I am sure that one day I will look back at 2011 and recognize countless life lessons that this year has taught me.
For now, all I have to say to 2011 is: "Fuck you"
I am looking forward to 2012 being a kinder and gentler year.
Saturday, December 31, 2011
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
Crazy aunt Kathy*
Every family has a member that is a little 'out there'. Some families have more than one.
Somewhere in my extended family tree lives crazy aunt Kathy. She is a little eccentric, a little out of touch with reality, and very damaged. You can see it in her eyes and hear it in the way she talks about herself. Sometimes i feel like she has so much pain inside of her that it affects her ability to function as a rational person.
Crazy aunt Kathy lost her mom some years ago. I am not sure how long ago her mom passed away, but I know it has been more than 10 years. She will be the first to admit that the loss of her mom still affects her deeply every day. Though I never had the privilege of meeting her mom (who I hear was amazing) every Christmas gift I have received from her has involved a picture or other memory of her mom. Kathy's mom's memory consumes seemingly every facet of Kathy's life - to the point of disability.
Often times in the past two months I have felt so overwhelmed by grief that I too found it disabling. During those times, I always wonder if it is truly possible to feel better. Even just by the tiniest bit. I have cried myself to sleep countless nights (though 71 would be a good guess) and searched for the light at the end of the tunnel. In the back of my mind I always think of Kathy, and how I don't want to become her. I want to grieve, but not wallow. I want to cherish and remember Carter, but not become so consumed with his memory that I can't function.
Friends (both old and new) reassure me that one day the pain won't be so overwhelming. It will always be there but not as raw as it is now. One morning I will wake up and realize that I haven't just had a good day, but a good week or month. I have to endure the heartache now so that I can live my life later. Enough people have told me this that in my head I know it must be true, but I have questioned it in my heart.
Today though, was refreshing. I got up, got us ready and out the door on time. Our first stop was the doctor (where my INR was less than ideal) then off to daycare and work. At work, I had a productive day and even managed to mention that Carter had passed. All without tears - not even a moment where I had to fight them back.
When I sat down to write tonight, I was going to write about my tear-free day. And then this evening while talking to a friend, she asked about how Christmas went. And she talked about Carter. Cue the tears. But when they stopped, I didn't feel quite the sense of despair that I usually do. The evening went on, and I was still able to function.
I have no disillusions that this is the end of the period of horrible grief. Who knows what tomorrow will bring. But I feel like I got a glimpse into 'someday'. Someday when there are more good days than bad. I almost feel like I should feel guilty for having a good day. But I don't - I know that Livie and Shawn need me to have good days. And to be honest, it was kind of a relief for me. One day when I didn't feel like I was going crazy.
*I changed her name to make me feel less guilty about writing about her.
Somewhere in my extended family tree lives crazy aunt Kathy. She is a little eccentric, a little out of touch with reality, and very damaged. You can see it in her eyes and hear it in the way she talks about herself. Sometimes i feel like she has so much pain inside of her that it affects her ability to function as a rational person.
Crazy aunt Kathy lost her mom some years ago. I am not sure how long ago her mom passed away, but I know it has been more than 10 years. She will be the first to admit that the loss of her mom still affects her deeply every day. Though I never had the privilege of meeting her mom (who I hear was amazing) every Christmas gift I have received from her has involved a picture or other memory of her mom. Kathy's mom's memory consumes seemingly every facet of Kathy's life - to the point of disability.
Often times in the past two months I have felt so overwhelmed by grief that I too found it disabling. During those times, I always wonder if it is truly possible to feel better. Even just by the tiniest bit. I have cried myself to sleep countless nights (though 71 would be a good guess) and searched for the light at the end of the tunnel. In the back of my mind I always think of Kathy, and how I don't want to become her. I want to grieve, but not wallow. I want to cherish and remember Carter, but not become so consumed with his memory that I can't function.
Friends (both old and new) reassure me that one day the pain won't be so overwhelming. It will always be there but not as raw as it is now. One morning I will wake up and realize that I haven't just had a good day, but a good week or month. I have to endure the heartache now so that I can live my life later. Enough people have told me this that in my head I know it must be true, but I have questioned it in my heart.
Today though, was refreshing. I got up, got us ready and out the door on time. Our first stop was the doctor (where my INR was less than ideal) then off to daycare and work. At work, I had a productive day and even managed to mention that Carter had passed. All without tears - not even a moment where I had to fight them back.
When I sat down to write tonight, I was going to write about my tear-free day. And then this evening while talking to a friend, she asked about how Christmas went. And she talked about Carter. Cue the tears. But when they stopped, I didn't feel quite the sense of despair that I usually do. The evening went on, and I was still able to function.
I have no disillusions that this is the end of the period of horrible grief. Who knows what tomorrow will bring. But I feel like I got a glimpse into 'someday'. Someday when there are more good days than bad. I almost feel like I should feel guilty for having a good day. But I don't - I know that Livie and Shawn need me to have good days. And to be honest, it was kind of a relief for me. One day when I didn't feel like I was going crazy.
*I changed her name to make me feel less guilty about writing about her.
If you're going through hell, keep going. ~Winston Churchill
Monday, December 26, 2011
The day after
My Dearest Carter,
Merry Christmas! I hope that your first Christmas in Heaven was as grand as could be. We have been missing you here - our Christmas this year was not the one we had been planning and dreaming of.
Livie and I spent many evenings this month trying to get Christmas shopping done. I thought about you the whole time - Christmas shopping this year was supposed to be our date together. We were going to spend our maternity leave out and about - enjoying the sights and sounds of the season. Instead, Liv and I rushed through stores as quickly as I could coax her in and out of them.
On one of our trips, we bought a toy that we thought you would have liked. The plan was to donate it to a little boy that didn't have any presents for Christmas. On the morning that we were going to drop it off, your sister cried and cried. She didn't want to give up the toy that she had picked out for you. After lots of explaining and lots of tears, Liv eventually agreed to leave it at the toy drop-off at daycare. She checked on it daily until the toys were taken away.
I wish that you could have gone with us to see Santa this year. Livie wore a different dress than I had originally planned on. I had an outfit for you that I picked out to go with her Christmas dress - you two would have been so cute in matching outfits on Santa's lap. I just couldn't send her in her outfit without you in yours, so she wore a friend's Christmas dress instead.
She was SO excited to see Santa this year - she genuinely believes that he works magic. Livie greeted Santa with a huge hug and a smile that lit up the room. He asked her what she wanted for Christmas, and in a shy, quiet voice she answered, "a healthy baby". Santa looked confused, and I was too far away to explain. He tried to clarify - "you want a baby doll?". Livie's face fell a bit and she nodded in agreement. Yes, a baby doll would be fine. She added on a request for some play food and was soon ushered off of Santa's lap so the next child could have a turn.
I am not sure who all heard her original request. But those words - "a healthy baby" - hung in the air for what seemed like an eternity to me. She misses you as much as we do. Perhaps that is why your cake is still hanging around on our counter. It has some battles wounds, but is hanging in there.
Keeping up with tradition, we decorated a gingerbread house (to feed to Santa's reindeer of course). I had pictured you snuggled up to me in a sling as we decorated this year. Our gingerbread house didn't turn out nearly as nice this year as it did last year.
I guess my heart just wasn't in it. Besides, it kept falling apart until we eventually gave up keeping it together. Thankfully, Clifford the Elf used some of his late-night-magical-hot-glue to fix it for us.
We went to church on Christmas Eve, and then to great grandma Pat's for dinner. But you know that. You were there.
On Christmas Eve, we set the gingerbread house out for the reindeer, and filled the living room with presents. Yours are still tucked safely away in the basement.
I stayed up late that night, looking at your ornaments on the Christmas tree, and wishing that you could be here to celebrate with us in the morning. Some of my favorite memories of Christmas 2008 are from being up in the middle night. Livie and I would snuggle in the living room with only the glow and twinkling of the Christmas tree for light. Those late night nursing sessions were so peaceful, I had been looking forward to the same with you. Instead, I just stared at the tree and cried. You are so missed.
Christmas morning was a success. After a quick snuggle with mom and dad, Liv raced to the living room to check out her gifts.
She was stopped in her tracks by the "marble game" that Santa brought her. Unfortunately, Santa had forgotten to check and make sure that the game actually came with marbles. Thank goodness for leftover Halloween candy (Gobstoppers to the rescue!)
As the day went on, Livie dug into her presents more and more - her favorites seem to be the marble game and scooter, both from Santa. She didn't notice that Santa didn't bring her a doll - guess that isn't what she wanted after all. She did however, notice that you weren't there. At one point she told me, "I love our family - mom, dad, me and Carter - that is who makes up our family! You can't forget Carter. He is part of our family!" (I think she was a bit miffed that you didn't have presents under the tree)
You did however, have a stocking. Livie informed me awhile ago that it was her job as sister, to check your stocking for you. I am glad she told me that, so I could make sure that your stocking was full.
She loves the monkey tooth brush that she found inside, and the monkey bookmark is growing on her. It is currently marking the spot in her Madeline book where she pressed a flower from your funeral.
Christmas Day after dinner, we had cupcakes and sang "Happy Birthday" to baby Jesus. Livie was quite excited for you that you got to attend His 'real' birthday party. She is wondering if there was a piñata at the party?
Liv played hard all day yesterday with all of her new things. This morning though, I found her playing with all of your things. From the moment she realized that you were coming, she would insist on visiting the "baby aisle" of whatever store we happened to visit. Oftentimes, I would let her talk me into a new rattle or small toy for you. Each purchase was put into the baskets of toys tucked into the shelves of the entertainment center in the living room . The baskets are over flowing at this point. Your sister was meticulously going through each toy. Taking it out of the basket, looking it over and trying it out.
She was talking in a whisper so quiet I could barely hear her, but occasionally I would pick-up her narration as to how the toy works. "you push this button for music" - "this shakes when you bite on it". Was she talking to herself, or to you? When she was finished, she carefully picked up all of your toys and tucked them away again.
Before I go, I thought you might want to see all of your Christmas ornaments.
Livie saw this curious george monkey, and insisted it had to be yours:
I found this snowbabies angel ornament, to match the snowbabies ornament Liv got when she was born:
And finally, this ornament was a gift from 'Dinner Grandma':
We survived our first Christmas without you. I hope that yours was full of much more Joy than mine was.
Wish you were here,
Mom
Merry Christmas! I hope that your first Christmas in Heaven was as grand as could be. We have been missing you here - our Christmas this year was not the one we had been planning and dreaming of.
Livie and I spent many evenings this month trying to get Christmas shopping done. I thought about you the whole time - Christmas shopping this year was supposed to be our date together. We were going to spend our maternity leave out and about - enjoying the sights and sounds of the season. Instead, Liv and I rushed through stores as quickly as I could coax her in and out of them.
On one of our trips, we bought a toy that we thought you would have liked. The plan was to donate it to a little boy that didn't have any presents for Christmas. On the morning that we were going to drop it off, your sister cried and cried. She didn't want to give up the toy that she had picked out for you. After lots of explaining and lots of tears, Liv eventually agreed to leave it at the toy drop-off at daycare. She checked on it daily until the toys were taken away.
I wish that you could have gone with us to see Santa this year. Livie wore a different dress than I had originally planned on. I had an outfit for you that I picked out to go with her Christmas dress - you two would have been so cute in matching outfits on Santa's lap. I just couldn't send her in her outfit without you in yours, so she wore a friend's Christmas dress instead.
She was SO excited to see Santa this year - she genuinely believes that he works magic. Livie greeted Santa with a huge hug and a smile that lit up the room. He asked her what she wanted for Christmas, and in a shy, quiet voice she answered, "a healthy baby". Santa looked confused, and I was too far away to explain. He tried to clarify - "you want a baby doll?". Livie's face fell a bit and she nodded in agreement. Yes, a baby doll would be fine. She added on a request for some play food and was soon ushered off of Santa's lap so the next child could have a turn.
I am not sure who all heard her original request. But those words - "a healthy baby" - hung in the air for what seemed like an eternity to me. She misses you as much as we do. Perhaps that is why your cake is still hanging around on our counter. It has some battles wounds, but is hanging in there.
Keeping up with tradition, we decorated a gingerbread house (to feed to Santa's reindeer of course). I had pictured you snuggled up to me in a sling as we decorated this year. Our gingerbread house didn't turn out nearly as nice this year as it did last year.
I guess my heart just wasn't in it. Besides, it kept falling apart until we eventually gave up keeping it together. Thankfully, Clifford the Elf used some of his late-night-magical-hot-glue to fix it for us.
We went to church on Christmas Eve, and then to great grandma Pat's for dinner. But you know that. You were there.
On Christmas Eve, we set the gingerbread house out for the reindeer, and filled the living room with presents. Yours are still tucked safely away in the basement.
I stayed up late that night, looking at your ornaments on the Christmas tree, and wishing that you could be here to celebrate with us in the morning. Some of my favorite memories of Christmas 2008 are from being up in the middle night. Livie and I would snuggle in the living room with only the glow and twinkling of the Christmas tree for light. Those late night nursing sessions were so peaceful, I had been looking forward to the same with you. Instead, I just stared at the tree and cried. You are so missed.
Christmas morning was a success. After a quick snuggle with mom and dad, Liv raced to the living room to check out her gifts.
She was stopped in her tracks by the "marble game" that Santa brought her. Unfortunately, Santa had forgotten to check and make sure that the game actually came with marbles. Thank goodness for leftover Halloween candy (Gobstoppers to the rescue!)
As the day went on, Livie dug into her presents more and more - her favorites seem to be the marble game and scooter, both from Santa. She didn't notice that Santa didn't bring her a doll - guess that isn't what she wanted after all. She did however, notice that you weren't there. At one point she told me, "I love our family - mom, dad, me and Carter - that is who makes up our family! You can't forget Carter. He is part of our family!" (I think she was a bit miffed that you didn't have presents under the tree)
You did however, have a stocking. Livie informed me awhile ago that it was her job as sister, to check your stocking for you. I am glad she told me that, so I could make sure that your stocking was full.
She loves the monkey tooth brush that she found inside, and the monkey bookmark is growing on her. It is currently marking the spot in her Madeline book where she pressed a flower from your funeral.
Christmas Day after dinner, we had cupcakes and sang "Happy Birthday" to baby Jesus. Livie was quite excited for you that you got to attend His 'real' birthday party. She is wondering if there was a piñata at the party?
Liv played hard all day yesterday with all of her new things. This morning though, I found her playing with all of your things. From the moment she realized that you were coming, she would insist on visiting the "baby aisle" of whatever store we happened to visit. Oftentimes, I would let her talk me into a new rattle or small toy for you. Each purchase was put into the baskets of toys tucked into the shelves of the entertainment center in the living room . The baskets are over flowing at this point. Your sister was meticulously going through each toy. Taking it out of the basket, looking it over and trying it out.
She was talking in a whisper so quiet I could barely hear her, but occasionally I would pick-up her narration as to how the toy works. "you push this button for music" - "this shakes when you bite on it". Was she talking to herself, or to you? When she was finished, she carefully picked up all of your toys and tucked them away again.
Before I go, I thought you might want to see all of your Christmas ornaments.
Livie saw this curious george monkey, and insisted it had to be yours:
I found this snowbabies angel ornament, to match the snowbabies ornament Liv got when she was born:
And finally, this ornament was a gift from 'Dinner Grandma':
We survived our first Christmas without you. I hope that yours was full of much more Joy than mine was.
Wish you were here,
Mom
Thursday, December 22, 2011
It could always be worse
I had a rough day at work today. I seem to be in a stretch of bad days, which is making me extra sensitive to everything. There is no need to rehash the details, but I got my feelings hurt big time at work today. To the point that I spent 30 min. at lunch crying in my car. Normally I would have been able to brush it off, but not today.
I was feeling quite broken-hearted and sorry for myself on the way home from work. I am pretty sure that I cried all the way to daycare. I have been feeling sorry for myself a lot lately.
Then, I got to daycare and watched a teacher have a run in with a parent. The parent was throwing a fit. I have seen this parent 2 other times. Both of those times she was also throwing a fit. Today's issue? Her preschool-aged daughter who still wears diapers had a BM blow-out, soiling her clothes. The child did not have a change of clothes in her locker (which is required) so the teacher located a spare set and changed the girl. The mother walked in the door and started complaining before even hearing what happened - "Why is my daughter not wearing the clothes I sent her in?!?!? Where are her clothes?!?!?" (for the record, they were bagged and in the girl's locker). The teacher in the room at the time is new, so on our way out I grabbed another teacher to go back-up the new one. Rumor has it that the mom's fit lasted quite awhile.
I am not sure what is wrong in that mom's life, but she is angry at the world. I don't want to end up like her.
On the way home from daycare I started thinking that maybe my day wasn't so bad after all - at least I didn't get yelled at for doing the right thing. (would the mom have preferred that her daughter not be changed, or left to play naked?)
And then I got home, and my in-box confirmed that my day truly wasn't a bad day. Waiting for me was an update from a friend of a friend. I have been in touch with her since her husband was diagnosed with a brain tumor about 7 weeks ago. Surgery was 6 weeks ago and the tumor is already growing back. And quickly. All they can do now is radiation and chemotherapy to buy time.
Bad things happen, and it sucks. And we have had our share of bad things this year. But that update forced me to realize that things could always be worse. Six months out and Shawn is doing great. My pulmonary embolism was caught in time. I have an amazing little girl (who is snuggled next to me on the couch since I couldn't bear to send her to bed). We have a warm home and cupboards full of food (or at least they would be if I got my butt to the grocery store). Then there is Carter. I am thankful for the 36 weeks and 4 days that I had with him. Though I can't help but wish I had more time. It seems so unfair. But as we all know, life isn't fair.
A friend lost her firstborn son to a heart defect four and a half years ago. This blog post of hers really struck a chord with me - Why not me. I think it will be awhile before I can be at the same point of acceptance that she is. But it is something to work for. For now, I can accept that I do have things to be thankful for and that it could always be worse.
And with that, I am putting on my brave face and heading into the holiday weekend. Clifford the Elf has done a fine job of keeping up Liv's holiday cheer, but he moves back to Santa on Saturday, so Sunday is all on us.
I was feeling quite broken-hearted and sorry for myself on the way home from work. I am pretty sure that I cried all the way to daycare. I have been feeling sorry for myself a lot lately.
Then, I got to daycare and watched a teacher have a run in with a parent. The parent was throwing a fit. I have seen this parent 2 other times. Both of those times she was also throwing a fit. Today's issue? Her preschool-aged daughter who still wears diapers had a BM blow-out, soiling her clothes. The child did not have a change of clothes in her locker (which is required) so the teacher located a spare set and changed the girl. The mother walked in the door and started complaining before even hearing what happened - "Why is my daughter not wearing the clothes I sent her in?!?!? Where are her clothes?!?!?" (for the record, they were bagged and in the girl's locker). The teacher in the room at the time is new, so on our way out I grabbed another teacher to go back-up the new one. Rumor has it that the mom's fit lasted quite awhile.
I am not sure what is wrong in that mom's life, but she is angry at the world. I don't want to end up like her.
On the way home from daycare I started thinking that maybe my day wasn't so bad after all - at least I didn't get yelled at for doing the right thing. (would the mom have preferred that her daughter not be changed, or left to play naked?)
And then I got home, and my in-box confirmed that my day truly wasn't a bad day. Waiting for me was an update from a friend of a friend. I have been in touch with her since her husband was diagnosed with a brain tumor about 7 weeks ago. Surgery was 6 weeks ago and the tumor is already growing back. And quickly. All they can do now is radiation and chemotherapy to buy time.
Bad things happen, and it sucks. And we have had our share of bad things this year. But that update forced me to realize that things could always be worse. Six months out and Shawn is doing great. My pulmonary embolism was caught in time. I have an amazing little girl (who is snuggled next to me on the couch since I couldn't bear to send her to bed). We have a warm home and cupboards full of food (or at least they would be if I got my butt to the grocery store). Then there is Carter. I am thankful for the 36 weeks and 4 days that I had with him. Though I can't help but wish I had more time. It seems so unfair. But as we all know, life isn't fair.
A friend lost her firstborn son to a heart defect four and a half years ago. This blog post of hers really struck a chord with me - Why not me. I think it will be awhile before I can be at the same point of acceptance that she is. But it is something to work for. For now, I can accept that I do have things to be thankful for and that it could always be worse.
And with that, I am putting on my brave face and heading into the holiday weekend. Clifford the Elf has done a fine job of keeping up Liv's holiday cheer, but he moves back to Santa on Saturday, so Sunday is all on us.
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
It all arrived
Everything that I have been waiting on finally arrived.
Several people encouraged me to contact the etsy seller that I ordered Carter's stocking from and let her know why I was so anxious to receive it. So, I sent her a link to my blog and she overnighted the stocking to me that day. I shouldn't have to make people feel badly in order to get them to do the right thing, but in this case, I don't feel the least bit guilty. We have Carter's stocking and Livie was so excited about it. Our family stockings look much more complete with four stockings instead of just three.
And then there are the pictures. The Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep images arrived on Monday. I have been looking forward to and dreading their arrival since the day they were taken. Our photographer provided us with way more images than I ever dreamed she would. She was also kind enough to give me edited and unedited versions of everything. I am so, so grateful for the time she gave to our family.
Looking at the images is hard. In some of them, Carter looks just like a sleeping baby. In others, he looks very much dead. Those are the hardest to look at. His little body doesn't scrunch up the way a newborn's should. The thing that strikes me the most are his eyes. They are never open - not even a crack. Of course I knew that they wouldn't be. I never saw his eyes - so why would they be in the pictures? Why is it so surprising to me that they aren't open? I don't forget the pain of his absence, not even for a second, so why do I catch myself thinking that "maybe something has changed?" Nothing is going to change. He isn't coming back.
It reminds me of being in the hospital, and the nurses encouraging us to spend as much time with him as we wanted, and to do everything we wanted before leaving. After all, it was our only chance to do so. There wouldn't be do-overs. As they would list out things to think about - "Do you want to cut his hair?" - "Do you want to bathe him" - I kept thinking to myself, "Oh! I would like to try to nurse him!" Obviously that wouldn't be possible, but it is where my mind kept going. Like something was going to change since the last time I thought it.
Receiving the pictures feels as final as I expected it to. Nothing is going to change - this is my new reality.
I am probably going to keep many more of the NILMDTS images private than I expected to. At least for now. But here is one that seems to fit how I am feeling. Not the most flattering, but it portrays exactly what I was feeling then and now.
Tomorrow I am spending the day with new clients and prospective clients. Tonight I am feeling exceptionally broken. Looking through the pictures is a roller coaster of emotions, and I hope I can get off of the ride before tomorrow, or I am going to be looking at a very long day.
(I saw that on a friend's Facebook status today - one of those "post this as your status if..." I have a personal rule not to repost those annoying viral statuses, but this one hit too close to home not to share, so I brought it here instead)
Several people encouraged me to contact the etsy seller that I ordered Carter's stocking from and let her know why I was so anxious to receive it. So, I sent her a link to my blog and she overnighted the stocking to me that day. I shouldn't have to make people feel badly in order to get them to do the right thing, but in this case, I don't feel the least bit guilty. We have Carter's stocking and Livie was so excited about it. Our family stockings look much more complete with four stockings instead of just three.
And then there are the pictures. The Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep images arrived on Monday. I have been looking forward to and dreading their arrival since the day they were taken. Our photographer provided us with way more images than I ever dreamed she would. She was also kind enough to give me edited and unedited versions of everything. I am so, so grateful for the time she gave to our family.
Looking at the images is hard. In some of them, Carter looks just like a sleeping baby. In others, he looks very much dead. Those are the hardest to look at. His little body doesn't scrunch up the way a newborn's should. The thing that strikes me the most are his eyes. They are never open - not even a crack. Of course I knew that they wouldn't be. I never saw his eyes - so why would they be in the pictures? Why is it so surprising to me that they aren't open? I don't forget the pain of his absence, not even for a second, so why do I catch myself thinking that "maybe something has changed?" Nothing is going to change. He isn't coming back.
It reminds me of being in the hospital, and the nurses encouraging us to spend as much time with him as we wanted, and to do everything we wanted before leaving. After all, it was our only chance to do so. There wouldn't be do-overs. As they would list out things to think about - "Do you want to cut his hair?" - "Do you want to bathe him" - I kept thinking to myself, "Oh! I would like to try to nurse him!" Obviously that wouldn't be possible, but it is where my mind kept going. Like something was going to change since the last time I thought it.
Receiving the pictures feels as final as I expected it to. Nothing is going to change - this is my new reality.
I am probably going to keep many more of the NILMDTS images private than I expected to. At least for now. But here is one that seems to fit how I am feeling. Not the most flattering, but it portrays exactly what I was feeling then and now.
Tomorrow I am spending the day with new clients and prospective clients. Tonight I am feeling exceptionally broken. Looking through the pictures is a roller coaster of emotions, and I hope I can get off of the ride before tomorrow, or I am going to be looking at a very long day.
"I thought of you today, but that is nothing new. I thought of you yesterday, and the days before that too. I think of you in silence, I often speak your name. All I have are memories and a pictures in a frame. Your memory is a keepsake, from which I'll never part. God has you in His arms, I have you in my heart"
(I saw that on a friend's Facebook status today - one of those "post this as your status if..." I have a personal rule not to repost those annoying viral statuses, but this one hit too close to home not to share, so I brought it here instead)
Sunday, December 18, 2011
Signs
On Thursday, a friend asked if I had ever seen a ghost (I haven't) and the conversation eventually turned to 'signs'. My only contribution to the conversation was a comment that every night I pray for the chance to see Carter in my dreams, but it never happens.
I am not sure what I think about signs, or the thought that loved ones who have passed can communicate with us from Heaven. After all, I was always taught that Heaven isn't about us, but about God.
But, I do know that I have a set of snowflake pictures that I can't explain. And, I know that I had a very interesting night Thursday night.
After getting home from work on Thursday, I started getting a horrible stomach ache. By the time I went to bed at 11:00, I was curled up in a ball with one of the worst stomach aches of my life. At the time, I compared it to the feeling I had when I went into labor with Carter.
I woke up a couple hours later - at the exact same time I woke up the night I went into labor with Carter. I couldn't sleep, so I got out of bed and curled up with the Internet in our living room. My stomach was in a knot and I had pain shooting through my lower back. As I debated calling my doctor, I thought I heard something. But it had to have been just Shawn and Livie who were both snoring away in their respective beds.
Then, there it was again - a jingle bell. I looked over at the Christmas tree, and it was ever so slightly rocking back and forth (like the after effect of someone having bumped it). All the ornaments were swaying and one of them fell off.
We have no pets. No drafts or anything else. I could not figure out what caused it.
Shortly thereafter my stomach ache faded and I went back to bed.
I didn't think too much of the mysterious falling ornament until I was picking up last night (yes, I left it laying under the tree for two days). I remember Liv hanging the ornament on the tree when we decorated, but I have no idea where we got it or who it was from. When I lifted the ornament I saw what was written on the front - "Most Loved Mom"
I'll admit that I cried when I read it.
I am still not sure what I believe about signs, but I can't explain Thursday night.
I am not sure what I think about signs, or the thought that loved ones who have passed can communicate with us from Heaven. After all, I was always taught that Heaven isn't about us, but about God.
But, I do know that I have a set of snowflake pictures that I can't explain. And, I know that I had a very interesting night Thursday night.
After getting home from work on Thursday, I started getting a horrible stomach ache. By the time I went to bed at 11:00, I was curled up in a ball with one of the worst stomach aches of my life. At the time, I compared it to the feeling I had when I went into labor with Carter.
I woke up a couple hours later - at the exact same time I woke up the night I went into labor with Carter. I couldn't sleep, so I got out of bed and curled up with the Internet in our living room. My stomach was in a knot and I had pain shooting through my lower back. As I debated calling my doctor, I thought I heard something. But it had to have been just Shawn and Livie who were both snoring away in their respective beds.
Then, there it was again - a jingle bell. I looked over at the Christmas tree, and it was ever so slightly rocking back and forth (like the after effect of someone having bumped it). All the ornaments were swaying and one of them fell off.
We have no pets. No drafts or anything else. I could not figure out what caused it.
Shortly thereafter my stomach ache faded and I went back to bed.
I didn't think too much of the mysterious falling ornament until I was picking up last night (yes, I left it laying under the tree for two days). I remember Liv hanging the ornament on the tree when we decorated, but I have no idea where we got it or who it was from. When I lifted the ornament I saw what was written on the front - "Most Loved Mom"
I'll admit that I cried when I read it.
I am still not sure what I believe about signs, but I can't explain Thursday night.
Saturday, December 17, 2011
Normal
Oftentimes in my job (it no longer feels like a career, just a job) I need to discuss confidential and sensitive information with clients. This usually involves one on one meetings behind closed doors.
This past week I was out at a client's office. One of my favorite clients, I have worked with them for years and the staff is full of genuinely nice people. It is for that reason that I avoided those confidential discussions. I had a list of tasks to accomplish for the week, and I left the conversations until the very end.
With only an hour left in my week, I bit the bullet and headed off behind closed doors. The first person I met with knew what I was wanting to discuss. Though they are confidential, these mystery conversations are generally fairly routine. But, this time, it was anything but normal.
No sooner had I closed the door, than the woman I was going to talk to started crying. She asked how I was doing, how my husband was doing, she expressed her sympathy and told me that she cried when she heard the news. I couldn't take it anymore and started crying myself. And not just a couple leaked tears, but outright sobbing. We never did get to the purpose for my visit to her office.
I do appreciate her bringing up Carter. Much better than pretending I was gone on an extended vacation.
At least my first time is over. I cried at a client and lived to tell about it.
But I learned that breaking the seal isn't necessarily a good thing. I couldn't keep my act together for the rest of the day. I had done fairly well during the week - keeping things professional and focusing on something other than Carter. But tears have a way of changing things. The rest of the day was spent trying not to lose it in front of my staff.
I feel like I don't know what normal is anymore. I go through my days at work - talking to co-workers, joking around and offering my opinion when asked (and sometimes when I'm not). But it all feels like an act. Like I don't know how to be myself. I am not at all comfortable and it is exhausting. Trying to keep it together during the work day means I come home and have a lot of ...sadness... to let out. It leaves me barely able to function, which isn't fair to Livie or Shawn. I am just not sure how to go about living my new life.
This past week I was out at a client's office. One of my favorite clients, I have worked with them for years and the staff is full of genuinely nice people. It is for that reason that I avoided those confidential discussions. I had a list of tasks to accomplish for the week, and I left the conversations until the very end.
With only an hour left in my week, I bit the bullet and headed off behind closed doors. The first person I met with knew what I was wanting to discuss. Though they are confidential, these mystery conversations are generally fairly routine. But, this time, it was anything but normal.
No sooner had I closed the door, than the woman I was going to talk to started crying. She asked how I was doing, how my husband was doing, she expressed her sympathy and told me that she cried when she heard the news. I couldn't take it anymore and started crying myself. And not just a couple leaked tears, but outright sobbing. We never did get to the purpose for my visit to her office.
I do appreciate her bringing up Carter. Much better than pretending I was gone on an extended vacation.
At least my first time is over. I cried at a client and lived to tell about it.
But I learned that breaking the seal isn't necessarily a good thing. I couldn't keep my act together for the rest of the day. I had done fairly well during the week - keeping things professional and focusing on something other than Carter. But tears have a way of changing things. The rest of the day was spent trying not to lose it in front of my staff.
I feel like I don't know what normal is anymore. I go through my days at work - talking to co-workers, joking around and offering my opinion when asked (and sometimes when I'm not). But it all feels like an act. Like I don't know how to be myself. I am not at all comfortable and it is exhausting. Trying to keep it together during the work day means I come home and have a lot of ...sadness... to let out. It leaves me barely able to function, which isn't fair to Livie or Shawn. I am just not sure how to go about living my new life.
There are things that we don't want to happen but have to accept, things we don't want to know but have to learn, and people we can't live without but have to let go. ~Author Unknown
Saturday, December 10, 2011
Flashbacks
"Mom, do you remember when I threw up right there?" Olivia asked me, pointing to a stain on the carpet. She continues on, remembering (in sequence of occurrences) all the places she threw up blueberries on our white carpet a couple weeks ago. I was nodding along with her as she narrated the story of her sickness, when suddenly I remembered. The memory of the last time I threw up came flooding back to me.
Laying in the hospital bed before delivery, at some point it hit me. My son was dead. The thought was so heart wrenching that I couldn't stop myself from throwing up. I had forgotten about that, but in an instant I remember as if it had happened 5 minutes ago.
The night of Carter's birth, everything happened so fast, and so slow at the same time. I remember his birth so vividly, but the hours between arriving at the hospital and delivery are spotty, as is the rest of our stay.
Little tidbits of those 36 hours come back to me when I least expect them. Snapping a picture of Livie on my phone a couple of days ago, I realized that there were pictures of Carter on my phone.
His pictures, taken shortly after birth, stopped me in my tracks. Carter? On my phone? How did they get there? And then I remembered. I still hadn't realized that we would have a whole day with him, and I wanted to make sure I had a picture of him. So I asked for my phone, the only camera I had, and handed it off to have pictures taken.
I dread the day when I am in a client's office and something, seemingly innocent, brings back a memory from that day. I won't be able to stop the tears.
I am amazed at the ways grief can manifest itself. I am exhausted, and my whole body aches. Little things become huge ordeals and I have no patience. And even when I laugh and smile and try to move on, the grief is right there, just below the surface, waiting to rise up and make itself known.
Many times over the past seven months I have been told how strong I am. And while I know it is said with the best of intentions, to be honest, I am sick of hearing it. I am not strong. I am heartbroken and vulnerable and weak. When I was pregnant with a sick husband and a two year old, I carried on because I had to. And there were (many) times I could have done better than I did. But I moved forward, just like anyone else would have.
And then, when October 18th came and went, I most definitely wasn't strong. I keep moving forward because I have to. There is no choice. This isn't a path I chose.
Taking the words of a good friend: I am not strong, I am trying to learn how to live with a piece of my soul missing.
In the spirit of moving forward, we decorated for Christmas today. Without a stocking for Carter.
And so, just like that, it's gone:
Laying in the hospital bed before delivery, at some point it hit me. My son was dead. The thought was so heart wrenching that I couldn't stop myself from throwing up. I had forgotten about that, but in an instant I remember as if it had happened 5 minutes ago.
The night of Carter's birth, everything happened so fast, and so slow at the same time. I remember his birth so vividly, but the hours between arriving at the hospital and delivery are spotty, as is the rest of our stay.
Little tidbits of those 36 hours come back to me when I least expect them. Snapping a picture of Livie on my phone a couple of days ago, I realized that there were pictures of Carter on my phone.
His pictures, taken shortly after birth, stopped me in my tracks. Carter? On my phone? How did they get there? And then I remembered. I still hadn't realized that we would have a whole day with him, and I wanted to make sure I had a picture of him. So I asked for my phone, the only camera I had, and handed it off to have pictures taken.
I dread the day when I am in a client's office and something, seemingly innocent, brings back a memory from that day. I won't be able to stop the tears.
I am amazed at the ways grief can manifest itself. I am exhausted, and my whole body aches. Little things become huge ordeals and I have no patience. And even when I laugh and smile and try to move on, the grief is right there, just below the surface, waiting to rise up and make itself known.
Many times over the past seven months I have been told how strong I am. And while I know it is said with the best of intentions, to be honest, I am sick of hearing it. I am not strong. I am heartbroken and vulnerable and weak. When I was pregnant with a sick husband and a two year old, I carried on because I had to. And there were (many) times I could have done better than I did. But I moved forward, just like anyone else would have.
And then, when October 18th came and went, I most definitely wasn't strong. I keep moving forward because I have to. There is no choice. This isn't a path I chose.
Taking the words of a good friend: I am not strong, I am trying to learn how to live with a piece of my soul missing.
In the spirit of moving forward, we decorated for Christmas today. Without a stocking for Carter.
And so, just like that, it's gone:
Friday, December 9, 2011
Merry Christmas Livie (and Carter)
Happy Belated St. Nick's day! In our house, we set out our shoes on December 5th before bed, and St. Nick brings Christmas jammies during the night. It was quite a debate, but in the end Livie picked her pink sparkle shoes to leave out. Our little bird is now the proud new owner of silky pink Christmas pajamas. She didn't ask about setting Carter's shoes out. If she had, I would have let her - I already have his Christmas pajamas.
I have been really struggling how to incorporate Carter into our family Christmas this year. We were expecting him to be here with us - Santa was supposed to bring toys for two kids this year. How do I find the balance of making the season special for Liv, but still including her brother? What do I do with his Christmas jammies? And the presents I already bought him? I miss him so much, I'm not ready to part with his things.
Our Christmas tree still isn't up, either are the Christmas lights. I bought Carter a stocking on etsy - I just couldn't not have one for him. The seller had some poor feedback recently, but the stocking was absolutely perfect so I took a chance on her. And of course, there is no sign of the stocking arriving any time soon. I'm not sure if I can bring myself to hang the other stockings without Carter's. Isn't it perfect?
I hope it arrives eventually. The seller promised she would ship it by the 5th but won't respond to my message asking for confirmation that she sent it. I am so ridiculously anxious over a silly stocking. I try to remind myself that it is just some cloth. And that I can't worry myself over it - I have a living child that I need to focus on. I don't want her to think back and remember (and believe me - she remembers everything) Christmas as a time of tears. I don't want to steal her magic.
Livie was super excited when she saw Clifford's snowflake. She told me she wanted to hang it in the window so Carter could look down and see it. I wish everything was as simple as Livie makes it out to be.
I have been really struggling how to incorporate Carter into our family Christmas this year. We were expecting him to be here with us - Santa was supposed to bring toys for two kids this year. How do I find the balance of making the season special for Liv, but still including her brother? What do I do with his Christmas jammies? And the presents I already bought him? I miss him so much, I'm not ready to part with his things.
Our Christmas tree still isn't up, either are the Christmas lights. I bought Carter a stocking on etsy - I just couldn't not have one for him. The seller had some poor feedback recently, but the stocking was absolutely perfect so I took a chance on her. And of course, there is no sign of the stocking arriving any time soon. I'm not sure if I can bring myself to hang the other stockings without Carter's. Isn't it perfect?
I hope it arrives eventually. The seller promised she would ship it by the 5th but won't respond to my message asking for confirmation that she sent it. I am so ridiculously anxious over a silly stocking. I try to remind myself that it is just some cloth. And that I can't worry myself over it - I have a living child that I need to focus on. I don't want her to think back and remember (and believe me - she remembers everything) Christmas as a time of tears. I don't want to steal her magic.
I may have forgotten to move him one night (thankfully I noticed before Livie did) but I am really trying to keep Clifford the elf exciting for Livie. At least it is something special for her right now. Last night he brought her a ginger bread house kit that we will put together as a family this weekend. And a couple nights ago he got into the arts and crafts and made himself a snowflake.
Livie was super excited when she saw Clifford's snowflake. She told me she wanted to hang it in the window so Carter could look down and see it. I wish everything was as simple as Livie makes it out to be.
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
My first day
I remember August 15, 2005 quite vividly. It was my first day working at my firm. I started the day sitting outside in my car for as long as I could, gathering myself for the day ahead of me. It was a long day. Sitting in my new cube, I remember looking around at the grey walls and asking myself, "Do I belong here?". Wondering if I would ever fit in. Walking to the break room, I would pass my new co-workers who walked around like they were in their home, chit-chatting with each other and joking around. Everyone was comfortable there. For me, it was a strange new place and I felt like I had a huge arrow above my head that pointed at me screaming "I am new" - I felt so out of place.
At some point, I stopped sneaking in the back door. I would go in the front door so I could say good morning to the receptionist - turned out that she was pretty cool. I found myself making friends. Good friends. Before I knew it, the firm felt like home to me too.
Today though, today felt like August 15, 2005 all over again. I stayed in my car for awhile this morning. I was tempted to go in through the back door (but I sucked it up and went in the front door). I was uncomfortable all day. The only difference was that the huge arrow above my head said, "Fragile". People weren't sure what to say to me. Those that I am close with stopped in to say hi, but weren't always sure what to say beyond that, and either was I. The "new people" that started while I was gone seemed to know exactly who I was - they avoided eye contact at all costs. Only one person acknowledged the reason I had been gone. And I appreciate her for that so much.
Normally when someone comes back from maternity leave, we all go out to lunch and for those that haven't already heard the story, the new mom shares the story of her labor and delivery. All those personal details that suddenly don't seem so personal after you become a mom and want to share your story with other moms. We went out to lunch today, but no one asked about my labor or delivery with Carter. I imagine people have questions, considering that our Caring Bridge page provided very few details about what exactly happened, but no one asked their questions.
We will see what tomorrow brings, but at least I survived today.
At some point, I stopped sneaking in the back door. I would go in the front door so I could say good morning to the receptionist - turned out that she was pretty cool. I found myself making friends. Good friends. Before I knew it, the firm felt like home to me too.
Today though, today felt like August 15, 2005 all over again. I stayed in my car for awhile this morning. I was tempted to go in through the back door (but I sucked it up and went in the front door). I was uncomfortable all day. The only difference was that the huge arrow above my head said, "Fragile". People weren't sure what to say to me. Those that I am close with stopped in to say hi, but weren't always sure what to say beyond that, and either was I. The "new people" that started while I was gone seemed to know exactly who I was - they avoided eye contact at all costs. Only one person acknowledged the reason I had been gone. And I appreciate her for that so much.
Normally when someone comes back from maternity leave, we all go out to lunch and for those that haven't already heard the story, the new mom shares the story of her labor and delivery. All those personal details that suddenly don't seem so personal after you become a mom and want to share your story with other moms. We went out to lunch today, but no one asked about my labor or delivery with Carter. I imagine people have questions, considering that our Caring Bridge page provided very few details about what exactly happened, but no one asked their questions.
We will see what tomorrow brings, but at least I survived today.
Monday, December 5, 2011
MRI Day
I avoid writing about Shawn, because his business is his business, not mine to share. But today he gets his own post.
His neurosurgeon "Couldn't be happier about how the MRI looks"
That means no new growth. No signs of any tumor. At all.
It was a good day!
His neurosurgeon "Couldn't be happier about how the MRI looks"
That means no new growth. No signs of any tumor. At all.
It was a good day!
Friday, December 2, 2011
That darn elf (on a shelf)
Last year I learned about "The elf on the shelf" and boycotted the time consuming, evil looking, over-priced elf.
This year, after hearing stories from friends about how much their kids love the thing, I gave in.
I spent $30 on an elf and a book about him. Imagine my surprise when he came and I realized that I already had the darn thing.
On the left is the official elf on the shelf (Liv named him Clifford) on the right is Thumpty-Googin, a holiday tradition on my mom's side of the family that was handed down to me when Liv was a baby. So now we have two elves.
He has been mischeavious the past two nights.
Writing in toothpaste on the bathroom mirror!
Sneaking candy in the middle of the night!
Livie proclaimed this morning that she knows he is just a stuffed animal (and doesn't come alive at night like the book says) but that she loves him anyway. She wakes up in the morning so excited to see what he pulled off the night before.
I am still not thrilled with the trend, but I am trying to make this Christmas season fun for Liv (even though I'm not exactly in a Christmas mood). So, the elf is going to be making messes in our house nightly. Seriously, I PAID money to create more cleaning for myself. What was I thinking?
This year, after hearing stories from friends about how much their kids love the thing, I gave in.
I spent $30 on an elf and a book about him. Imagine my surprise when he came and I realized that I already had the darn thing.
On the left is the official elf on the shelf (Liv named him Clifford) on the right is Thumpty-Googin, a holiday tradition on my mom's side of the family that was handed down to me when Liv was a baby. So now we have two elves.
He has been mischeavious the past two nights.
Writing in toothpaste on the bathroom mirror!
I am still not thrilled with the trend, but I am trying to make this Christmas season fun for Liv (even though I'm not exactly in a Christmas mood). So, the elf is going to be making messes in our house nightly. Seriously, I PAID money to create more cleaning for myself. What was I thinking?
Thursday, December 1, 2011
More moping
Tonight as Livie was finishing up her shower, I reached into the linen closet and grabbed a towel. My hand came out holding a fluffy blue towel. Carter's towel. Not that he ever used it, but it was bought specifically for him. I thought about handing it to Liv, but I knew she would protest. So back into the closet it went. Who knows when we will use it.
After she was tucked in, I started picking up, and check out what I found.
A couple of days ago Livie asked for some blue envelopes so she could write a letter to Carter. The envelopes are full of her magnetic letters. I found them in her pretend mailbox. I wonder if she was just mimicking motions, or if in her mind she wrote a letter to him and was trying to send him something.
(To update, Liv saw them laying out in the morning, and shrieked "My Carter letters!" She licked the envelopes closed and plopped them back into her mailbox. I guess she is trying to send him something.)
This whole thing plain old sucks. The reminders of him are everywhere. I want so badly to remember him but it seems like all I remember is his stuff. The swing, the car seat, the clothes, all the things that I remember buying for him. But it is hard to remember him.
When I close my eyes I can only conjure up a couple images of him in my mind. I want to have memories and stories to tell. How can I love and miss someone so much that I never even truly got to meet?
During my pregnancy I rarely got the chance to relax. I don't have any memories of sitting down and just focusing on the baby. I try to remember a time when I just soaked up the kicks and the movement, but I can't. I was always busy and stressed and exhausted. I barely remember the pregnancy. Just snippets of a kick here or there. The lack of memories is painful.
I feel like I am grasping for straws to try and keep him in my mind. We haven't gotten the rest of his pictures back yet. I am so anxious to get them - I want to see them so badly. And at the same time it will be hard to get them, because that will be it. The last chance for a part of him.
I have been having good days and bad days. Today was definitely a bad day. I miss my son so much, it is all I can think about sometimes.
After she was tucked in, I started picking up, and check out what I found.
(To update, Liv saw them laying out in the morning, and shrieked "My Carter letters!" She licked the envelopes closed and plopped them back into her mailbox. I guess she is trying to send him something.)
This whole thing plain old sucks. The reminders of him are everywhere. I want so badly to remember him but it seems like all I remember is his stuff. The swing, the car seat, the clothes, all the things that I remember buying for him. But it is hard to remember him.
When I close my eyes I can only conjure up a couple images of him in my mind. I want to have memories and stories to tell. How can I love and miss someone so much that I never even truly got to meet?
During my pregnancy I rarely got the chance to relax. I don't have any memories of sitting down and just focusing on the baby. I try to remember a time when I just soaked up the kicks and the movement, but I can't. I was always busy and stressed and exhausted. I barely remember the pregnancy. Just snippets of a kick here or there. The lack of memories is painful.
I feel like I am grasping for straws to try and keep him in my mind. We haven't gotten the rest of his pictures back yet. I am so anxious to get them - I want to see them so badly. And at the same time it will be hard to get them, because that will be it. The last chance for a part of him.
I have been having good days and bad days. Today was definitely a bad day. I miss my son so much, it is all I can think about sometimes.
My last alone day
Today is my last alone day of my leave. Those 6 weeks went by quick. And I am not sure it was enough time, but it is what it is. I have to go back to real life at some point.
Tomorrow I will have a home day with Livie. This weekend brings birthday parties (not hers; shoot, I need to get on that...) and chores. On Monday Shawn has an MRI. Tuesday I go back to work. I won't work a full day, and I haven't yet decided when I will go in and when I will leave, but I will be there.
I am dreading Tuesday. I know that all eyes will be on me when I walk in. And I know that my co-workers will be in and out of my office all day. I have awesome co-workers, and it is not that I don't want to see or talk to them, it will just be exhausting. I know who will guard me, who will avoid me and who will ask questions that are way too personal. I am trying to come up with answers in my head to the questions that I know are coming. I will not make it through the day without tears.
More than I dread going back to work, I dread seeing my clients. For the most part, I have awesome clients too. Good and caring people, many of whom I have worked with for years. I asked that the partners notify my clients of Carter's passing. Did they? I am not sure. But every client I have to visit will be like that first day back at work all over again. I know who will cry with me, and who will not acknowledge what happened. I don't know what will be worse. After awhile, both are exhausting.
Today though, I will try to relax and prepare. I will try on my fat clothes and maybe go shopping. And I will write letters to Livie. (4th birthday, 5th birthday and 9th birthday are done on paper, and several others are written in my head)
Tomorrow I will have a home day with Livie. This weekend brings birthday parties (not hers; shoot, I need to get on that...) and chores. On Monday Shawn has an MRI. Tuesday I go back to work. I won't work a full day, and I haven't yet decided when I will go in and when I will leave, but I will be there.
I am dreading Tuesday. I know that all eyes will be on me when I walk in. And I know that my co-workers will be in and out of my office all day. I have awesome co-workers, and it is not that I don't want to see or talk to them, it will just be exhausting. I know who will guard me, who will avoid me and who will ask questions that are way too personal. I am trying to come up with answers in my head to the questions that I know are coming. I will not make it through the day without tears.
More than I dread going back to work, I dread seeing my clients. For the most part, I have awesome clients too. Good and caring people, many of whom I have worked with for years. I asked that the partners notify my clients of Carter's passing. Did they? I am not sure. But every client I have to visit will be like that first day back at work all over again. I know who will cry with me, and who will not acknowledge what happened. I don't know what will be worse. After awhile, both are exhausting.
Today though, I will try to relax and prepare. I will try on my fat clothes and maybe go shopping. And I will write letters to Livie. (4th birthday, 5th birthday and 9th birthday are done on paper, and several others are written in my head)
Before I go, check out Carter's tree - growing like a weed!
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
Letters to Livie
Bad things don't just happen to other people. They happen to us too. 2011 has done a fine job of making sure that I know this.
I have always had the intention of writing letters to Livie, so that she would have something should I not be around. It was an idea I got before she was even born, from some Lifetime movie where a little girl's mom died. But it has always been just a good intention. I have scribbled out notes here and there, but never to the extent that I intended.
When I was in the hospital with the PE, I was scared and so regretful that I hadn't written Liv her letters. The middle of the night what-ifs in a hospital are awful.
So, I now have my own tradition for Livie's birthday. Last week, I bought cards. Lots and lots of cards. From "Happy 4th Birthday" to "Congratulations on the birth of your baby" and everything in-between.
I am going to spend the coming weeks writing letters for each card. Then, every year when her birthday comes around, I intend to update the letters that need updating.
Writing to her has taken more time and made me cry more than I expected. I am hoping that by telling the Internet my plan, it will help hold me accountable. Hopefully Livie never needs to see these letters, but it brings me an odd sense of comfort to know that they will exist.
In more upbeat news, we have been busy taking down fall decorations around the house, and putting up winter ones. (Carter's swing is still sitting where the Christmas tree traditionally goes, so I have a feeling it may be awhile before the tree goes up.) We made snowflakes last night. The three of us each cut out our own snowflakes, and then Livie asked me to help her make a baby one for Carter. This morning she taped them up on the cabinets of a bench that is in our entry way.
I took these pictures all within a minute or two of each other. All with the same settings, and no flash. The lighting hitting the bench was no different for any of the doors. I retook all 4 pictures several times, trying to get the cabinets to look similar in all the pictures. Each picture turned out the same every time.
I have always had the intention of writing letters to Livie, so that she would have something should I not be around. It was an idea I got before she was even born, from some Lifetime movie where a little girl's mom died. But it has always been just a good intention. I have scribbled out notes here and there, but never to the extent that I intended.
When I was in the hospital with the PE, I was scared and so regretful that I hadn't written Liv her letters. The middle of the night what-ifs in a hospital are awful.
So, I now have my own tradition for Livie's birthday. Last week, I bought cards. Lots and lots of cards. From "Happy 4th Birthday" to "Congratulations on the birth of your baby" and everything in-between.
In more upbeat news, we have been busy taking down fall decorations around the house, and putting up winter ones. (Carter's swing is still sitting where the Christmas tree traditionally goes, so I have a feeling it may be awhile before the tree goes up.) We made snowflakes last night. The three of us each cut out our own snowflakes, and then Livie asked me to help her make a baby one for Carter. This morning she taped them up on the cabinets of a bench that is in our entry way.
I took these pictures all within a minute or two of each other. All with the same settings, and no flash. The lighting hitting the bench was no different for any of the doors. I retook all 4 pictures several times, trying to get the cabinets to look similar in all the pictures. Each picture turned out the same every time.
Monday, November 28, 2011
Thank you
I am the delivery that every midwife dreads.
I called my midwife in the middle of the night, waking her up. I could hear it in her voice that she didn't want to go to the hospital that night, yet she didn't argue when I told her that I needed to go in. Then, she arrives to find out that the baby has no heartbeat. Not what she was hoping for that shift I am sure.
I know what a bad day at work is like for me. I have to put a smile on my face and help my clients the best I can. Even the ones that are pains in the butt. There are days that I dread going to work, and projects that make me wish I could turn around and crawl back into bed. I am sure that is what my midwife was feeling that night. If not worse. (after all, my bad days rarely involve my clients crying, or having to hold dead babies)
Yet, she made sure I was taken care of. She called in support for me and sat with me when I needed her there. She reassured me through Carter's delivery and made me feel safe.
On Wednesday, I have my 6 week postpartum appointment. And I have SO many questions. I am hoping that the placenta test results will be back, and am dreading that possibility at the same time.
Wednesday morning, my midwife will come in to work and see my name on her schedule. If it were me, I would want to turn around and go home. I know I won't be her most fun appointment all day. But I am confident that she will be there when I show up. And she will take all the time I need to get my questions answered.
I don't know how to thank her, or any of the other midwives that sat with me during my days in the hospital. How do I write thank you notes relating to my son's death? Yet I want to.
So many people have been a support to me (even when it wasn't easy) and I want to make sure they know how much I appreciate it. No one wants to go to a baby's funeral, but people came. I can't thank everyone enough - I was so scared that we would plan his funeral and no one would come.
My Monday afternoon will be spent trying to write thank you notes and letters to Livie (more on that later). I am going to get through as many thank-yous as I can, and call it good. My plan is to write to groups of people - my co-workers, Shawn's co-workers, etc. People will understand if they don't get an individual thank you note, right?
I called my midwife in the middle of the night, waking her up. I could hear it in her voice that she didn't want to go to the hospital that night, yet she didn't argue when I told her that I needed to go in. Then, she arrives to find out that the baby has no heartbeat. Not what she was hoping for that shift I am sure.
I know what a bad day at work is like for me. I have to put a smile on my face and help my clients the best I can. Even the ones that are pains in the butt. There are days that I dread going to work, and projects that make me wish I could turn around and crawl back into bed. I am sure that is what my midwife was feeling that night. If not worse. (after all, my bad days rarely involve my clients crying, or having to hold dead babies)
Yet, she made sure I was taken care of. She called in support for me and sat with me when I needed her there. She reassured me through Carter's delivery and made me feel safe.
On Wednesday, I have my 6 week postpartum appointment. And I have SO many questions. I am hoping that the placenta test results will be back, and am dreading that possibility at the same time.
Wednesday morning, my midwife will come in to work and see my name on her schedule. If it were me, I would want to turn around and go home. I know I won't be her most fun appointment all day. But I am confident that she will be there when I show up. And she will take all the time I need to get my questions answered.
I don't know how to thank her, or any of the other midwives that sat with me during my days in the hospital. How do I write thank you notes relating to my son's death? Yet I want to.
So many people have been a support to me (even when it wasn't easy) and I want to make sure they know how much I appreciate it. No one wants to go to a baby's funeral, but people came. I can't thank everyone enough - I was so scared that we would plan his funeral and no one would come.
Saturday, November 26, 2011
Happy Birthday Little Bird!
I can't believe that my baby bird is 3! How did that happen?
When did she turn from this:
To this?
She has grown into such a sweet and smart little girl. We are truly blessed to have her.
If I haven't already mentioned it, Livie is a planner and control freak, just like me. She likes to know details ahead of time, and tends to plan activities for herself within the framework of what we have told her. We are working on having her communicate those plans to us ahead of time, otherwise disappointment abounds. I have learned that if I tell her we are going to the mall, I need to tell her what mall. And what she will be allowed to do there. Otherwise, a quick trip to the Mall of America will turn into 20 rides and 2 hours at the aquarium in her mind.
Yesterday, I realized that I failed my child. She has been surrounded by tears and sadness lately, and her birthday (party) has been quite built up in her mind as something fun and exciting. Only problem is - I have yet to plan said party. Everyone will tell me that it is completely understandable, blah, blah, blah. Reality is that I have been intending to call Pump it Up since August. Not the end of the world - right? There is always next month. Except for the fact that I neglected to explain to Livie that one does not always have their birthday party on the same day as their birthday.
We went to the grocery store yesterday so that Livie could pick out her birthday cake. To eat at home. With just her immediate family. Too bad she didn't know that. I was horrified when she pointed to some cupcakes, declaring those to be for her friends at her party. And a Dora cake to eat at home. Oops.
I explained that the cupcakes would wait at the store until the day of her party, and we were just going to buy her home cake. She was disappointed, but she seemed to understand. At least I thought she did.
As soon as we got home, she wanted her Dora cake's picture taken next to her Carter cake. Boots the body guard is now working double duty.
Livie fell asleep yesterday eagerly awaiting her birthday in the morning. As soon as she was down for the night, I took off for Target (Shawn was home) to buy her a birthday card. Who forgets a birthday card for a kid who is obsessed with reviewing the card options every time we go to Target? Oops. Again. Thank goodness for Black Friday and late hours at Target, or Livie would have been stuck with whatever I could have found at the grocery store.
This morning I woke up to Livie sitting next to me in bed, jabbering away. She was apparently quite excited to be 3. After some begging and pleading, Liv talked us into getting up. I had set-up all her presents in the living room the night before, so they would be the first thing she saw when she walked out there. I left some things wrapped, but the hand-me-down Barbies (why buy new ones when my Barbies from the 80's still have plenty of play in them?) and all their accessories were set-up and ready to be played with. Livie completely ignored her wrapped presents at first, and went right to town playing. She was thrilled with her Barbies (not so much with the jeans and socks that I had wrapped up).
Then came the question - "When are my friends coming over? Or are they meeting us at Pump it Up?"
ummmm.... what? (I thought we had gone over this yesterday)
I again explained that birthdays and parties aren't always on the same day. There were tears. Lots and lots of tears. And who can blame the kid? I totally set her up for disappointment. That is all she has had lately. She got over it eventually, but I still feel like crap about it.
Thankfully, uncle Justin came over with his arms full of presents and totally brightened Livie's day. Our bird was spoiled today. Several new Barbie sets, several new Littlest Pet Shop Sets AND a new bean bag chair. All from her favorite uncle. Lucky kid! Uncle stuck around to play with Livie and have some cake (check out her new sweatshirt from Dad!):
When did she turn from this:
If I haven't already mentioned it, Livie is a planner and control freak, just like me. She likes to know details ahead of time, and tends to plan activities for herself within the framework of what we have told her. We are working on having her communicate those plans to us ahead of time, otherwise disappointment abounds. I have learned that if I tell her we are going to the mall, I need to tell her what mall. And what she will be allowed to do there. Otherwise, a quick trip to the Mall of America will turn into 20 rides and 2 hours at the aquarium in her mind.
Yesterday, I realized that I failed my child. She has been surrounded by tears and sadness lately, and her birthday (party) has been quite built up in her mind as something fun and exciting. Only problem is - I have yet to plan said party. Everyone will tell me that it is completely understandable, blah, blah, blah. Reality is that I have been intending to call Pump it Up since August. Not the end of the world - right? There is always next month. Except for the fact that I neglected to explain to Livie that one does not always have their birthday party on the same day as their birthday.
We went to the grocery store yesterday so that Livie could pick out her birthday cake. To eat at home. With just her immediate family. Too bad she didn't know that. I was horrified when she pointed to some cupcakes, declaring those to be for her friends at her party. And a Dora cake to eat at home. Oops.
I explained that the cupcakes would wait at the store until the day of her party, and we were just going to buy her home cake. She was disappointed, but she seemed to understand. At least I thought she did.
As soon as we got home, she wanted her Dora cake's picture taken next to her Carter cake. Boots the body guard is now working double duty.
Livie fell asleep yesterday eagerly awaiting her birthday in the morning. As soon as she was down for the night, I took off for Target (Shawn was home) to buy her a birthday card. Who forgets a birthday card for a kid who is obsessed with reviewing the card options every time we go to Target? Oops. Again. Thank goodness for Black Friday and late hours at Target, or Livie would have been stuck with whatever I could have found at the grocery store.
This morning I woke up to Livie sitting next to me in bed, jabbering away. She was apparently quite excited to be 3. After some begging and pleading, Liv talked us into getting up. I had set-up all her presents in the living room the night before, so they would be the first thing she saw when she walked out there. I left some things wrapped, but the hand-me-down Barbies (why buy new ones when my Barbies from the 80's still have plenty of play in them?) and all their accessories were set-up and ready to be played with. Livie completely ignored her wrapped presents at first, and went right to town playing. She was thrilled with her Barbies (not so much with the jeans and socks that I had wrapped up).
Then came the question - "When are my friends coming over? Or are they meeting us at Pump it Up?"
ummmm.... what? (I thought we had gone over this yesterday)
I again explained that birthdays and parties aren't always on the same day. There were tears. Lots and lots of tears. And who can blame the kid? I totally set her up for disappointment. That is all she has had lately. She got over it eventually, but I still feel like crap about it.
Thankfully, uncle Justin came over with his arms full of presents and totally brightened Livie's day. Our bird was spoiled today. Several new Barbie sets, several new Littlest Pet Shop Sets AND a new bean bag chair. All from her favorite uncle. Lucky kid! Uncle stuck around to play with Livie and have some cake (check out her new sweatshirt from Dad!):
Livie is sound asleep on the couch now, all played out from her new toys. Happy 3rd Birthday sweetheart!
One more picture for good measure. When I bought Livie's bitty baby from Carter, I also bought her and her baby matching Christmas dresses. It was the last present for Livie that I had bought while still pregnant, so they were Carter's gift to Livie today. She yelled a sincere thank you up to Heaven (without prompting) when she saw her gift, and then began twirling around so that Carter could see her dress spin.
(I was doing so good today, I hadn't cried once all day until I wrote the last paragraph. Baby steps I suppose.)
Friday, November 25, 2011
Please don't forget
Yesterday sucked.
The day started out ok - we got up and got ready to go have breakfast with Shawn's family. Livie threw a massive fit on our way out the door, but other than that I was doing ok in the morning. I survived through breakfast and then we headed home for some quiet time around the house, before dinner with my family in the evening.
I laid out the outfit that Carter was going to wear - a comfy brown and red fleece outfit that Liv and I had picked out together a couple weeks before Carter was born. I'm not sure why I got it out, it just felt like the thing to do. It is still laying on his changing table.
I had my tears and my wishing and my what ifs - looking over pictures and thinking about what could have been. But I pulled myself together and got everyone ready for dinner.
On our way to my grandma's house, it felt like someone was missing. Carter was supposed to be with us. I thought for a moment about asking Shawn to turn around so we could go home and get him. As weird as it sounds (carrying around your dead son's ashes) I really did want him with us. Even though no one else would have understood, I still do kind of wish we had brought him with.
Livie was the star of the show at Thanksgiving dinner. She had a couple birthday presents waiting for her which she opened with enthusiasm - some reindeer slippers from her cousin Hannah, and a baby doll stroller from Grandma and Papa. Her antics kept people entertained all night. Everyone was having fun. It was business as usual for Thanksgiving. And that is the part that sucked.
People would bristle at the mention of Carter - "Olivia, what a pretty doll, where did you get it?" - "Carter gave it to me" :silence: Until someone would quickly change the subject.
(When I was pregnant, I bought a bitty baby doll and accessories that was supposed to be a present from Carter to Olivia when she came to meet him at the hospital. Instead, she got it after his funeral. She knows that he was in my belly when we bought the doll and that he helped pick it out for her.)
I tried to mention Carter once - and people quickly turned away and pretended like they didn't hear me.
It is no secret that Shawn and I had trouble coming up with boy names that we both loved. In the end, we had a list of boy names that one of us loved. I have written about how Livie chose the name Carter, but the other names on the list were Logan, Cooper and Sawyer. For a long time, Livie had been campaigning for 'Cooper' and most of our family had heard her discuss it.
The only time yesterday that anyone even came close to acknowledging the fact that we have a son, was when my uncle pulled me aside to let me know "that a couple days before *it* happened" (exact words) he had gotten a dog and named it Cooper. He was kind and genuine about what he was saying. He hadn't known at the time that Cooper was a name we were considering, and he wanted to bring it up to us before we heard mention of his dog Cooper. Of course he can call his dog whatever he wants, and I appreciate how thoughtful he was in pulling us aside. But it breaks my heart that this conversation was the only one that came close to bringing Carter up.
I made it out of my grandma's house ok, but burst into tears the second that the door closed behind us on our way out. Not only was Carter not with us - but no one remembered that he was supposed to be there.
There is no guidebook or rules about what to say or do when a baby dies. And I am sure that everyone wants it handled differently. So I am telling myself that our entire family didn't forget about Carter. They just didn't know what to say. That has to be it. I have to let myself think that everyone else was missing his presence as much as I was. And it was just easier to pretend like nothing had happened than to acknowledge his absence.
In the week between his birth and his funeral, everyone was sad with me. There were plenty of tears to go around. But now, everyone is back to their normal. Thankful that it wasn't them or their child.
I am the only one that had the privilege of knowing Carter while he was alive. So of course no one can possibly miss him as much as I do. And no one can understand the hole in my heart. But moving forward through life knowing that we are the only ones who will continue to mourn his absence is like a dagger in that hole.
I received several (much appreciated) messages from friends yesterday - you know who you are - thank you! Carter even received a message reminding him how missed he was.
I just wish his family would have remembered him too.
Last night when I was tucking Olivia in, we said a bedtime prayer and at the end, asked baby Jesus to tell Carter how much we love and miss him and how much we wished he could have been with us today. A couple minutes after we said amen, Livie told me - "He told him. Baby Jesus told Carter, and he knows". Oh how I hope that is true.
The day started out ok - we got up and got ready to go have breakfast with Shawn's family. Livie threw a massive fit on our way out the door, but other than that I was doing ok in the morning. I survived through breakfast and then we headed home for some quiet time around the house, before dinner with my family in the evening.
I laid out the outfit that Carter was going to wear - a comfy brown and red fleece outfit that Liv and I had picked out together a couple weeks before Carter was born. I'm not sure why I got it out, it just felt like the thing to do. It is still laying on his changing table.
I had my tears and my wishing and my what ifs - looking over pictures and thinking about what could have been. But I pulled myself together and got everyone ready for dinner.
On our way to my grandma's house, it felt like someone was missing. Carter was supposed to be with us. I thought for a moment about asking Shawn to turn around so we could go home and get him. As weird as it sounds (carrying around your dead son's ashes) I really did want him with us. Even though no one else would have understood, I still do kind of wish we had brought him with.
Livie was the star of the show at Thanksgiving dinner. She had a couple birthday presents waiting for her which she opened with enthusiasm - some reindeer slippers from her cousin Hannah, and a baby doll stroller from Grandma and Papa. Her antics kept people entertained all night. Everyone was having fun. It was business as usual for Thanksgiving. And that is the part that sucked.
People would bristle at the mention of Carter - "Olivia, what a pretty doll, where did you get it?" - "Carter gave it to me" :silence: Until someone would quickly change the subject.
(When I was pregnant, I bought a bitty baby doll and accessories that was supposed to be a present from Carter to Olivia when she came to meet him at the hospital. Instead, she got it after his funeral. She knows that he was in my belly when we bought the doll and that he helped pick it out for her.)
I tried to mention Carter once - and people quickly turned away and pretended like they didn't hear me.
It is no secret that Shawn and I had trouble coming up with boy names that we both loved. In the end, we had a list of boy names that one of us loved. I have written about how Livie chose the name Carter, but the other names on the list were Logan, Cooper and Sawyer. For a long time, Livie had been campaigning for 'Cooper' and most of our family had heard her discuss it.
The only time yesterday that anyone even came close to acknowledging the fact that we have a son, was when my uncle pulled me aside to let me know "that a couple days before *it* happened" (exact words) he had gotten a dog and named it Cooper. He was kind and genuine about what he was saying. He hadn't known at the time that Cooper was a name we were considering, and he wanted to bring it up to us before we heard mention of his dog Cooper. Of course he can call his dog whatever he wants, and I appreciate how thoughtful he was in pulling us aside. But it breaks my heart that this conversation was the only one that came close to bringing Carter up.
I made it out of my grandma's house ok, but burst into tears the second that the door closed behind us on our way out. Not only was Carter not with us - but no one remembered that he was supposed to be there.
There is no guidebook or rules about what to say or do when a baby dies. And I am sure that everyone wants it handled differently. So I am telling myself that our entire family didn't forget about Carter. They just didn't know what to say. That has to be it. I have to let myself think that everyone else was missing his presence as much as I was. And it was just easier to pretend like nothing had happened than to acknowledge his absence.
In the week between his birth and his funeral, everyone was sad with me. There were plenty of tears to go around. But now, everyone is back to their normal. Thankful that it wasn't them or their child.
I am the only one that had the privilege of knowing Carter while he was alive. So of course no one can possibly miss him as much as I do. And no one can understand the hole in my heart. But moving forward through life knowing that we are the only ones who will continue to mourn his absence is like a dagger in that hole.
I received several (much appreciated) messages from friends yesterday - you know who you are - thank you! Carter even received a message reminding him how missed he was.
I just wish his family would have remembered him too.
Last night when I was tucking Olivia in, we said a bedtime prayer and at the end, asked baby Jesus to tell Carter how much we love and miss him and how much we wished he could have been with us today. A couple minutes after we said amen, Livie told me - "He told him. Baby Jesus told Carter, and he knows". Oh how I hope that is true.
Thursday, November 24, 2011
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
Carter's Tree
Shortly after Carter was born, some good friends sent us a seed for an oak tree. It had already started to sprout (just a tiny crack in the seed), so we planted it as a family. Look how it has grown in a month!
Livie has been taking good care of Carter's tree - watering it every 3 days, and making sure it gets the sunshine it needs. We planted it in the container that came with it, but I am thinking that we may need to transplant it before spring at this rate.
Livie has been taking good care of Carter's tree - watering it every 3 days, and making sure it gets the sunshine it needs. We planted it in the container that came with it, but I am thinking that we may need to transplant it before spring at this rate.
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
To the ends of the earth
I spoke with a woman today who knows our story, and yet still hinted (not so subtly) that in her mind I only have one child. As we parted ways, she told me that she hoped I was enjoying my maternity leave. In the interest of harmony, I will bite my tongue for now. But I have been replaying the conversation that I wish I could have with her in my mind all day...
If you are a parent (she is), think back to when you were pregnant. Remember all of the hopes and dreams that you had for your child. All the planning and preparing that consumed 9 months of your life. The exhaustion, pain and hormones that come with sharing your body with another human being.
Now bring yourself to the day your child was born. Do you still remember the beginning stages of labor, and all of the anticipation that comes with that? What about the pain of the contractions that you knew would bring you your baby? Giving birth is an experience embedded deep in every mother's mind and heart. Can you still feel all the emotions that came flooding over you as you pushed your baby from your body? And the first time you saw your child - have you ever loved anyone more than you did in that second?
What would happen if your child was taken from you at that moment? "I am sorry. You can't have your baby. You may look at him for awhile, but he can't go home with you.". What if you were forced, against your will, to hand your baby over to strangers before leaving the hospital?
No matter how loudly you scream, no one will come and help you. There is NOTHING you can do. There is no choice. You must go home without your baby. And you will never see him again. There is no ransom that can be paid, no police or court that can intervene - your baby is simply gone. Taken from you without your consent.
Do you write that child off? He is gone so he never existed? Would you ever stop looking for him? No. Mothers all over the world would walk through fire and never stop searching for their baby. What if your 2 year old disappeared? Or your 10 year old? Do they suddenly stop counting as one of your children?
Just because my child is no longer on this earth does not make him any less my son.
I am sorry if thinking of me as having two children makes you uncomfortable. Just think about how I feel about it. Maternity leave without a baby to care for is a blast.
If you are a parent (she is), think back to when you were pregnant. Remember all of the hopes and dreams that you had for your child. All the planning and preparing that consumed 9 months of your life. The exhaustion, pain and hormones that come with sharing your body with another human being.
Now bring yourself to the day your child was born. Do you still remember the beginning stages of labor, and all of the anticipation that comes with that? What about the pain of the contractions that you knew would bring you your baby? Giving birth is an experience embedded deep in every mother's mind and heart. Can you still feel all the emotions that came flooding over you as you pushed your baby from your body? And the first time you saw your child - have you ever loved anyone more than you did in that second?
What would happen if your child was taken from you at that moment? "I am sorry. You can't have your baby. You may look at him for awhile, but he can't go home with you.". What if you were forced, against your will, to hand your baby over to strangers before leaving the hospital?
No matter how loudly you scream, no one will come and help you. There is NOTHING you can do. There is no choice. You must go home without your baby. And you will never see him again. There is no ransom that can be paid, no police or court that can intervene - your baby is simply gone. Taken from you without your consent.
Do you write that child off? He is gone so he never existed? Would you ever stop looking for him? No. Mothers all over the world would walk through fire and never stop searching for their baby. What if your 2 year old disappeared? Or your 10 year old? Do they suddenly stop counting as one of your children?
Just because my child is no longer on this earth does not make him any less my son.
I am sorry if thinking of me as having two children makes you uncomfortable. Just think about how I feel about it. Maternity leave without a baby to care for is a blast.
An angel in the book of life wrote down our baby's birth. Then whispered as she closed the book, "too beautiful for earth"
Sunday, November 20, 2011
Livie part 2
Tonight I thought out-loud and said, "oh, I wish we could have brought Carter home"
Livie piped in innocently, and with almost a touch of hurt in her voice - "but you got to bring me home"
And we did - I have my Livie. (and she has her cake)
I have been emotionally and physically exhausted, so Livie has been going to daycare. It is her normal, and I needed the alone time. But she is right, I got to bring her home. So tomorrow, we are going to try and have a 'home day'.
Livie loves home days. And normally, so do I. Tomorrow I hope that I can live up to her expectations. We made a list of things we want to do tomorrow, and included on the list is playing with her cake.
We ordered a monkey cake for Carter's funeral. I didn't realize it was never served (cupcakes were easier I suppose) until I cleaned out our fridge a week and a half ago and found it. I set it out with the intention of tossing it, but then Livie found it. She screamed out "Carter!" when she first saw it, and has been talking to the monkey on the cake like it is her brother ever since. She runs out into the kitchen to say good morning as soon as she wakes up, and always says goodnight before going to bed. In-between there, she talks to him, tickles him, brings him toys and hugs him. Dora's buddy Boots the monkey is constantly perched next to the cake to watch over Carter, and the top of the cake box is NEVER to be closed.
I haven't encouraged or discouraged her relationship with the cake. I figure it is one of her ways to cope, so I will let her do what she has to do. I don't have the heart to throw it away, so I have a nearly month-old cake, with rock hard frosting sitting on my kitchen counter. It breaks my heart when she hugs that cake. I hope that someday Livie understands that I wanted to bring Carter home not just for myself, but for her too. He is part of our family, and hugging a little brother beats hugging a cake any day.
Livie piped in innocently, and with almost a touch of hurt in her voice - "but you got to bring me home"
And we did - I have my Livie. (and she has her cake)
I have been emotionally and physically exhausted, so Livie has been going to daycare. It is her normal, and I needed the alone time. But she is right, I got to bring her home. So tomorrow, we are going to try and have a 'home day'.
Livie loves home days. And normally, so do I. Tomorrow I hope that I can live up to her expectations. We made a list of things we want to do tomorrow, and included on the list is playing with her cake.
We ordered a monkey cake for Carter's funeral. I didn't realize it was never served (cupcakes were easier I suppose) until I cleaned out our fridge a week and a half ago and found it. I set it out with the intention of tossing it, but then Livie found it. She screamed out "Carter!" when she first saw it, and has been talking to the monkey on the cake like it is her brother ever since. She runs out into the kitchen to say good morning as soon as she wakes up, and always says goodnight before going to bed. In-between there, she talks to him, tickles him, brings him toys and hugs him. Dora's buddy Boots the monkey is constantly perched next to the cake to watch over Carter, and the top of the cake box is NEVER to be closed.
I haven't encouraged or discouraged her relationship with the cake. I figure it is one of her ways to cope, so I will let her do what she has to do. I don't have the heart to throw it away, so I have a nearly month-old cake, with rock hard frosting sitting on my kitchen counter. It breaks my heart when she hugs that cake. I hope that someday Livie understands that I wanted to bring Carter home not just for myself, but for her too. He is part of our family, and hugging a little brother beats hugging a cake any day.
Livie
My sweet little bird is currently snuggled up next to me, asleep on the couch. I am so thankful for her.
The poor girl has had a rough month too. She went from being massively excited for her little brother, to trying to understand what death meant. She is a smarty pants for her age, but how does an almost three year old begin to comprehend that her baby brother had an owie too big to fix? How do I explain to her someday that really, it was my body's fault? Carter didn't have a single thing wrong with him. And how do you explain it all in a way that she isn't terrified of owies?
Livie has asked numerous times why the doctors couldn't fix Carter's owie. Afterall, they fixed daddy's owie and we have promised that they will help mommy get better. When you are three, how do you know what owies send you to heaven, and what ones don't?
It isn't fair that she has to grieve with us at such a young age. And it isn't fair that she has to watch her mom cry, and have to hear me say, "I am sorry, I can't _______" (pick you up, go outside, etc). Lots of things aren't fair.
But yesterday Livie had a good day. I can honestly say that it was probably her first good day in a month. I might actually go as far as to say that it was probably the best day I have had in a month too.
Livie's preschool teacher is getting married in March, and our bird has the privilege of being the flower girl. Livie is quite excited and in preparation, looks through our wedding scrapbook almost daily. This has led to her own scrapbook being pulled out too (and I will admit that it goes as far as her first month of life). The first time she opened it up, she saw a picture of herself on the baby scale, and pointed to it, asking me if that was Carter. Looking over her first page, I realized that we had some of the same pictures of Carter as we did of Olivia. At that moment, I resolved to finish Livie's first year in her book, AND make one for Carter.
On Friday, Livie and I chose 200 of our favorite pictures (after sorting through 11,926 photos from the last three years) and sent them to Target for printing. Yesterday morning we picked up the pictures and a new album. And thus began our good day.
Scrapbooking is definitely not my forte. It always sounds like such a great idea - and then I sit down and try to do it and remember that I don't have patience for things like that. As a result I have tons of pretty paper that will probably never get used. But I was determined to make Carter a book, and Livie was excited for a "mother daughter activity"
We chose pictures and paper together, and Livie became an expert gluer. She alternated between working on pages for her book and pages for Carter's book. The pages that she made for Carter were done with such care - she used her favorite stickers and each page had its own story. (I should write down Livie's thoughts behind each page before I forget) It was the first time in a month that I have had the energy to do something with her that didn't result in one or both of us in tears and frustrated.
A good friend had arranged for a playdate yesterday, and she arrived at our house with her daughter just as Livie's interest in scrapbooking was about done. Liv needed a chance to play and have fun. The girls played for over four hours straight. This gave me a chance to relax and talk. I don't think I realized how much I needed that until afterwards.
I have no idea how long I have known her (we tend to say preschool) and we haven't always loved each other (I remember some boy-drama during middle school summer orchestra) but this friend (who I have no doubt is reading this right now) always seems to know what I need. So thank you. We need to do that again soon.
Our good day ended with some more scrapbooking and an easy bedtime. Carter's book is started - we will finish it when we get the rest of our NILMDTS pictures back. And even though most pages consist only of pictures glued onto pretty paper, Olivia's first year is done as well.
The poor girl has had a rough month too. She went from being massively excited for her little brother, to trying to understand what death meant. She is a smarty pants for her age, but how does an almost three year old begin to comprehend that her baby brother had an owie too big to fix? How do I explain to her someday that really, it was my body's fault? Carter didn't have a single thing wrong with him. And how do you explain it all in a way that she isn't terrified of owies?
Livie has asked numerous times why the doctors couldn't fix Carter's owie. Afterall, they fixed daddy's owie and we have promised that they will help mommy get better. When you are three, how do you know what owies send you to heaven, and what ones don't?
It isn't fair that she has to grieve with us at such a young age. And it isn't fair that she has to watch her mom cry, and have to hear me say, "I am sorry, I can't _______" (pick you up, go outside, etc). Lots of things aren't fair.
But yesterday Livie had a good day. I can honestly say that it was probably her first good day in a month. I might actually go as far as to say that it was probably the best day I have had in a month too.
Livie's preschool teacher is getting married in March, and our bird has the privilege of being the flower girl. Livie is quite excited and in preparation, looks through our wedding scrapbook almost daily. This has led to her own scrapbook being pulled out too (and I will admit that it goes as far as her first month of life). The first time she opened it up, she saw a picture of herself on the baby scale, and pointed to it, asking me if that was Carter. Looking over her first page, I realized that we had some of the same pictures of Carter as we did of Olivia. At that moment, I resolved to finish Livie's first year in her book, AND make one for Carter.
On Friday, Livie and I chose 200 of our favorite pictures (after sorting through 11,926 photos from the last three years) and sent them to Target for printing. Yesterday morning we picked up the pictures and a new album. And thus began our good day.
Scrapbooking is definitely not my forte. It always sounds like such a great idea - and then I sit down and try to do it and remember that I don't have patience for things like that. As a result I have tons of pretty paper that will probably never get used. But I was determined to make Carter a book, and Livie was excited for a "mother daughter activity"
We chose pictures and paper together, and Livie became an expert gluer. She alternated between working on pages for her book and pages for Carter's book. The pages that she made for Carter were done with such care - she used her favorite stickers and each page had its own story. (I should write down Livie's thoughts behind each page before I forget) It was the first time in a month that I have had the energy to do something with her that didn't result in one or both of us in tears and frustrated.
A good friend had arranged for a playdate yesterday, and she arrived at our house with her daughter just as Livie's interest in scrapbooking was about done. Liv needed a chance to play and have fun. The girls played for over four hours straight. This gave me a chance to relax and talk. I don't think I realized how much I needed that until afterwards.
I have no idea how long I have known her (we tend to say preschool) and we haven't always loved each other (I remember some boy-drama during middle school summer orchestra) but this friend (who I have no doubt is reading this right now) always seems to know what I need. So thank you. We need to do that again soon.
Our good day ended with some more scrapbooking and an easy bedtime. Carter's book is started - we will finish it when we get the rest of our NILMDTS pictures back. And even though most pages consist only of pictures glued onto pretty paper, Olivia's first year is done as well.
A sampling of Olivia's hard work (clickable)
And the first pages of the kids scrapbooks
Friday, November 18, 2011
The 18th
Shawn and I had our first date on May 18th 2005. Shawn had his brain surgery on May 18th, 2011. On May 18th 2012 I will get the test results for the clotting disorders they can't yet test for. Carter was born on October 18th, 2011. And now, here we are November 18th, 2011 - Shawn's 30th birthday, and the day that our son is supposed to be one month old.
Has it really been one month? An entire month without my baby?
I feel like I am coming out of the postpartum hormone haze. But the saddness is left behind. I should be showing off my new baby at lunches out with friends and choosing holiday outfits. Instead I am dreading the upcoming holidays and parties. I need to accept this but I don't know how. This is my life. But going forward seems so wrong - how am I supposed to just move on like he was never here? I ask myself that over and over again. I have been doing a lot of reading on moms who have lost babies, and the stories include interviews of women in their 90's who still cry when talking about their babies that passed. It is going to take a lot of time to adjust to life without Carter.
Such a bittersweet day - happy 18th to the men in my life
Has it really been one month? An entire month without my baby?
I feel like I am coming out of the postpartum hormone haze. But the saddness is left behind. I should be showing off my new baby at lunches out with friends and choosing holiday outfits. Instead I am dreading the upcoming holidays and parties. I need to accept this but I don't know how. This is my life. But going forward seems so wrong - how am I supposed to just move on like he was never here? I ask myself that over and over again. I have been doing a lot of reading on moms who have lost babies, and the stories include interviews of women in their 90's who still cry when talking about their babies that passed. It is going to take a lot of time to adjust to life without Carter.
Such a bittersweet day - happy 18th to the men in my life
I love you always and forever, no matter what.
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Milk in the freezer and a swing in the living room
If you know me, you know that I am a huge supporter of nursing moms. It can be great for mom, and breast milk is best for babies. I have always thought that if I had excess milk, I would donate it.
After Carter was born, I found myself with plenty of milk and no baby to give it to, so I started pumping. It was hard at times, but it also gave me a sense of comfort. I took it slow, and pumped when I could, and if it was too much, I skipped a session. It was something I really wanted to do and I was determined to keep my supply up, because I knew I would regret it if I didn't stick out the early days.
I started filling my freezer and then I learned that the milk bank wouldn't take milk that had Tylenol or advil in it. So I dumped some milk, and planned to wean myself off the pain meds. Then the PE hit. Milk with CT scan dye, Lovenox and Coumadin is no good to anyone. I wouldn't even be able to nurse my own baby with those meds in my system.
The realization that I wouldn't even be able to help other babies with Carter's milk was heartbreaking.
I have 20 ounces of advil/Tylenol milk in my freezer. The milk banks won't take it, and it isn't enough milk to be worth anyone's time. I don't know what to do with it. I can't bring myself to throw it away - it is liquid gold - Carter's liquid gold. So it sits in my freezer - a constant reminder of my baby that I never got to nurse.
The reminders are everywhere. Carter's side of the kids' room is exactly as it was the day he was born. Every outfit and diaper is in its place, and all the baby gear is set-up and ready to go. Putting things away seems too final. Of course we know that keeping stuff around won't make our baby magically return, but how can we put things away and pretend like he isn't supposed to be here? Livie would never let Carter's things leave her room anyway, but it breaks my heart every time I walk in there.
I told Shawn this weekend that I thought I was ready for the baby swing to go in the basement. He nodded, but didn't make any effort to move it. Maybe he isn't ready. So there the empty swing sits in the corner of our living room. Silent evidence of the baby that is supposed to be here.
After Carter was born, I found myself with plenty of milk and no baby to give it to, so I started pumping. It was hard at times, but it also gave me a sense of comfort. I took it slow, and pumped when I could, and if it was too much, I skipped a session. It was something I really wanted to do and I was determined to keep my supply up, because I knew I would regret it if I didn't stick out the early days.
I started filling my freezer and then I learned that the milk bank wouldn't take milk that had Tylenol or advil in it. So I dumped some milk, and planned to wean myself off the pain meds. Then the PE hit. Milk with CT scan dye, Lovenox and Coumadin is no good to anyone. I wouldn't even be able to nurse my own baby with those meds in my system.
The realization that I wouldn't even be able to help other babies with Carter's milk was heartbreaking.
I have 20 ounces of advil/Tylenol milk in my freezer. The milk banks won't take it, and it isn't enough milk to be worth anyone's time. I don't know what to do with it. I can't bring myself to throw it away - it is liquid gold - Carter's liquid gold. So it sits in my freezer - a constant reminder of my baby that I never got to nurse.
The reminders are everywhere. Carter's side of the kids' room is exactly as it was the day he was born. Every outfit and diaper is in its place, and all the baby gear is set-up and ready to go. Putting things away seems too final. Of course we know that keeping stuff around won't make our baby magically return, but how can we put things away and pretend like he isn't supposed to be here? Livie would never let Carter's things leave her room anyway, but it breaks my heart every time I walk in there.
I told Shawn this weekend that I thought I was ready for the baby swing to go in the basement. He nodded, but didn't make any effort to move it. Maybe he isn't ready. So there the empty swing sits in the corner of our living room. Silent evidence of the baby that is supposed to be here.
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Letters to Heaven
I was on my way out the door to head to lunch with a friend today when I had the sudden urge to release one of Carter's balloons.
Before the service, Livie picked out some ballon bunches to have at Carter's funeral. After the funeral, we let Livie release one that said, "Love always and forever" and we brought the rest home. They have been sitting in his crib since then.
I cut one of the blue heart shape balloons from the bunch and grabbed a sharpie. I hadn't intended to write anything, but before I knew it I had written a short note to Carter. Signing the note "mom" brought on some feelings that I wasn't expecting. It made it feel official - I am his mom. It was heart-breaking and comforting at the same time.
I have talked about Carter to a number of people, but I haven't talked to him. Writing to him was a good thing.
I let the balloon go in our backyard and it didn't take long before it floated over the roofline. I ran to the front yard (which doesn't take long given our tiny house) and the balloon was nowhere to be seen. There wasn't a cloud in the sky and I know it had already cleared the trees - I should have been able to see the balloon floating forever. I know there is a perfectly logical explanation for where the balloon went, but I am just going to let myself think that it got snatched up into heaven so that my note could get to Carter.
Before the service, Livie picked out some ballon bunches to have at Carter's funeral. After the funeral, we let Livie release one that said, "Love always and forever" and we brought the rest home. They have been sitting in his crib since then.
I cut one of the blue heart shape balloons from the bunch and grabbed a sharpie. I hadn't intended to write anything, but before I knew it I had written a short note to Carter. Signing the note "mom" brought on some feelings that I wasn't expecting. It made it feel official - I am his mom. It was heart-breaking and comforting at the same time.
I have talked about Carter to a number of people, but I haven't talked to him. Writing to him was a good thing.
I let the balloon go in our backyard and it didn't take long before it floated over the roofline. I ran to the front yard (which doesn't take long given our tiny house) and the balloon was nowhere to be seen. There wasn't a cloud in the sky and I know it had already cleared the trees - I should have been able to see the balloon floating forever. I know there is a perfectly logical explanation for where the balloon went, but I am just going to let myself think that it got snatched up into heaven so that my note could get to Carter.
"What the heart has once owned and had, it shall never lose" - Henry Ward Beecher
Monday, November 14, 2011
Pulmonary Embolism
A month ago, I would not have had any clue what a pulmonary embolism was. But a lot of things have changed in the past month.
The week after Carter was born, we spent our days getting ready for his funeral. It was a surreal experience - I went from eagerly awaiting my son to planning his good-bye. The abruption and delivery left me physically and emotionally drained, so when I started to tire easily I didn't think much of it.
The morning of Carter's funeral I took a shower with the water as hot as I could stand it. I cried and cried until I couldn't handle the water anymore. As we got ready for the day, I started to feel light headed and dizzy. I chalked it up to the hot shower and my dread for the day. As the day wore on, I felt worse and worse. I tried to push how I was feeling out of my mind. It was my son's funeral - I had to be there. I had been looking forward to seeing him since I said good-bye at the hospital. I needed to see him. So I went on with the day.
After the funeral I found myself with a line of people wanting to hug me. I am thankful for all of the support, but by the end of the hug-line I could barely stand. I snuck away to sit with a friend as soon as I could. Sitting with her, she told me that "the friend in me wants to give you a hug, the nurse in me wants you to go to the doctor". As I sat with her, my vision got blurry and my heart started to race. The parish nurse checked my blood pressure which was elevated but not dangerous. Once again, I chalked it up to the day.
The next morning as we were getting ready, I gave in to my symptoms. I could barely see, and was extremely dizzy. After dropping Liv off at daycare I had Shawn bring me to the ER.
After some tests and a scan, the emergency room doctor came in and told me that I had clots in my lungs. I still didn't understand what a big deal this was. Pretty soon I had my midwives (and an angel named Dawn) checking on me, and everyone was telling me how lucky I was that I had come in. At some point it hit home that a PE was not to be taken lightly. I have never been so scared in my life (and still am).
That first night in the hospital was rough. All I could think about was Shawn and Livie. I don't know how to articulate all the thoughts I had that night, but I am thankful that the heparin did what it was supposed to do and thankful that I got to the hospital in time.
Going forward, I need to be on warfarin for 6ish months. That seems like an eternity. I feel like my life will be in a holding pattern for the next six months. Blood tests (for clotting disorders) need to wait until I am off of the warfarin and the hematologist won't even discuss a possible future pregnancy until the results are back.
I don't know where to go from here. Even though I am not emotionally ready for another pregnancy, everything in me wants to be pregnant yesterday. I know it is the hormones and my heart's desire to be snuggling my sweet baby, but I can't shake the need to plan for another baby. But I am not healthy. I need to take time - time for my body and heart to heal. I am struggling to accept that this is my life now. My son died and I am not healthy. How did I get here?
The week after Carter was born, we spent our days getting ready for his funeral. It was a surreal experience - I went from eagerly awaiting my son to planning his good-bye. The abruption and delivery left me physically and emotionally drained, so when I started to tire easily I didn't think much of it.
The morning of Carter's funeral I took a shower with the water as hot as I could stand it. I cried and cried until I couldn't handle the water anymore. As we got ready for the day, I started to feel light headed and dizzy. I chalked it up to the hot shower and my dread for the day. As the day wore on, I felt worse and worse. I tried to push how I was feeling out of my mind. It was my son's funeral - I had to be there. I had been looking forward to seeing him since I said good-bye at the hospital. I needed to see him. So I went on with the day.
After the funeral I found myself with a line of people wanting to hug me. I am thankful for all of the support, but by the end of the hug-line I could barely stand. I snuck away to sit with a friend as soon as I could. Sitting with her, she told me that "the friend in me wants to give you a hug, the nurse in me wants you to go to the doctor". As I sat with her, my vision got blurry and my heart started to race. The parish nurse checked my blood pressure which was elevated but not dangerous. Once again, I chalked it up to the day.
The next morning as we were getting ready, I gave in to my symptoms. I could barely see, and was extremely dizzy. After dropping Liv off at daycare I had Shawn bring me to the ER.
After some tests and a scan, the emergency room doctor came in and told me that I had clots in my lungs. I still didn't understand what a big deal this was. Pretty soon I had my midwives (and an angel named Dawn) checking on me, and everyone was telling me how lucky I was that I had come in. At some point it hit home that a PE was not to be taken lightly. I have never been so scared in my life (and still am).
That first night in the hospital was rough. All I could think about was Shawn and Livie. I don't know how to articulate all the thoughts I had that night, but I am thankful that the heparin did what it was supposed to do and thankful that I got to the hospital in time.
Going forward, I need to be on warfarin for 6ish months. That seems like an eternity. I feel like my life will be in a holding pattern for the next six months. Blood tests (for clotting disorders) need to wait until I am off of the warfarin and the hematologist won't even discuss a possible future pregnancy until the results are back.
I don't know where to go from here. Even though I am not emotionally ready for another pregnancy, everything in me wants to be pregnant yesterday. I know it is the hormones and my heart's desire to be snuggling my sweet baby, but I can't shake the need to plan for another baby. But I am not healthy. I need to take time - time for my body and heart to heal. I am struggling to accept that this is my life now. My son died and I am not healthy. How did I get here?
Sunday, November 13, 2011
Carter
"I have a son - his name is Carter. And I miss him."
I don't know how many times a day those thoughts run through my mind.
When he was first born, my initial reaction was not to name him Carter. But Shawn echoed Livie's thoughts and chose the name Carter. And they made the right choice.
When I hear Olivia say Carter's name, my heart melts. His name is safe and loved in her mouth. She says his name with such care and love. Sometimes there is sadness in her voice, but it is always accompanied by a tenderness that only Livie could convey. Carter was her brother, and she loved him as much as we did. In the hospital, she was the proudest big sister. Time after time, she counted his fingers - 5 on each hand. And his toes - 5 on each foot. She marveled over every inch of him. His dark hair and tiny nose. Carter was her brother and she saw nothing but love for him.
Oh how I wish we could have brought him home. I wish I had more stories to tell about him. I try to relive every moment that we had with him. Carter and I - we had plans. Our first outing (just the two of us) was going to be to go get Shawn's birthday present. I already had it picked out, but I really wanted to be able to tell Shawn that his present was from his son, so I was waiting until he was born. Shawn's birthday is on Friday (which should be the day Carter turns one month) and I still haven't gotten his present. I am not sure I will be able to. I drove to the store, and burst into tears in the parking lot so I just went back home. I confessed to Shawn the other night that I am just not sure if I will be able to get his present this year.
I try to tell myself it is ok to be a miserable sobbing mess. I can't imagine a day when I don't feel like this. Right now, I need to savor every memory I have of Carter, and cry over every memory we won't get to make. Friends reassure me that it won't be like this forever. Someday I will be happy again.
I don't know how many times a day those thoughts run through my mind.
When he was first born, my initial reaction was not to name him Carter. But Shawn echoed Livie's thoughts and chose the name Carter. And they made the right choice.
When I hear Olivia say Carter's name, my heart melts. His name is safe and loved in her mouth. She says his name with such care and love. Sometimes there is sadness in her voice, but it is always accompanied by a tenderness that only Livie could convey. Carter was her brother, and she loved him as much as we did. In the hospital, she was the proudest big sister. Time after time, she counted his fingers - 5 on each hand. And his toes - 5 on each foot. She marveled over every inch of him. His dark hair and tiny nose. Carter was her brother and she saw nothing but love for him.
Oh how I wish we could have brought him home. I wish I had more stories to tell about him. I try to relive every moment that we had with him. Carter and I - we had plans. Our first outing (just the two of us) was going to be to go get Shawn's birthday present. I already had it picked out, but I really wanted to be able to tell Shawn that his present was from his son, so I was waiting until he was born. Shawn's birthday is on Friday (which should be the day Carter turns one month) and I still haven't gotten his present. I am not sure I will be able to. I drove to the store, and burst into tears in the parking lot so I just went back home. I confessed to Shawn the other night that I am just not sure if I will be able to get his present this year.
I try to tell myself it is ok to be a miserable sobbing mess. I can't imagine a day when I don't feel like this. Right now, I need to savor every memory I have of Carter, and cry over every memory we won't get to make. Friends reassure me that it won't be like this forever. Someday I will be happy again.
Did I know? Should I have known?
At some point in spring 2011 I remember laying in bed and looking at our closet door. I think Shawn may have been up and getting ready in the background. But I remember the closet door so vividly, and thinking about how blessed we had been since meeting each other six years earlier. And suddenly, I got a horrible awful feeling in the pit of my stomach. I knew that things wouldn't always be easy for us, and our time was coming. I don't know where those thoughts and feelings came from but I have never been able to shake that feeling.
It isn't my place to share Shawn's journey with the world, but May brought a brain tumor. And it wasn't always easy. That was the beginning of our struggle. I was already pregnant.
My entire pregnancy, it felt funny to buy baby things. Was my mind trying to tell me something? Did my body know something that I didn't? I was both scared and excited for the baby. But there were somethings that I could never bring myself to do (like think about whether or not to circumcise). Some decisions didn't feel necessary - even though they were. When Livie and I went out to buy a new pump, it felt SO wrong. The entire time that I wavered between the PISA and the Freestyle I kept thinking in the back of my mind, "why am I buying this?". At the check-out, I had a strong urge to tell the cashier "never mind" and put the pump back. I felt the same way when I bought the play mat, and sheets and clothes, and everything else I bought.
The night I went into labor, I KNEW I was going into labor soon. Livie's labor was so quick, that I swore this time around I would head to the hospital at the first sign of anything going on. So why didn't I? Why did I crawl into bed that night?
Carter wasn't a particularly active baby. My midwife said it was the anterior placenta. Some days I hardly felt him at all. But nighttime was our check-in time. If I laid on my right side at bedtime, I would feel him. And I could never fall asleep until he let me know he was still ok in there. So that last night, why did I rationalize it when I didn't feel him when I laid down?
My Internet reading has taught me that a placental abruption can feel like a never ending contraction. I know that feeling. It started at Livie's bedtime and continued until I got my epidural. And a placental abruption isn't all or nothing. It takes time for the placenta to separate. So what if when I crawled into bed that night it wasn't all the way separated? What if I headed to the hospital then instead of trying to get some sleep in? My midwife has told me multiple times that the outcome likely would not have changed. Likely. She says that there is nothing we could have done. And I want so badly to believe her. And I know I should. I can't bring myself to think through the reasons why she is right, but she is. By the time I knew something was wrong, it was too late.
I can't help but feel guilty. Should I have seen this coming? Should I have known? My son is gone and I didn't save him. My husband lost his son, and my daughter lost her brother. And I am the only one that stood any chance of having saved him. Not only do I mourn my son, I mourn for my husband and daughter and their losses. I had so many plans and dreams for my little guy - and they are gone.
I don't know what the future holds for our family, but I do know that I am scared. The future will never feel like a safe place again. I want a long future with the man I love. I want Livie to have a sibling. More than that, she needs a sibling. Otherwise she will be very much alone one day.
It will probably be 6-9 months before we get the ok to try again. And even then, will we be ready? Will we be healthy? I will be a high risk pregnancy. And there are no guarantees. This we know. And it won't be Carter - it will be some other baby. And Livie will be 5 or older when he or she arrives. That is too far apart for them to be close like I imagined and dreamed. My mind spins 100 miles an hour with all the possible scenarios and lost dreams.
For now, all I can do is hope and pray that we all heal and stay healthy. Time is precious, so I don't want to wish it away. But I hope that the next six months are a good healing time for our family, and not as long and painful as the past six have been.
It isn't my place to share Shawn's journey with the world, but May brought a brain tumor. And it wasn't always easy. That was the beginning of our struggle. I was already pregnant.
My entire pregnancy, it felt funny to buy baby things. Was my mind trying to tell me something? Did my body know something that I didn't? I was both scared and excited for the baby. But there were somethings that I could never bring myself to do (like think about whether or not to circumcise). Some decisions didn't feel necessary - even though they were. When Livie and I went out to buy a new pump, it felt SO wrong. The entire time that I wavered between the PISA and the Freestyle I kept thinking in the back of my mind, "why am I buying this?". At the check-out, I had a strong urge to tell the cashier "never mind" and put the pump back. I felt the same way when I bought the play mat, and sheets and clothes, and everything else I bought.
The night I went into labor, I KNEW I was going into labor soon. Livie's labor was so quick, that I swore this time around I would head to the hospital at the first sign of anything going on. So why didn't I? Why did I crawl into bed that night?
Carter wasn't a particularly active baby. My midwife said it was the anterior placenta. Some days I hardly felt him at all. But nighttime was our check-in time. If I laid on my right side at bedtime, I would feel him. And I could never fall asleep until he let me know he was still ok in there. So that last night, why did I rationalize it when I didn't feel him when I laid down?
My Internet reading has taught me that a placental abruption can feel like a never ending contraction. I know that feeling. It started at Livie's bedtime and continued until I got my epidural. And a placental abruption isn't all or nothing. It takes time for the placenta to separate. So what if when I crawled into bed that night it wasn't all the way separated? What if I headed to the hospital then instead of trying to get some sleep in? My midwife has told me multiple times that the outcome likely would not have changed. Likely. She says that there is nothing we could have done. And I want so badly to believe her. And I know I should. I can't bring myself to think through the reasons why she is right, but she is. By the time I knew something was wrong, it was too late.
I can't help but feel guilty. Should I have seen this coming? Should I have known? My son is gone and I didn't save him. My husband lost his son, and my daughter lost her brother. And I am the only one that stood any chance of having saved him. Not only do I mourn my son, I mourn for my husband and daughter and their losses. I had so many plans and dreams for my little guy - and they are gone.
I don't know what the future holds for our family, but I do know that I am scared. The future will never feel like a safe place again. I want a long future with the man I love. I want Livie to have a sibling. More than that, she needs a sibling. Otherwise she will be very much alone one day.
It will probably be 6-9 months before we get the ok to try again. And even then, will we be ready? Will we be healthy? I will be a high risk pregnancy. And there are no guarantees. This we know. And it won't be Carter - it will be some other baby. And Livie will be 5 or older when he or she arrives. That is too far apart for them to be close like I imagined and dreamed. My mind spins 100 miles an hour with all the possible scenarios and lost dreams.
For now, all I can do is hope and pray that we all heal and stay healthy. Time is precious, so I don't want to wish it away. But I hope that the next six months are a good healing time for our family, and not as long and painful as the past six have been.
Saturday, November 12, 2011
Did I imagine it?
Mornings are the worst.
I sleep soundly all night, but when I wake up, reality hits me like a ton of bricks. Some mornings I wake up and remember immediately. Other mornings I reach for my belly before realizing that I am not pregnant anymore. The worst is when I wake up to the feeling of my milk letting down. On more than one occasion I have woken up to a letdown and in my half-sleep state thought to myself, "oh, it is time to feed the baby". The thought lasts only for a split second but the moment I remember is like reliving his passing all over again.
When I was pregnant with Livie I loved every painful second of the pregnancy. As much as I wanted to meet her, I also wanted to savor every second of her inside of me. My pregnancy with Carter was different. There were times that I forgot I was pregnant. He wasn't a particularly active baby, and I didn't find myself enjoying the pregnancy like I did with Livie. I told myself that it was the stress of Shawn's medical issues, and I told myself it was 2nd child syndrome. The truth is, that I never got as attached and bonded to the pregnancy. And that is so painful to me now.
Some days I have to remind myself that I didn't imagine Carter. It is as if I could have been pregnant 10 years ago. From the moment that I realized the nurses couldn't find a heartbeat, I felt like I was having an out of body experience. Was this all really happening to me? Did it all actually happen? I went through labor and delivery. I fell in love with the sweetest little boy I have ever laid my eyes on. I have milk in my freezer. But no baby to show for it. Walking through a store, I don't have a little bundle for people to ooh and aah over. All I have is 25 extra pounds. No one knows that I should have a baby in my arms. It would be so easy for me to pretend it never happened - but I can't. I can't forget about the hole in heart.
Someday I will run out of pictures to share. But for now, I have my proof. I didn't imagine him. He was here, and very much loved.
There are times when I just keep thinking that the nightmare has to end. The past year has been so hard on us that there is no way it can possibly be real. Why has this all happened? Shawn and I are 29 - what 29 year old couple should have to go through brain cancer, the loss of their son and a pulmonary embolism all in 5 months? It is just unbelievable to me.
I sleep soundly all night, but when I wake up, reality hits me like a ton of bricks. Some mornings I wake up and remember immediately. Other mornings I reach for my belly before realizing that I am not pregnant anymore. The worst is when I wake up to the feeling of my milk letting down. On more than one occasion I have woken up to a letdown and in my half-sleep state thought to myself, "oh, it is time to feed the baby". The thought lasts only for a split second but the moment I remember is like reliving his passing all over again.
When I was pregnant with Livie I loved every painful second of the pregnancy. As much as I wanted to meet her, I also wanted to savor every second of her inside of me. My pregnancy with Carter was different. There were times that I forgot I was pregnant. He wasn't a particularly active baby, and I didn't find myself enjoying the pregnancy like I did with Livie. I told myself that it was the stress of Shawn's medical issues, and I told myself it was 2nd child syndrome. The truth is, that I never got as attached and bonded to the pregnancy. And that is so painful to me now.
Some days I have to remind myself that I didn't imagine Carter. It is as if I could have been pregnant 10 years ago. From the moment that I realized the nurses couldn't find a heartbeat, I felt like I was having an out of body experience. Was this all really happening to me? Did it all actually happen? I went through labor and delivery. I fell in love with the sweetest little boy I have ever laid my eyes on. I have milk in my freezer. But no baby to show for it. Walking through a store, I don't have a little bundle for people to ooh and aah over. All I have is 25 extra pounds. No one knows that I should have a baby in my arms. It would be so easy for me to pretend it never happened - but I can't. I can't forget about the hole in heart.
Someday I will run out of pictures to share. But for now, I have my proof. I didn't imagine him. He was here, and very much loved.
There are times when I just keep thinking that the nightmare has to end. The past year has been so hard on us that there is no way it can possibly be real. Why has this all happened? Shawn and I are 29 - what 29 year old couple should have to go through brain cancer, the loss of their son and a pulmonary embolism all in 5 months? It is just unbelievable to me.
Friday, November 11, 2011
Due Date
Today was/is Carter's due date. The day was a lot harder than I expected.
Livie was home with me for most of the day, and we just hung out and took it easy. Admittedly, I let her watch a lot more TV and play more computer than would be ideal. But I figure I have a good excuse.
The tears just wouldn't stop coming today. They have a mind of their own and are completely uncontrollable.
I just want to shout from the rooftops "I want my baby!!!". I miss him so, so, so much. Almost more than I can handle at times. And there is nothing, absolutely nothing that anyone can do for me. I am left with a big gaping hole in my heart that will never be filled. Losing a child is the absolute worst broken heart ever. No one should have to go through this.
I poured over the pictures that we have of Carter last night. I wanted to (and did) post one on Facebook today to honor him. And I had to pick just the right one. This is the one I eventually chose:
We are waiting for the rest of our shots from NILMDTS (Ginger took our pictures) but then that is it. It hit me last night that there will be no more pictures. We have what we have and there will never be more. No more chances. All I have left of my precious little boy are some pictures, footprints, snippets of hair and a box of ashes.
Before we left the hospital I tried to take in and memorize every inch of him. His dad's hands, his sister's baby toe and his long legs that he got from me. I smelled him over and over, trying to save his scent in my memory forever. But it wasn't long enough. It never would have been long enough. I don't have every inch memorized. I never got to see his eyes, and once he was dressed we never undressed him.
I asked the funeral home not to launder his clothes, in hopes that his scent would still be there. But it isn't. I have tried 100 times to smell his onesie but there is none of him on it. Just some make-up from their attempt to make him look ok for the viewing. (he did look fine, but he did not look like my sweet baby that I left at the hospital)
I don't know how to move forward from here. Everyone else's life is going on, but I am stuck. Stuck trying to come to terms with a life without my baby. I have a sweet, amazing daughter for whom I am so thankful. But I don't have my son and that is one broken heart that I'm not sure I will ever get over.
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