control your hormones using unprocessed and organic food and products. I found it worth the read. Anyhow, I'd love to hear from any of you who have PCOS and know more of what its about (aladyontheverge at gmail dot com). I'm relieved to finally be moving in a direction that is going to help get myself under control again. Apparently PCOS causes depression, weight gain, facial hair, fatigue and a list of other "issues" I've been fed up with for some time. So...moving forward, one step at a time.

I survived the U/S with out tears. I got pretty worked up in the waiting room. My tech read my file and then started in on how sorry she was, how awful it is...and that she lost a baby at 12 weeks so knows its really a hard thing. She was super nice and I enjoyed her chatter. But being in a different place, with a different tech, under different circumstances helped it not be such an ordeal I think. I was grateful for that.

Ultrasound & PCOS

2009-08-23T20:02:00.003-05:00

So tomorrow morning I go in for an ultrasound of my ovaries to check for the possibility of cysts that could indicate PCOS. Just more hormone checking I guess. The pathetic thing is that I'm more anxiety ridden over going through the ultrasound process (ON MY UNPREGNANT BELLY!!) than I am about the potential of having the incurable PCOS. The thought of laying there with my belly exposed going through the same routine I've gone through when there was a baby in there, except that now I'll get to see that for sure there isn't one in there...well, its just one more reminder that I'm no longer pregnant...and to go along with the birth control I've recently started to use to help regulate my hormones (with the horrifying side effect of baby prevention!!)...well, lets just say its a wonderful little reminder of what is no longer, what isn't currently, and what won't be for a positive minimum of three months while trying to straighten out my hormones. Ooh yay! Hello Monday.

An easier week

2009-08-21T10:06:00.003-05:00

Cincinnati was wonderful. We had a really nice time. The aquarium we visited was pretty cool and our daughter seemed to have a really good time, which makes the sun shine on my world, even amidst the tornado watches and rain.

I'm having a pretty good week. And this week things seem to be easier to handle. I say this week because I have noticed in the past that the moment I say things are getting easier, they get a lot harder. So, like I said...this week has been easier. I was able to see a few little boys and not feel like I'd been stabbed. I even heard Logan's name called twice while in Cincinnati. And though I noticed, and though it made me wistful and yes there was a pang, it didn't make me feel like I was going to have a melt down. Progress. This week.

I've been having a lot of headaches the last several days. I'm trying to go organic and unprocessed in my diet in hopes of feeling better with the depression and hormones. However, I'm a carb addict, and I love my Sunkist. The caffeine is kicking my butt (or the lack thereof) and I'm trying not to take too many Excedrin (which contain caffeine) but with a toddler at home I just can't go cold turkey on the caffeine and suck up the headaches till there gone (usually three really nasty days). Anyhow, I'm hoping eating better will start to straighten things out and help me to feel better...or at least not so bad.

Hormones

2009-08-18T14:22:00.002-05:00

So I had my OB/Gyn appt today to have a look at my hormones. She drew some blood and the results will be back in about 3 weeks. She says it sounds like they're off. I go in on Monday to have an ultrasound done on my ovaries to check for cysts (PCOS) which could be wrecking havoc on me too. She wants me on birth control for three months. Yazz. Sigh. BIG SIGH. I know we're not planning babies. I know. But what if?? What if he changes his mind and the BC keeps me from getting pregnant for a long time?? Not to mention all of my other issues with birth control, and I have a lot of them. But she swears that it'll help with the depression and all of the other "side effects" of grief and babyloss and the post partum kick in the rear we all get that messes up our hormones. I'm still debating. I don't want to live like this anymore. This depressed hormonal mess if I don't have too. If it's not natural. She says she doesn't think I have any more depression than I "should" and she also said it hasn't been nearly long enough. Apparently seven months isn't long enough to grieve a dead baby. I guess I'm glad a doctor said that. Makes me feel less abnormal. She also said that I could get chromosomal testing done on myself which would give them a better look at the likely hood of having another baby with chromosomal issues. I'm not sure I want that sort of info. And when I told her that we wouldn't do any testing once we conceived because we wouldn't terminate under any circumstance (which seemed to surprise her) she said that she wouldn't recommend extensive testing then. I like her. She was upbeat and funny. When I told her I thought I had excess body odor she said "I don't smell anything" and then she laughed and told me that was a hygiene issue, but she was joking then too and said its just part of getting older. The office is very clean and updated/modern looking, something I couldn't say for my last doctor. I like that too. Makes me feel like they're more up to date in all things, though I know that's a foolish way to feel.

She read Logan's autopsy report. She said that the report's final diagnosis to Logan's demise (since he didn't die from having Down Syndrome) was "etiology uncertain" (which means they are not certain of what caused his actual death). She said she doesn't understand why they wrote that. According to the report Logan's organs shut down. This is what can happen with children who have DS. Everything is retarded. He basically had an overall system failure. No one thing caused his death but a combination of several. SO they couldn't point and say that his heart failed, or that his brain failed, or whatever. It all failed. When I mentioned to her the odds about conceiving another child with DS she said that those were pessimistic odds and that she had never seen nor heard of anyone having two children with DS, but that she herself has had a few patients go on to have "healthy" children post DS. She mentioned a current patient of hers in her late 40's. Her first baby was born around 40 and had DS, her second child born years later was perfectly normal. She even seemed very eager for my DH and I to get back up on the horse and TTC again. That might be the D.O. uber-OB in her talking.

I cried. I wasn't sure if I would or not. I've been having a few ok days lately so I thought I'd be in the clear. Laughable. I was trying to tell her about my face twitching (my tick!) and I burst into tears. She said the twitching was stress (since it comes and goes). And when I told her that I was irritable and argumentative she said "don't you have the right to be so?". Did you hear that hunny??? I have the RIGHT to be a jerk!! LOL! Seriously though, I didn't want to be there. Thankfully there was only 1 pregnant chic I saw in passing. Which is good because if we'd have started talking and she'd have asked questions I don't know that I would have been able to refrain telling her that mine died. Which would have been cruel to her. Monday I go in to get an ultrasound done on my ovaries to make sure there are no cysts. I'm hoping being there with a few pregger chics (who I am sure will be there),the ever familiar ultrasound and the whole process won't ruin me.

The hubster and I and our little muffin are heading to Florence, KY for a few days starting tomorrow. Just a mini-vacation is all. A chance to get away and not just to family or friends houses. To actually GO somewhere. I'm excited. I know he's excited too. It should be a fun few days and I am hoping for the best. If nothing else, I'll appreciate the adventure and chance to get away from everyday ho-humness of life.

Movie Quote

2009-08-16T01:14:00.005-05:00

I watched Into the Wild tonight. It's not a feel good movie, but it didn't make me cry or sad. I think I found it to be more ironic. Help arrived, just a little too late. Seems familiar around here. I have found lately that I find "drama" on TV and in Movies to be laughable. Literally. I laugh. There may be something wrong with me. It could be my sinister evil twin. Anyhow, in the middle of the movie, the sister, who is narrating, says this:

And I fear for the mother in her. Instincts that seem to sense the threat of a loss so huge and irrevocable that the mind balks at taking its measure.

I almost choked. First, let me explain. To balk at something means to stop short and stubbornly refuse to go on. To take measure of something means to assess or appraise. And this is exactly how I feel. My mind does stop short of assessing itself and the damage to my emotional state that was forced into existence the day my sweet baby boy died. Because perhaps if I realized, put into a measurable term, just how much damage there really is...well then, maybe I would realize there isn't any point to the world continuing as I know it. One more way nature protects us from ourselves I suppose.

The Baby Shower and the Blonde Toddler

2009-08-15T20:49:00.002-05:00

So. I went. I survived. I assumed I would. I'm glad it's over. It was uneventful, and just to make sure that my heart didn't go unabused during the event, the universe thought it appropriate to have someones newborn baby boy there. Oh thank you. So. That was that. I came home, ate two candy bars and drank a Slurpee for dinner and tried to zone out to Into the Wild and pretend I didn't just do what I did. I didn't cry. I just...pouted I guess. It just made the day seem gray and ugly (it was scorching hot and sunny).

Yesterday my DH and I were out garage saling with the muffin. At one sale my DH was leading the muffin around by her hand and a toe headed toddler boy walked up to him and held his other hand and walked around with him.

I can't make this crap up!

The universe is trying to do us in. I always pictured Logan as a toe headed toddler...just like his daddy was. So, I got to see what it could have looked like. The muffin on one side, the toe head on the other...my husband (with a heart on the verge of breaking) in the middle. It took my breath away.

God's Opinion

2009-08-13T15:17:00.001-05:00

"A baby is God's opinion that the world should go on." -Carl Sandburg

So then can I assume, since the baby died, that it's God's opinion that the world should not go on?

It shouldn't.

But then, that's just my opinion.

Incoherent ramblings about why packing things away makes me cry.

2009-08-13T12:19:00.002-05:00

The summer before my daughter was born I bought a bunch of infant clothes from this young mom at her garage sale. I think I bought most of what she had. Everything was so pretty and clean and in such nice shape...and cheap, I just couldn't not buy them. I was pregnant for the first time. I'm sure I showed. Her daughter looked to be about 18 months or so at the time. I remember as she was putting everything in the bag she started to cry. Her mom made mention of how it's hard to watch your babies grow from babies to toddlers. I just remember feeling weird and uncomfortable. I mean seriously...they're were just clothes...nothing to cry over. I thought. Thoughts of a naive mommy-to-be who didn't have a clue of what she'd eventually loose.

:::

We're having a garage sale at our home here on Saturday. So I have found myself going through my daughters things, deciding what to hang onto "just in case" and what to part with. And oddly enough I'm doing it with a lump in my throat. An unexpected lump. My baby isn't a baby anymore, she's a toddler. She's growing up and having her own personality, her own likes and wants. And there it is...that pang. The pang that says that one of my babies is growing up faster than I can comprehend...and one never will. I put the two events together. I put aside so many baby items for Logan knowing that they would be used in just a few short months...and there they sit. Packed up. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. Hoping. Just-in-case. Hoping because surely there will be another baby in this house someday. Surely this can not be the end of such a wonderful and short period of time. We live for 80+ years. And I get less than 18 months? 18 months to rock and hold my "baby" before she is no longer a baby. It wasn't long enough. I didn't know I would have such a desire to be a mommy. I didn't know how much I would love it. And now I do. And now I want as many babies as I can get my hands on. But as I look through Aubrey's stuff and I realize that there isn't a second baby here like was planned, and expected, and that there isn't one in my near future...how long do I hang on to this stuff...just-in-case?? Forever. I want all of it forever. I want to keep it because I KNOW that there is another baby in my future. Because I can just not accept that it has all been stolen from me. It was a mistake. There will be another little boy. Otherwise its all just a cruel reminder that we had hopes of a little boy, and those hopes have been smashed into a million slivers that have driven themselves down so deep into my heart I will never get them out!

:::

I know why that young mom cried now. It's such a short window and I didn't know. I didn't savor it maybe as much as I should have. I didn't know. And now I do. I took for granted that I would be doing it all over again sooner than I could comprehend. Sooner than maybe I was ready for. But none the less, I was going to get to do it all over again. Logan should have been turning 3 months right about now. He'd be in a new size. 3-6 months. I'd have been a shopping fool all summer looking for baby clothes. He'd have been wearing those jumpers I bought from Kohl's two days before I found out that my world was crashing in on me. Green and Blue. Little lizards. I can see them clear as day in my minds eye. There, packed up with everything else. Shoved into the top of the closet that was supposed to be his nursery. I hate those memories. I hate what they remind me of. That gleeful innocence. Damn it. We were having a son!! A boy. And now it's just the three of us again and here I am almost 7 months later and I still can't get a grip on this new reality. I still can't believe this happened to us! I can't believe my baby died! My baby boy.

:::

Today I feel the loss of two babies. Different losses, but a loss just the same. I have sadness for my daughter growing so fast while I wallow around in the misery that was thrust upon me three days before she turned a year old. I have tremendous grief for a little boy I never saw enter this world alive. He will forever be a baby, just not one I get to hold and rock and feed. Not one I get to worry over, fret over, get annoyed with. Not one that will ever grow out of his own set of clothes. Not one that I'll have baby memories of and get to complain and cry about how fast it all went. They say it goes by in the blink of an eye. Logan, his went before I could even think about blinking. And what do I do with his stuff? Will I ever be able to place those clothes on another little boy? Will I be able to look past the face that should have been there into the one who really is? Will I even get the chance to make a concerted effort not to worry about having to try to do that?

:::

I don't like the loss of control I feel. Control over my own life and destiny. Shouldn't I be the one who gets to decide how many children I want to raise? Shouldn't I be the one to say weather or not there will be another baby in this house? Shouldn't I get to decide my future? How is it free will if I can will another baby all I want, and have none appear? I don't like being forced into the roll of a grieving mom for a baby that was never even born. I took it for granted. I took for granted how fast I got pregnant. And I did it when I wanted. We said, let's have a baby...and we did. We thought, lets maybe have another, and before we could really decide if it was the right time...BAM, baby! Getting pregnant was easy. I just did it when I wanted. And I took for granted that Aubrey's pregnancy and birth were so perfect. All babies, who are lucky enough to grow in the womb of a mommy who really wants them, are born perfect. Bad stuff happens to idiotic women who don't take care of their bodies and their babies. Bad stuff happens to bad people. Not to us. We're good people. We're good parents. We wanted that baby. We wanted our little boy and were overjoyed by his imminent birth. We missed something. Took it all for granted. Something. We just assumed. Assumed that babies are born healthy and alive and grow up when you love them. So what the hell happened? What did we do wrong? Assume? Take for granted? I just don't understand why our babies die. Why they're are created imperfect, why they get ill, why they aren't compatible with life? Why life isn't compatible for with them? I did everything right, and I failed. FAILED. LOST. STRUCK OUT.

:::

6 months, 2 weeks & 6 days later I am still reeling. Still trying to figure it all out, piece it all together. Accept it. Move on. Forget. Remember. Breathe. Not curl up and give in to the darkness that is so much more inviting than this reality.

:::

Guess I should get back to digging through memories and figuring out which ones I'm going to toss out for random strangers, who don't have a clue, to riffle through and pay pennies for. And I'll probably cry too. I'll probably stand there and remember the day I bought this or that for my daughter, how she looked playing with it, and how fast it all happened and how I thought I'd store it for Logan's use next year...and how it all came smashing down around me. And the day I realized it was ridiculous to hold on to so many things for a baby that IS NO MORE!! Or maybe I'll box it all up and just let it sit in the corner, with all of the other should've been items. Because in the end I'll try to hoard every minuscule memory I have of my babies...even the ones I fabricated. If memories are all I'll have left...

What the!? Is that a light I see??

2009-08-10T13:47:00.003-05:00

I just thought I'd post and let everyone know that I am doing better this week and seem to have come out of my latest pit. The comments and encouragement I receive on this blog help me in a way that is incomprehensible. I'm not alone. I'm not crazy. I'm not going to die. I know that because of all of the wonderful people here in babyloss blogland who help to keep my head from going completely under. Thanks you guys.

I'm alive!

2009-08-09T11:40:00.000-05:00

I survived. And not only did I survive seeing my pregnant friends, I had a good time. There was lots of baby talk and I talked about both of my pregnancies openly. My voice hitched a few times when I said "your son" so I stuck with saying baby most of the time. I thought it was going to be a lot worse, but I survived. I'm glad I went. Touching there bellies made me catch my breath. I remember that feeling all too well. It made me a little nostalgic and wistful, their bellies. In the end though I think I did a great job, and I felt ok too.
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Relax, she's just pregnant!

2009-08-08T13:43:00.000-05:00

Ok, this is sort of like a twitter post. We're on our way to have dinner with friends and at the last minute another couple was added. They're the original pregnant ones. The ones who go pregnant right when Logan died. I haven't seen her since Logan died, always a "reason" or "headache" on her end. So here we are, on our way, and I didn't really have time to prep for it. Which might be a good thing, not to obsesses and get myself all worked up prior to the event. I'm so nervous though. I wish I wasn't. Her baby shower is next week too, so I think this might be good. To see her prior to the shower. I hear she is quite large even at her 6 months. I hope I don't flip out or cry. I haven't been doing well lately, and though I seem to be on an upswing, I'm still nervous about my reaction to seeing her and her belly full of the little boy who graced this earth at the same time that my son left it. Life goes on right!? At least she gets her little boy. At least he is alive now. We all know how that can change in the blink of an eye. As much as I wish for my son, I hope for hers too. I hope that no one ever has to have a baby die. I wish my hope was enough to make that come true.
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I'm back

2009-08-06T10:34:00.003-05:00

Well, I'm back. The trip was what it was. I didn't really find any peace, but I was distracted for the most part. I really just wanted to come home. Yesterday the day seemed easier to be in. But I noticed this morning that I feel the weight pressing me down again. Not as bad as it was last week, almost like you see the fog drifting in and the mist sort of rises up around you, but you can still see through it for the most part. Anyhow, I realized that everything around me is adding to the depression. I feel lousy because I've been eating crap and I've gained 10lbs this month. My house is a constant thorn in my side, always messy and I never seem to get in front of the mess. And my dog, who I've come to realize I can't really get rid of, probably shouldn't, but still find her to be such an annoyance. Then, there's Logan. Last night I was so determined that things were going to change around here. That I was going to start eating right and exercising again...regardless if the weight wants to come off or not. I seemed to have felt better, physically if not emotionally though I think emotionally too, before this month long hiatus from giving a crap about my body. I was going to get up and clean and do all of the projects I wanted to get done around here, even if I "didn't want to" or "don't feel" like it. I was just going to do it anyway. But then here I stand this morning. No umph. No desire. No motivation to change anything. Just full of the desire to sit down and watch TV and zone out and not think about how awful I feel and how crummy my life seems. I started out ok. I watered my pathetic excuse for a garden this morning while my daughter played in the grass and walked around with her wagon. Then her grandma came to pick her up...which is a nice break for me once in a while but also seems to be what triggers more depression. Like I don't have the distraction of chasing around my crazed 18 month old, and my thoughts bang around the inside of my skull, and beat me down until I'm consumed with them and in a pile of tears. Then I called T-Mobile. That's where I went wrong I guess. I called about some international roaming data charges. I live in Michigan, across the river from Ontario. Apparently there's a lot of international signal bouncing going on here. So, I get charged for Canadian cell usage...when I'm at home...in Michigan. And if I just had to call now and then to get a credit, I'd be annoyed but whatever. But today, they refused to give me my $11 credit for data services. I don't even have a data plan. I have WiFi. It's free. But apparently when I think I am using my WiFi, I could really be using the Canadian data plan. They were real butts about it this morning and I hate to argue with people on the phone. I'm not good at it. I'm not persuasive. I just get mad, which makes me shake and feel nauseous. I hate it. It bums me out and ruins my whole day. I wish my DH would just take care of that sort of thing, but he's such a busy guy...and I'm not. He's so persuasive though, and political, and smooth. He could sell a light bulb to a blind man. Sigh. Anyhow, I'm just bummed out now. I did manage to pour Drano down my slow draining tub drain. I guess that's something. I am overwhelmed by the amount of stuff I need to post and sell on eBay and Etsy, but I can't even seem to get up enough gumption to update my listing software. And feeling like I am failing at everyday life brings me down even further.

On a lighter note, my Rose of Sharon has finally taken off this year and it pleases me. Except that I didn't think about how dirty of a plant it would be dropping all of the dead flowers all over my rocks. And no. I'm not one of those people who would go pick them up and throw them away. I can barely shower, I'm not about to be that anal. And, I noticed today that my tomato plant has 11 green tomatoes. BUT (help me out here gardeners) my Basil plant is a light green almost yellow color, and not the deep green I think it's supposed to be. Sigh. Whatever. I'll probably just kill it anyway. Well, I'm hungry. And aside from stuffing ice cream in my belly, there isn't much to eat her for lunch that doesn't require a ton of effort. Maybe I'll just switch back to HerbaLife...at least making a shake is pretty effortless, and it fills me up. I need to go grocery shopping too, I suppose. Anyhow, thought I'd say I was home (and "happy" to be home) and I feel like I'm in a less dark place, but certainly not in the light yet. Gotta love the ebs and flow of grief. But, maybe we'll play cards tonight and I'll get a cocktail and enjoy my evening, and not think about the crap in my life for a little while.

Sneaky grief

2009-08-05T00:00:00.000-05:00

I lied.
The grief snuck out of my pocket whilst I laid here in the dark, on my brothers couch, half way between my reality and the only peace I can manage to find...sleep.
The tears come just the same, here or there.
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From darkness into darkness

2009-08-04T23:16:00.000-05:00

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Maybe I really do want to be home after all.

2009-08-04T23:02:00.000-05:00

I used to love to travel. Maybe I'm just getting old. I don't know. I had hoped coming to see my brother would help relieve some stress for me, or distract me. I will say, I've been distracted, but it's been stressful. It's hard on Aubrey to be away from her home and her daddy. She gets overly stimulated and tired and into everything, which stresses me out. Plus then I feel pulled in 12 directions when I am here and feel obligated to go visit a hundred and one different people when all I wanna do is lay down somewhere and stare off into oblivion. This was not the place for that. So, oddly enough, I'm looking forward to going home. Back to my cave. At least its mine. I miss my husband too. I miss the shelter from life's storm. There is just too much petty drama in the outside world, and lumping that on top of my already fragile state of mind is not good. They say trouble follows wherever you may go. Grief does too, but instead of being my shadow like it is at home, it's curled its self up and burrowed deep into my pocket, forgotten about by everyone but me. Where it is hidden from the real world, but my fingers are constantly fondling it. I can't ignore it, and I can't leave it alone since I feel it everywhere I go. But, at least I haven't been a pile of tears.
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