In Good Company, a stolen post.

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.

Because really, how much is there left to say?

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.

Crap! Where'd I put that armor!!

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

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.

Because everything happens for a reason right??

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.

Counting Down, God and the Holidays

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.

Alone...listless

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!)

Two Deaths

The day my son died, my faith also died.


And that scares me, and it makes me feel hopeless.


And I am so full of envy for you woman who have managed to find comfort in God and hold on to your faith. I am mystified by it.