Jealous?

Just to be clear, Cason does not go in the Moses basket when it is next to the fireplace...although he could since the weather here has been in the high 80's this past week. Ugh. The kitty, well, apparently he doesn't care where the bed is, as long as he is in it and not the squirmy new pet that has taken up residence in said kitty's house.

Speaking of, here he is at 8 weeks. I can't believe it.

Notes from the other side

My coping mechanisms are failing me. The thing that I see now, now that my leprechaun has landed safely, is how much I was denying before. And what I mean by denying is not that I didn't realize that I had a dead baby, but more how much his death and the whole experience of actually delivering a dead baby, would impact me and my life forever. The more time that I spend here in 'live' baby land the more I see that I really was looking at the idea of having another baby as a 'fixer' for all of the things that having had a stillborn broke.

Guess what? Having a baby doesn't fix any of it. They are coupled together and yet they exist independently of each other. But neither experience adds or negates anything to the other one. Cason's birth was marvelous and cleansing and full of light and purity. Laying in the recovery room, him on my chest, surrounded by my family, holding my husbands hand while listening to the joy in my children's voices as they marveled over their new brother, the emotions and feelings that I had at that moment were euphoric. And it wasn't the heavy narcotics. It was love in its purest form. Unencumbered and unfettered it flowed freely and I reveled in it. It was, quite simply,the best moment of my life. And I wanted that moment to be my forever. I wanted those feelings of bliss, of perfectness, of relief and success to stay and inhabit my whole world, leaving no room for any of the other feelings or emotions that had haunted me for the past 14 months. I wanted good to win out over evil. I wanted the good to make the bad go away. I was counting on it, even if I didn't realize it.

Instead, what I have found almost two months out, is that I can recall that moment and cherish it, but it is a memory, it is not a permanent state of being. Rejoining the 'real world' doesn't afford me the luxury of leaving any of who I am behind. All of the loss and its accompaniments come with me. They always will and now I have to learn, all over it seems, how to live with them.


Seeing pregnant women still hurts. Despite having had a 'problem free' subsequent pregnancy myself, I still envy the innocent, shiny happy pregnant woman, because I now know, even if I had 100 more pregnancies that all ended well, they would not begin to erase or minimize the impact of the one that didn't.

The fear of having my world turned upside down at any moment still remains. I feel like all my children have targets on them now. My husband takes the kids out for a bike ride and I am convinced they will get hit by a car. I spend the entire time they are gone listening for sirens, the phone in my hand, my heart pounding, waiting for the call that will bring me the bad news.

Putting the leprechaun down to sleep, terror fills me. Will he wake up, will he keep breathing and not become a SIDS statistic? I want to hide him and my other two from the world forever with the hope that I can protect them from the invisible forces that came into my life and stole away my baby and my sense of security in my world.


Last weekend I went to that mecca of baby stores to pick up a present for my niece who was turning one. I avoided it the whole time I was pg with Cason because the thought of being surrounded by that much in your face "you're having a baby" merchandise made me physically ill. But I thought going now would be ok. It wasn't. It still felt like I was tempting fate. I still felt like a fraud. I didn't belong there with the many shiny, happy pregnant couples. I am not them. I felt like the grim reaper trolling the aisles, the reminder to all of the very bad things that can happen, the one who forces others to shield their eyes and turn away, to deny my existence and run in the opposite direction sure in their belief that it will not happen to them. The one true thing about our paths crossing, the intersection of our worlds being that they are not me and I am not them, for now or anymore, depending on your perspective of course.


I'm angry that even a simple shopping trip still evokes such horrible feelings in me. And on that particular trip, the longer I stayed the harder it got. Choosing outfits and toys for a one year old shouldn't be this hard I thought. Why is it this hard for me still? Why can't this be easy. And as I stood in the middle of the store, slowly sifting through the clothes and trying to pick something that would suit a soon to be walking, precocious one year old, the sudden realization of why it hurt so bad to be in there fell over me, bringing my reality back to me. I should have been shopping for Caleb's first birthday too. My niece and he were supposed to have this birthday, and all of their birthdays together. But it didn't turn out that way. Caleb will never be one or two or anything. He will always be the baby that died. And I can't hide from it anymore. And it isn't him that I am hiding from, it 's the 'it'. The pain, the ache, the missing, the longing for him. That's what I have been hiding from. The fact that I really wanted him, that I really miss having him here and that I hate knowing I will have to spend the rest of my life with these feelings. Because nothing will ever change what happened. Caleb is dead. I never get to see him or touch him or hold him or love him the way he should have been loved. And I hate it.


I spent the first year of his absence trying to fill the void with another baby. It was a hard year and there was grief to be had, tears that were cried and a baby that was missed. But I didn't really let the full impact of being a dead baby mom take hold. I was focused on something else. Now I have to see my whole reality for what it is. For who I am. Dead baby and all. I think somewhere in my mind I thought the grief would be easier to live with and process if I had that live baby. So I pretended that I could put off really looking at it until I had the baby in my arms. That way I would be shielded from the true effect it has had on my life. I existed in different worlds, a schizophrenic existence really and I was able to keep each piece of my broken personality separate pretty successfully. There was the old me, the face I put on for everyone IRL, there was dead baby me who existed in the blog world and there was pregnant me who focused solely on bringing the live baby to fruition. Somehow those separate and distinct personalities existed in a bizarre sort of symbiotic relationship. I functioned and survived my own life by having these distinct places in my head where I could keep my emotions parsed, where my different versions of myself could protect me. I didn't know I was doing it, it wasn't something I planned or contrived. I just did it.

But the act of delivering a live baby has made the managing of these parts of myself impossible. It is time to come to terms with the whole of who I am. I can't pretend that a part of me doesn't exist, it's too hard. I can't pretend that having a dead baby was something I had to get through, an obstacle I had to overcome on my way to having a live baby. And I can't pretend that I am the old me anymore either. I am not her. She is lost to me forever. I may look the same or similar to her but if you look closely in my eyes, you will see the scars, you will see the unmistakable void that tell you I am living my life without my son. And you will see that I am also living my life with my sons and my daughter. It is all in there. I just have to find a way to let it all exist together.

And it will start with me spending what should have been the second year of my sons life, learning to live my life, without him, forever.

VOTE!

Wait the elections are over right? Well, that silly thing about choosing the leader of the free world is, but this election is much more important. Okay, maybe not more important but at least equally, almost.
Mel is up for Best Medical Health Issue Blog award over at the Weblog Awards. Mel, the Stirrup Queen and host of Lost and Found and Bridges. She has done and continues to do so much for this community of loss, life and hope.
A vote for Mel brings us closer to real recognition outside of our quiet world here in dead baby land. It is a chance for people not struggling with our issues to take a real look at who we are and what we live with everyday. In short, voting for Mel puts a face on all of us. And lordy, we all need a face and a voice too.
And here's a beautiful thing: According to the always delightful Tash, we can vote once a day until 1/13/09! That's a lot of talking by the db mafia! So if your reader is low and your looking for a worthwhile way to spend a few seconds, go over and VOTE!!!

News you can use:0)

Our little friend Reese had an unexpected, well she was expected but not until next week, arrival. Hop on over and help her welcome in the new little Radha!!

Way to go Reese!!

Thinking of Sue

I've been reading with Sue about the painful days of last year. She went through so much, she was so brave and still her sweet boys are gone. If you have a moment, please stop by and give her some love and support, I know she needs it. She is telling the day by day journey that she and C., and her family endured. It is heartbreaking and frustrating and I can only imagine the heaviness of her heart as she recalls those days of anguish.

I'm thinking of you Sue.


xxoo

New beginnings...and happy endings.

I rarely go back and read my old posts. I'm not that brave. I think it's mostly because I don't want to remember how I felt. I'm afraid of those feelings. Even though I was the one feeling them and I have already lived through the days I wrote about, I just can't put myself back there. They were the darkest days, the worst days of my life...so far, ever, I hope.
As much as I like to pretend that I have dealt with all of the bad shit, I know I haven't. I know I skated. I kept myself busy, I spent alot of time pretending I was 'ok', to the outside world. It's a fabulous coping mechanism, really, if you don't mind sequestering the biggest parts of your self and then putting on a show, 24/7 for like, ever.
Truth be told, it's exhausting. I found that alcohol helped with the tiredness, at least at night when the tiredness seemed to evaporate and sleeplessness would take up residence instead. And really the tiredness isn't a sleepy kind of tired anyway. It's more of a physical and emotional tiredness that makes your body feel as though it weighs a ton and makes the idea of being around people for any length of time seem about as appealing as cleaning locker room toilets with your bare hands.
I remember going to lunch with my sister(hi sis) in January after taking my poor dead cat's body to be cremated and just hanging out and laughing. It was the first time I actually felt good being out, which considering the events of that day, you know, the dead cat, you'd think I would have fallen apart altogether. I had only recently shared the existence of my blog with her and so we were able to talk about it, something I never could do IRL since no one else knew about it. I remember her saying how she would never know how to keep a blog or what to write, except, "Woke up, got drunk again." and the way the words tumbled out of her mouth, the tone, the tenor of those words, it just tickled me and I started to laugh, a real from down in the gut laugh that made my eyes water and my sides hurt and I kept laughing long after she and I had said our good byes that afternoon. And it made me both happy and sad. Happy that I could still laugh like that, that I could still feel like that and sad that those feelings would forever come as a surprise to me now, given that they were buried so far beneath the heavier more omnipresent feelings of grief and isolation.
I guess the sudden awareness of the total compartmentalization of my emotions hadn't really occurred to me until then. I hadn't even realized how much effort I was putting into 'being me', into proving to everyone that I was 'fine'.
But here, in the blogosphere, I didn't have to do that. I could just be. I could write and spill what ever thoughts or feelings I was having. I didn't have to censor myself. And I didn't. Which returns me to my point. I rarely go back to see what I wrote, because I don't want to remember the feelings. Tonight, NYE, I made an exception. I went back to see where I was a year ago, to see what's changed.
Alot.
Obviously.
Okay, to be totally honest, I didn't read the whole post because it's about my son and his release of a whole ton of his grief and in keeping with my proven coping skills, I can't read it because I don't want to remember how fucking awful that was either.
But I did read the rest. This is what I read.
It was a year ago that I started to hope. Not just for the laughter that I would share with my sister, but for a new baby. The quintessential dream of a db mom. And so it was that we spent most of 2008 trying to bring that hope to life. As did most everyone here in DB land.
It wasn't easy. Not any of it. The trying, the failing, the trying again, the tests, the days it all seemed so all consuming, probably because it was, and then it happened. And it was nine months of pins and needles, of hopes and fears, of denial and reality all colliding, spinning wildly out of control and any attempts at managing it were futile. I spent the greater part of 2008 with my head in the sand, not only suppressing the db stuff but also the pg stuff. More and more of my life had become so overwhelmingly emotionally oppressive that I now pretty much ignored about 95% of my own existence. The result of which, besides my slipping mental health, lots more of those real fancy gray hairs we all love so much. Sigh.
BUT.
He's here now.
A year ago, I don't think, no I know, I would not have believed me or anyone else, if they had told me that I would have a new baby in my life come NYE 2008.
And I would have been wrong. Now he lays sleeping on my bed, making quiet cooing noises as his tiny hand flutters every once in a while, waving at some vision in his head perhaps. And better still, as of yesterday, well actually now two days ago, when he is awake, he will smile at me. A big toothless, all lips and eyes, smile. And if he really wiggles and kicks and waves his arms, he will even let loose the tiniest of baby words, surprising even himself, so much so that he immediately silences himself so that he can hear himself better, only to become frustrated that the sounds stopped. And all the while, I sit, mesmerized and tearful, that I got this miracle. That this tiny creature has fallen into my life. That the quiet hopes of a broken heart somehow led to this life. Words can never tell the whole story of him, at least not words I know.
2008 was a hard year. And it was a year of hope and miracles. And it was a year I will never forget. Not ever.
And now as I sit in the early morning hours of this new year, I wonder what 2009 will bring. I have new hopes for this year. Hopes for my 3 living children to be healthy and happy. Hopes for my heart to continue to heal. Hopes for more laughter than tears this year. And hopes for many healthy babies to be born to my friends here in this place. Hopes that 2009 will bring to them what 2008 brought to me and and to Ashleigh and to Julia and to Sarah...and many more.
I know there are no guarantees, but I have to hope.
And so I will.
Happy New Year to all of you. I hope it brings you all a new beginning and of course, a happy ending.

On birth announcements and anger

I'm going to piss someone off here, I am sure. But, it's my space so here is where I get to dump my maybe petty, maybe serious, gripes with 'issues' that I am otherwise compelled to keep quiet about.

So here goes.
As surprising as this may seem, we actually kept my pregnancy with Cason fairly quiet. We didn't tell anyone who wouldn't actually see me during the nine or so months I was carrying him. The exception was some family, of course, and my one good girlfriend up in San Francisco. The reasons are obvious. It just needed to be us. I didn't want the cheerleaders or the questions. I couldn't deal with either or the inevitable,"Oh, everything will be fine." reassurances that were sure to follow if I actually shared my running fears with anyone who dared ask me how I was doing or how the pregnancy was going. It was hard enough dealing with it with the people who did know and did see me everyday, I didn't want to invite anyone else into the bubble.
Even my husband kept the secret from his colleagues at work until I was past the point where we lost Caleb and even then he only shared the information with a few close confidants. I think we all understand the anxiety that was so tightly wrapped around the disclosing of this little tidbit of information. And the obvious unwillingness to not have to untell this story should everything go wrong again.
Fast forward the nine months and the safe arrival of our beautiful boy. Now came the time to actually do the telling. The birth announcement. So much to be told in one simple piece of card stock. I wanted the whole story of Cason to be there, not just his vital stats. This was not an ordinary pregnancy and Cason is more than just another social security statistic. He is the 'happy ending', right? He is the punctuation of a story that has been unfolding for two some years. He is the ending of one book and the beginning of a sequel, but his birth was the overlapping of the two stories and it needed, for me, to be told just like that. I needed both my boys to have a part in the telling. They both needed to be there in the announcement because they were both a part of the story. I couldn't leave Caleb out. He was/is too important a piece of Cason's life to ignore him.
Turns out they really don't make birth announcements for babies born after a stillbirth. They don't have a generic, fill in the blanks for that. There isn't any sample wording or examples of others to choose from. I had to come up with it on my own. My husband and I talked about the wording, how to fit all of the details into a few small words. How to pay tribute to Caleb and also celebrate Cason. I took to heart the symbols that I have come to know that represent loss and babies after. And when it was all said and done I found the right words, after about a hundred different variations were eliminated, and I found a wonderful printer who was able to create the perfect piece for us.


Here it is:
I love it. I covered up our names, but they are the last two lines on the left side. I'm not sure, before I post it if you will be able to read the print. If not, it reads,

After the storm

came our rainbow...

Cason Patrick

November 17, 2008

seven pounds, twelve ounces

twenty inches

(Left corner)

Welcomed with love
and open arms by

(our names)

(our names)

(Right Corner)

Always loved~Never forgotten

Caleb Robert

Born Still

September 1, 2007

Now comes the part where I piss people off, maybe.

Several things have happened since the announcements went out. First, alot of surprised people have reached out to us to help welcome Cason. Lots of gifts have been delivered, cards mailed, the usual baby things, for which I am grateful, don't get me wrong. Second, besides my immediate family and my one girlfriend in SF, NO ONE has mentioned Caleb or his inclusion on the card at all.

What's worse, I have received cards congratulating us on our 'third' child, I have also received cards and even a hand written letter on the 'grace and power of God' in bringing us Cason. One person, who I ran into in a store, who I only know from my sons sport, after seeing me and the baby (I told her the whole story months ago) said right off, "PRAISE GOD!" because you know, it's all about HIM.

And then there are the stalkers. The ones who never sent a thing when Caleb died but who want to be all over Cason. They call or stop by wanting to know all the details about Cason but overtly ignore that little elephant in the room named Caleb. Even still, there are no words of sympathy or compassion. It feels more like now they can be around me because I'm normal again. Or at least I don't make them feel uncomfortable anymore. I guess to them I don't look like a dead baby mom anymore. Idiots.

And the God stuff. Oh Holy Crap, that makes my skin bristle and my eyes burn. I mean, I am not a religious person, as you may have noticed about me, but I still do have enough faith in me that I wouldn't call myself agnostic, yet. So to suddenly send me a card or say to me, after losing my son a mere year and some months ago, that GOD somehow now decided to give me this baby instead, that GOD decided to let this baby live, that GOD is totally responsible for this, well, it makes me crazy angry. Unless, of course, you're willing to then let me blame Caleb dying all on GOD. As I said to one of my girlfriends after the run in with the sport mom, if it's "Praise God" now what was it a year ago? Hmmm, let me guess, "FUCK GOD", right? I know it's awful, they are awful words to write. And the thing of it is, it's not what I believe anyway. I don't believe, if there is a God, that she or he, micromanages us like that. I'm sorry, but if God has time to pick and choose which of my children are going to live or die inside me or outside me for that matter, what the fuck is going on with all of the children who are starving to death all over the world. Or the ones who are being tortured, raped, maimed, terrorized, suffering from terminal illnesses....the list goes on. And I know the answer to that too. At least I know their answer, "The Mystery, The Plan". Don't question the omnipotent OZ, ooops I mean God.

Come on, people. Open your eyes. At least, if only for my benefit, pretend for a while that common sense is some small part of your religion. If you can't, it's okay, but please, spare me the sharing then, of your beliefs, cuz they sure as hell aren't mine.

Can you imagine if I walked into a funeral for someones baby and announced to the parents, "Boy, God sure must not like you or your baby much. But Praise God!" But of course, the true believers will tell you that God called the baby home and that this is all part of that 'Plan'. And we can't understand it cuz we're too dumb.

I'm not dumb. I'm not evil. I don't even hate God. Unless of course that "Plan" thing is true, then I really do have some serious issues with God. I think bad shit happens to good people. I think bad shit happened to me, to my family, to Caleb. I don't need a bigger, universal reason to explain it. I needed a medical one and luckily I got a pretty decent one. Decent enough to allow us to try again being reasonably certain that particular cause wouldn't happen to us or another baby again. I don't blame God, much. I'm not enough of a lapsed Catholic to have released all of my Catholic guilt. It took years to drill it in to me, it's gonna take the rest of my life I suspect to get it out. So in my moments of weakness, I do call out to God and I have even asked for help. I immediately retract it, reminding myself that I don't believe that God has time for personal prayers, but I still do it.

Funny thing is, this summer when I was rushing my daughter to the ER and I was trying not to be hysterical after my son asked me if she was going to die, I screamed and raged in my head, "You're not taking another one, I won't let you!". Which was stunning to me because that normally would have been a time when I would have fallen back on my praying or more accurately, bargaining with God. But I was so scared and tired of being scared the only thing I had in me was the anger.

And still, it remains, the anger. But, I've kept it in. I haven't rammed my beliefs down anyone's throat.

Now, if everyone else could just show me the same courtesy. That'd be great.

Oh, and one more thing. Please, stop asking us if we are going to have anymore children. Seriously.

P.S. God, if you are reading this I want to tell you, well, you know cuz you can read my mind, right? Thanks.