The Guilt of Grieving

The main thing my doctor made sure to tell me after telling me it was over, was it wasn’t anything I did. Technically, it could’ve been. But I know what I did and didn’t do—and really don’t blame myself. I do have the occasional “I wonder…”

But where the guilt falls is with how my grief affects others. I know everyone (the books, my counselor, the support groups,etc.) say this is about me and how I feel. But I’m someone who always tries to make everyone comfortable. I’m the diplomat of my family. That’s who I AM, and that—while some things about me are changing—that hasn’t. So when I make someone unhappy—I feel it in my inner being.

My family reunion is today. I didn’t go because my husband didn’t want to. And it’s not just around the corner. If I need to go home I have to drive almost two hours. By myself. With my daughter.

This would be the first time in a group of people that know me—but don’t know my loss. I’m afraid of the casual “when’s the next one coming?” and being at a place that I’ve not been. A place that caters to families and young children. That means babies and pregnant women. The possibility of overwhelming me and what I can handle.

My family doesn’t get it. If I fall apart, I’m depressed. I’m not moving on. They aren’t huggers. THEY. DON’T. GET. IT. I guess that’s good—that means they haven’t lost. But I can’t do that alone. I might be fine. I put on a good face in public. But what if I don’t. Driving home upset. For two hours. By myself. With my Daughter.

So I didn’t go.

And the text messages from my family…with the subtle implications about me not going. From people that wanted me to go to entertain them. It makes me feel guilty. And I can’t control it.

And then there’s my husband. I lean on him. I depend on him. And I only fall apart near him.

And it’s starting to wear. We had a talk last night. It really was needed. We laid out where we are in our grieving. He talked FINALLY about what bothered him—I know he’s not really grieving for the baby much. He told me that sometimes alongside wishing things went normally (obviously), or maybe that I hadn’t gotten pregnant—he wishes I had been further along in the loss. So that he had been more a part of it. So that he could grieve with me. Because he too feels guilty. When I’m sad—and he doesn’t know what to do. What to say.

He also says it makes him a little upset when he sees how I act around other people. When we aren’t home. When I’m working. And that’s not how I am around him. That’s because my public person is a lie. I hold everything in. Work is so hard when I have to be the face of customer service. “How are you doing today.” “I’m fine” (But my insides are screaming—NO I’m Not fine!)

So now I feel guilty. I’m hurting my husband. So now I’ll lie to him too.

I have no one who wants to listen anymore.

I am so alone in my grief. And in my guilt.

Technorati Tags: guilt,grief,alone,family,lie,public face,working

The weight of the world

I read my other blog just now—the blog that my family and friends know about, as opposed to this one which they don’t. I was so innocent. Even after the scare with the birth of my Sunshine, I was fearless (ok not entirely; I did worry about a repeat with this Angel of mine). And now, I think I may just go nuts if I’m lucky to conceive again. There will be no out of the woods…that is if there is a Rainbow.

There has to be a Rainbow—or two, or three. There just has to be…right.

It’s just so scarring. The loss of me, my carefree-ness, my naiveté, my innocence.

Yesterday we went to the zoo, my Sunshine and I joined out of town family, my mother and my nephew. It was fun…until somewhere amidst the zoogoers (little babies and pregnant women included) and the animals a weight settled on my shoulders. I never thought that feeling could be so physical. And inexplicable. And so invasive on a good day.

I was just so sad. Everyone commented on how they must have tired me out…but it wasn’t exhaustion, just sadness…Sadness is so heavy; so physical and real. It weighed me down.

My aunts left town yesterday. As everyone gets older and life is more precious, I’m so sad when they leave. I may get to visit once more this year—but it’s a drive. That on top of my grief almost pushed me to tears, but I had to get to work. I didn’t have “time” for that.

So today I go see a counselor. I need to talk things out with someone other than my husband. Someone who I can be honest with. Someone who I don’t fear won’t say the wrong things. Since she’s with the Hospital’s Perinatal Loss program she should be just that. I hope it helps…that sadness that burdens me down…I don’t want it to drag down my husband with me. He’s too important to me. WE are too important to me.

And so I bare the weight and trudge along…

 

Technorati Tags: loss,grief,weight,burden,zoo

Can I pay $100 and see my baby move?

So the bills for the end of this pregnancy are starting to come in. I’ll probably have to battle with the insurance company again—this time it’s not for a happy event. They better not mess with me or I’ll cry on them…that’s a promise.

At my last appointment…the nurse had me go to the ultrasound room. The baby was still so young that it would be easier to find the heartbeat on the screen—so they didn’t scare me if it was hard to find. Oh irony—you suck. It was a free peek at the baby. I was happy—then I wasn’t.

You know irony, you can go away any time you want…I wouldn’t mind.

That ultrasound…was supposed to be free. I was supposed to see my lime sized baby. The heart was supposed to be beating. The little one was supposed to be squirming. Instead…I’m paying for the ultrasound. There was no heartbeat. The baby was just so still.

Instead of happiness, there was gloom.

So if I have to pay to see death (that’s such a hard word to write—I’ll admit I try so hard to avoid using it), can’t I pay to see life?

I know most people who have medical procedures do so because of a bad, sad, or unhappy reason. But doesn’t it seem wrong to receive bills for this horrible thing. This horrible thing that was supposed to bring happiness, and love, and miracles?

Yep, I’ll pay $100, or $1000 or dammit it I’ll find $10,000 to pay for my baby to be alive. If only that were possible.

Irony…You most certainly do suck.

Technorati Tags: insurance,ultrasound,death,irony,bills

The Two Brains of a Grieving Mother

Throughout the last two weeks I’ve found myself with explosions of tears and headaches and repeating the words “I know it’s stupid, but…”

I attribute all of those things to the war between the two brains I picture battling in my head: The rational brain and the grieving brain.

The Grieving brain is the one responsible for the thoughts:

“I want my baby back”

“I should be showing and wearing maternity clothes.”

“I need to be pregnant now”

“Maybe if I had/hadn’t done…, my baby would still be alive.”

AND famously (infamously?) present in my world of grief

“I’m failing as a mother and a wife, maybe they’d be better if I left for a while.”

When retelling my husband why I’m crying (grieving brain responsible for the explosions of waterworks), I often preface the statements with “I know it’s stupid, but…”  that phrase is necessarily inserted by the rational brain. The one that knows:

“It’s not my fault.”

“I’m not pregnant.”

“I can’t get pregnant for at least a month, and my body needs some time to heal.”

“I can’t have my baby back.”

“I most likely can get pregnant again.”

“I’m capable of caring for my daughter and  being a wife.”

But as I told a friend, “what I know and what I know are two different things.” Knowing doesn’t make this grieving process any easier—often it makes it harder.

My grieving brain tells me that this baby was going to look like ME. This baby was going to cuddle. I was going to nurse longer. This was going to be my little boy. My Sunshine and this baby were going to be the best of friends. Our family of four was going to be so happy.

My rational brain tells me that this baby might have been another clone of my husband. This baby could have been as independent as his sister. This baby might not have nursed at all. This baby may have been a girl. My Sunshine and this baby may have fought tooth and nail all the time. Our family of four may have been overwhelming.

But in this instance the grieving brain wins out. I will stick with the picture of perfection. And I grieve for my mommy’s boy—I’m convinced it was a boy although we’ll never know. And it hurts where it never did before to hear how my daughter looks so much like her dad. Because my clone will never be born. My rational brain butts in to say that I would have been so happy with another daddy’s clone—and I would have. But my dreams grew wings when my baby did.

And the battle of the two brains continues…and my head joins my heart in the pain of grief.

Technorati Tags: grief,rational,battle,two brains,miscarriage

Reservation: Party of One

Today is our wedding anniversary. I was looking forward to this vacation week. I had plans for us.  You see there are parts of a relationship that stutter a bit after the birth of a child. And ours was no exception.

This child’s conception…truly a miracle.

I was gonna begin to fix that stutter this week. I missed that closeness. That part of us gone silent.

Yeah, well…there are certain forbiddens after a D&C—one of those forbiddens precluded “fixing” us. You know the closeness you crave after this loss…yeah well…hah! So much for this week.

I realized how our relationship had come to the point where someone else could be paid to do what I do—and do it better…

Pity party here we come. I have reservations for a party of one…

In all seriousness…this sadness sucks. Those Happy Anniversary! greetings made me hurt inside. People truly wished us well…yet there was no “we’re thinking about you.” or “try to enjoy yourselves the best you can.” Nope, that’s done. Over with. We asked the mister how the wife is. He says “OK.” Good, she’s over that.

That’s how I feel the world looks at me.

Who do I really talk with about this? Which of the close ones won’t think I’m depressed or holding on too long? Just those who’ve been there. To the outside world they are probably enablers. And still, they are sad for me. No one is sad with me.

And that pity party? Well the band keeps playing…

Maybe tomorrow will be a better day…

Technorati Tags: sad,grief,pity party,anniversary,relatioship

Life

As I journey down this path of grief and loss, I get stuck in my head.

Instinctively I want to say “Life sucks.” But it doesn’t, not really. It can’t. Because life it what I wish to my angel. To breathe, and walk and live. And if life sucks, I’m wishing a curse to my child.

I guess it doesn’t really matter—my wish can’t be truth. My child is gone, never to draw breath. Buried in the earth in an unmarked resting place (I’ll never be more thankful that my hospital buries the children of D and C removal—never can I be thankful enough to have a place to visit).

But still I wish my angel life.

And my sunshine—life is what I gave her. And want her to hold on to.

So while life hurts—it can’t suck. Not entirely.

And on the days where all I can think, all I can say, is “I can’t do this.” I still hold on to life. I could never willfully end my life. No matter the pain. Because then I’d make life hurt for so many others. And my rainbows—they’d be nothing more than somedays never to be.

And so, I trudge along. Pulling myself up and moving through this harsh reality that is life.

And I live.

I live with my feet on the earth and my heart torn between my husband, my sunshine and our little angel.

And I wish life to them all…

Technorati Tags: angel,sunshine,love,life,wish,loss,pain

Pain

Apparently, however you “birth” a child…living or gone too soon, through medical intervention or natural means…you are still the lucky one to bear the physical reminders of that birth.

When your child is born to walk the journey on earth with you, that physical pain is less important. The scars and tears are soothed by a warm baby to snuggle.

The heavy breasts are relieved by a nursing baby.

That backache no one thought to mention is not so bad when there’s a baby’s weight in your arms.

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On top of everything people and books tell you about miscarrying…no one mentioned that eight weeks/eleven weeks can leave the same pains as 42. And what they did tell me about…I assumed that’s for a longer pregnancy. While my body never fully ran dry after nursing my Sunshine, I was totally unprepared for the aching I feel. Eleven weeks and my milk is coming in? Luckily it never reached the lever that it did with Sunshine, but God that is cruel.

And my back…I never expected this ache with the first…but the reasoning made sense. My core muscles we pretty much nonexistent…after being stretched to their limit. But this time? This time I was barely showing…Only my husband and I noticed…yet my back. And unlike last time, where I did exercise and strengthened it, this time it just seems cruel. I can’t make myself do anything about it.

Added to the physical pain, with a loss you have more pain…the mental and emotional pain.

The pain of loss and loneliness. The pain of those who can’t or won’t understand.

The pain of mothering a memory and not a baby.

No pain, no gain they say…but where the hell is my gain?

It’s all pain. And it hurts!

Technorati Tags: pain,loss,miscarriage,baby

So Alone

Yesterday I came to the realization that I am alone—so alone—in this grieving process. And yet who can I tell that to without hurting them too.

I had a rough evening—such an awful evening last night—and when my husband asked if I wanted to talk about it, I replied that I didn’t want him to feel bad. He automatically assumed he did something wrong. And so I told him how alone I felt. And he said nothing. There I went again—hurting the one person that’s really trying.

But I am alone. Oh I have family and friends that try their best. And of course there is my husband. But they grieve for me; they don’t grieve with my. In my grief for my baby I am alone.

No one misses the dreams. No one hurts for the loss. No one still needs this baby like they need air to breathe.

No one.

Just me.

The other day my husband got upset with me. I had given him some literature we received in case he wanted to read it. He told me that he doesn’t feel it like I do. He was sad at first, and now, just guilty that I hurt so bad.

He never talked about why he was sad—what he missed or grieved. The few times tears fell he wouldn’t talk to me. I need to know. I need to hear. Damn society influencing how men grieve. Maybe if he had talked I wouldn’t feel so alone. But he has moved on.

And now…now I feel alone.

I’m amidst a sea of friends and family who care…

And still I’m alone.

Technorati Tags: alone,grief,tears,loss,baby,miscarriage

Friday the Thirteenth

I will never again look at Friday the 13th and laugh at the superstition.

I may not hold with the superstitious crowd, but to me it’s one of those dates. My pregnancy was calculated from Friday the Thirteenth in April 2012 (the first day of my only period following my daughter’s birth). When my period started up six months after her birth—even though I was still nursing—my reaction was of course. When I realized that’s when my Week 1 of Pregnancy was calculated I figured maybe it wasn’t so unlucky. Silly me.

Today—Friday the 13th once again—I should be three months pregnant (not a week out from my D&C). Crossing the threshold of risk to the “safe zone.” I should be starting to wear my maternity clothes. I should be rubbing my belly—making plans for our family of four.

Instead, I woke up, realized the significance of the day, and began crying. And stayed that way for a good few hours.

My husband, leaving for work, asks me if I’m going to be ok. I answered that I had to be (I do have an eight month old to take care of after all). He didn’t like that answer. But what is OK? Is ok being able to put together a meal for my kid. To make coffee and a lunch for my husband? Because if so, I’m ok.

Is ok being able to take my daughter outside to play? To take care of the pool so it doesn’t turn green? To water my garden so we can have fresh vegetables? Because if so, I’m nowhere near OK.

When people ask how I am, I answer I’ve been better. Those are the only words that I know are true.

My husband ended up coming home from work early and worked from home—we are so lucky that he has that option. Apparently I didn’t sound OK over the phone. It’s been a hard day.

Friday the Thirteenth can just Go to hell…

Technorati Tags: Friday the Thirteenth,reminders,OK

What do you do when the tears won’t fall?

Tomorrow is a week after my D and C. Tuesday was a week from the day my world turned upside down. I’ve cried and bawled and then cried and bawled some more. Sometimes it helps me feel better.

Sometimes I just need to cry.

But today…when I’m feeling the need to have a good cry…it appears I’ve cried my tears dry. I’m still sad and miserable. But I can’t cry. And that makes me feel guilty. I can’t cry for my little Angel. I can’t even cry for me. Dammit I need a cry.

Maybe when I shower. I hate the shower. That when it’s most noticeable that my little belly has gone. The shower was when I’d caress and love on my little baby. And now I can’t. My little angel no longer is held there. I’d say in the protection of my womb, but I don’t really think it’s so safe. After all, it didn’t keep this little one safe. It turned from a place of life into a tomb.

Yesterday I went to a support group. It was nice. People understand. I don’t feel bad crying in front of them. They get it. And yet my guilt at being there. One woman’s child would be the same age as my living Sunshine. How that must hurt her to hear me talk about her. I have a little one. She has empty arms.

And yet…that cry I need…

It’s not coming.

Technorati Tags: tears,support group,sad

My Sunshine in Grey Skies

While who I am is currently under review, the one thing I am certain of is how lucky I am to have my little sweet bundle of crazy smiling at me every morning. She’s my proof that I can do this. I have done this. And she’s going to be what helps me move through the tears.

She has this sniffy nose thing that she does—often her prompting for “Eskimo Kisses”. And when I’m in my throes of tears, she seems to think that it is “sniffy nose time” and therefore sniffs back. On a light cry, this can bring a smile to my face. In the midst of a full body sobbing…nothing brings my smile…and it hurts that I can ‘t play and enjoy my child that I do have.

I love that there is a term for the siblings born after their angel sibling (rainbow baby), but I think it’s just as important for the ones who are there. THEY are important. They play their own role in family recovery—and for that I am calling my beautiful daughter my sunshine baby. As she is the light peeking through the stormy angry clouds. My sunshine on a cloudy day.

She makes me happy when skies are Grey…

I still cry, wail, and sob. I want to smash something. Wake up and find it was a bad dream.

Some days I don’t want to function…my husband takes over keeping our Sunshine shining. But I do get through…and I tell her (through my tears and amidst her 8 month old squirms to get down and play) how I love her—never to doubt my love.

And she sniffs back.

Technorati Tags: sunshine,rainbow,grief,tears,miscarriage,loss

Who Am I?

July 3rd…who I am/was changed.

I found out that my baby no longer grew. It’s heart did not beat. I was pregnant, but I would not really give birth.

That Friday, I had a D and C. I was no longer pregnant. I never saw my child. Never held my child. Never kissed my child. Never said goodbye.

I am a Mommy…but only one child lives. Does it make me selfish to want two? To want my daughter to have a sibling close to her age? To nurse an infant again? To watch my children squabble and bicker? Is it selfish to want what I know others don’t or can’t have?

I read today that grief is selfish—I’m proof of that. I know others grieve, but I can’t bring myself to let them hug me and heal THEIR hearts. Mine is broken and bleeding—MINE is all I can think about it.

I was made to be a mother…to many children. My child is made to be a big sister—it’s written in the stars.

My wounds are fresh—they have yet to scar and numb. I haven’t even had the opportunity to try again. To bring another child into this world.

I used to look forward to being pregnant. Each doctor appointment was eagerly awaited. I used to have hopes and dreams. The future was something to anticipate.

Now, I fear. I fear everything. To dream and hope is to open your heart. Can I survive grief again? Another child is another pregnancy—one that may or may not come to fruition. I’m afraid. So very afraid. I’m afraid of who my tears have made me. I’m afraid to find myself.

My dreams for this very much wanted child were many. My first is my husband’s clone. This one—this angel baby was to have my dimples and my smile. Our angel would cuddle as his independent sister never did. The dreams of nursing past six months without a struggle from a baby wanting independence were strong. Those dreams could live on in another child—but I’ll always still want this angel.

I know I am not who I was. I was a happy person. I always made sure my smile reached my eyes. It was genuine and real. Now it’s not even fake…my lips barely crack. My dimples are in hiding. I have no desire to do anything. To go anywhere. Be anything.

I feel guilty for not wanting to play with my daughter. To not want to smile at her. Being happy hurts. But so does being sad.

I don’t know who I am…I know who I WAS…but that person is gone…

I need to know who the new me is…

These things take time they say—I don’t have patience. I need to be whole. I need to be happy. I need to be me…whoever that is.

LiveJournal Tags: miscarriage,angel,sad,me,D and C,loss,grief