Okay so I am starting mine own silly meme....
1. Brad Pitt. I know, Lame school girl choice. But still. Him, in "A River Runs Through It"....help me.
I was sitting at my daughter's ballet class yesterday, enjoying some mindless banter with the other mom's, including my friend whose baby son was just born healthy 3 weeks ago...sigh...We were talking about the big important issues, such as, "Why is it that famous people always die naked?",that was good for a few laughs and we decided that as long as we all stayed dressed we likely would never die.
The conversation turned into a discussion of drugs and depression, and I guess maybe I should have seen it coming although I doubt it. I was having so much fun, albeit laughing at someone else, but still...I'll take anything these days, when new mom friend said she had started back on birth control pills. I was thinking she was going to say she had started on anti-depressants for PPD, but nope. Birth control. Geez, I have been trying to get pregnant or stay pregnant for so long now, I can't even remember the last time I even thought about birth control, mine or anyone elses for that matter. One of the other mom's who I don't think knows about, argh 'my history', piped in with a, "What, you don't want to go out and get pregnant right away??" I could feel myself getting smaller and smaller in my chair. The joy of the moment gone. Laughter stopped. My new mom friend replied, "Oh my God no. I would die if I got pregnant again. I am sooo done!" I am now wishing I could just evaporate, just disappear. I am back to being dead baby mom. Dead baby mom who so desperately wants another baby that I wake up everyday crying that I am not pregnant and maybe, probably never will be again. The noise has started again. Fun over. The other mom says that after her last baby she would have nightmares about getting pregnant again and wake up terrified because she thought she was pregnant. Holy Christ. Please let class end, please take me away from here. Please shut the fuck up. Please.
Class ended, little girls in pink tutu's come running out in tap shoes, anxious to share their new dance moves. I grab my little girl, and my other friends daughter who I am taking home, rush them out the door and into the car. I turn the music up loud to stop the noise and to hopefully keep the tears at bay as we drive away.
It had been such a beautiful day, but some asshole fucked it up.
P.S. Still no spell check...can you tell?? Does anyone know WTF is up?
I know I am grieving but I wonder if I am grieving the "right things". I mean, am I grieving Caleb dying or am I grieving not getting my baby? Sometimes I think if Caleb had been my first born, I would have felt his loss more and that I would grieve his death in an entirely different way. How lousy is that??? I know they(I know...who the eff are they anyway) always say by the time you have your third or fourth you don't have the time or energy to worry about the same things you did with your first, you don't have the luxery of time to fret over the little things, to micro manage every detail in their lives. But I never would have imagined that the same thing might apply to your third one dying. You would think that by virtue of the fact that he is my only child to die (knocking every piece of wood I can right now), I would have plenty of grief just for him. But it doesn't feel like that at all.
The grief feels all mixed up in trying to save myself, save my kids, save our family from this horror. The grief comes in making everything feel 'normal'. It comes in the forced smile when I tell the kids about their friends mom whose baby was just born, safely, and I see in thier eyes, I hear in their heads, "Why wasn't ours born safely?" and I try to pretend for them, that my happiness for our friend isn't covered in, well, grief. It comes when I notice my dughter has slowly started taking back the books that she "donated" to the new baby. When we were getting ready to change out her furniture, the nursery furniture, for her Big Girl furniture to make the room for the baby, she went through all of her books and chose ones that would go to the nursery. They had been sitting in bins in the hall and recently the books have found their way back to her room. If Caleb had been our first, the books would still be sitting unused, waiting for a child to explore them and I can imagine myself reaading them alone and throwing myself a huge pity party. But not here. Here they just migrated back to where they had once belonged. Slowly being reabsorbed into our world. As though Caleb never exisited, which for them, I suppose is true.
Even our feeble attempts at making another baby, feel deceptive. I wonder is it another baby I want? Is it Caleb I want? Is what I really want something that will make the loss feel even more distant, even less real? Am I trying to erase him? I guess that's it. I feel like I am trying to erase him. I know I can't. I know I will carry the sadness in me forever. Everyday I look at my dead baby jewelry before I put it on and I think, I don't want to wear this today. Today I just want to be the old me. And everyday I put it on anyway because I know the old me is gone and even if I don't wear it, I will still feel it's weight, around my neck and in my heart.
A while back one of you wrote, after going to your support group that your discussion leader had asked everyone to respond to the question, "If you could do this all over again knowing the result would be the same, would you?" Everyone who commented on that post said, Yes, that they would take those months again and again if it meant they would have more time with their baby. I said No. I would never sign up for it again. I was the only one, at least for as long as I checked back to the post, I was the only one who said I would not go back and do it again. What does that say about me? Does that mean I wish my baby had never been 'born' at all? Because, really, given the choice, I do sometimes wish I had never been pregnant at all. But I don't have the choice do I? After all, if life were a hypothetical, I would choose for my baby to be here, alive, healthy and screaming at me in the middle of the night, that's my choice. And I have to say, given the same hypothetical choice if something had happened to one of my other children, I would choose differently. Does that mean I love them more? Does it mean I love him less? No. I know I don't love him less. I just so wish that this had never happened.
Everyday I go through the motions, trying to make our lives as normal as possible. Most days, I think we do a pretty good job of it. But everday, when the kids are asleep, all of the lights are off , and the house is quiet I lay my head on the pillow and I wonder, "Where's my grief?" .