I see that the number of people visiting my blog has increased a LOT in the last few weeks. I was used to a certain number of hits on new posts, along with comments from some of the dozen or so other BLMs that I feel like I "know" now through our blogs (you know who you are, I think - hi :) ). I assume there are also a number of BLMs who lurk on my blog and others, as I did for six months after Elizabeth died before I started blogging and commenting on other blogs...and I'm glad for that.
But, who are the hundreds of new people? Care to say hello and introduce yourselves and tell me where you're coming from? Is this all from Finding My New Normal's Link-Up? Or is something else going on that I don't know about? Just curious - thanks!
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Monday, January 30, 2012
Anniversaries and Another Passing
It's one anniversary after another this time of year. I was actually looking forward to today, the first anniversary of bringing Elizabeth home. You can read here about that decision, which was heart-wrenching. However, the day itself, the actual feeling of having her at home and finally being able to be her parents, even in such circumstances, was wonderful and amazing. I have several specific memories from January 30, 2011 that I will always cherish...
My husband speeding up the 101 while I monitored Elizabeth in her carseat in the back of our Jetta, taking pictures with my phone and texting everyone "we escaped!"
The "Welcome Home Elizabeth!!" sign and balloons and flowers and stuffed animals that friends had decorated our house with.
Cuddling Elizabeth in the glider rocker while watching the sunset on the hills that evening - no wires, no nurses, no beeping, no prison-like NICU walls - just mom and baby, both alive and breathing, and a whisper that parts of the world might still be beautiful, even when everything seems broken.
I am glad to post about all of those memories and acknowledge the importance of this anniversary, because in reality this day is greatly overshadowed by a huge loss - my husband's grandfather passed away yesterday. He was a very wonderful, smart, and engaging man. He had been battling brain cancer since the fall, but the doctors had put his prognosis at 6-12 months and we were all hoping he would be around to welcome his second great-grandchild this summer. Then over the weekend he took a sudden turn for the worse. My husband got on the next red-eye to the east coast and is with his family now. Everyone was horrified at the thought of me traveling, given the pregnancy, hyperemesis, and strep throat (also developed over the weekend), so I'm still here in CA, hoping that on this anniversary of Roo's homecoming she is being held by Great-Grandpa Arthur, who adored her in real life and is greatly missed here on earth.
My husband speeding up the 101 while I monitored Elizabeth in her carseat in the back of our Jetta, taking pictures with my phone and texting everyone "we escaped!"
The "Welcome Home Elizabeth!!" sign and balloons and flowers and stuffed animals that friends had decorated our house with.
Cuddling Elizabeth in the glider rocker while watching the sunset on the hills that evening - no wires, no nurses, no beeping, no prison-like NICU walls - just mom and baby, both alive and breathing, and a whisper that parts of the world might still be beautiful, even when everything seems broken.
I am glad to post about all of those memories and acknowledge the importance of this anniversary, because in reality this day is greatly overshadowed by a huge loss - my husband's grandfather passed away yesterday. He was a very wonderful, smart, and engaging man. He had been battling brain cancer since the fall, but the doctors had put his prognosis at 6-12 months and we were all hoping he would be around to welcome his second great-grandchild this summer. Then over the weekend he took a sudden turn for the worse. My husband got on the next red-eye to the east coast and is with his family now. Everyone was horrified at the thought of me traveling, given the pregnancy, hyperemesis, and strep throat (also developed over the weekend), so I'm still here in CA, hoping that on this anniversary of Roo's homecoming she is being held by Great-Grandpa Arthur, who adored her in real life and is greatly missed here on earth.
Sunday, January 22, 2012
So you want us to be "happy"...?
It rubs me the wrong way when certain people ask if I'm "happy to be pregnant again" or say in their most sincere voice that they really want this to work out because we "deserve to be happy." The comments are nice and well-intended and acknowledge Elizabeth's life and respect the fact that we've been through a lot. In fact, I AM happy to be pregnant again and I DO think we deserve to be happy and I WILL be very happy if (please oh please oh please) we have a healthy rainbow baby in five more months.
The problem, I have come to realize, is in the definition of "happy." We cannot be the particular brand of happy that innocents can be. We are actually different people than we were, and that is quite hard for some people to understand.
Don't wish us to be happy in a way that doesn't apply to us anymore, please - that expectation twists the knife just a little bit more.
Do wish for us to be a new kind of happy, a kind of happy builds a little cushion around the gaping hole in our broken hearts. A kind of happy that plans and hopes for another child, one who will be raised to love a ghost of a big sister. A kind of happy that even embraces the lessons we have learned (at far far too high a price) about perspective and priorities and love for family.
But please don't push your brand of happy on us, because it doesn't fit and it's just another way of comforting yourself against the sheer shock of our loss. And that's not actually very nice.
The problem, I have come to realize, is in the definition of "happy." We cannot be the particular brand of happy that innocents can be. We are actually different people than we were, and that is quite hard for some people to understand.
Don't wish us to be happy in a way that doesn't apply to us anymore, please - that expectation twists the knife just a little bit more.
Do wish for us to be a new kind of happy, a kind of happy builds a little cushion around the gaping hole in our broken hearts. A kind of happy that plans and hopes for another child, one who will be raised to love a ghost of a big sister. A kind of happy that even embraces the lessons we have learned (at far far too high a price) about perspective and priorities and love for family.
But please don't push your brand of happy on us, because it doesn't fit and it's just another way of comforting yourself against the sheer shock of our loss. And that's not actually very nice.
Thursday, January 19, 2012
One day at a time
Thanks for the support. It's so much less lonely, knowing this road has other travelers. Although I would wish it on no one.
At least I feel forward progress, even as the grief cycles back around. Up and down - up and down, but not stuck. The grief echoing from a year ago exposes things I had been avoiding, wounds I had covered tightly without cleaning first. One year ago, that had to be done, so I could mother a very sick baby. Now I have to do the work of reawakening and processing the pain. And I know there are other wounds that will not show themselves for many more years. And there will always, always, always be the constant ache of missing Elizabeth, the gaping hole in our family. Sometimes this lifetime of grief seems impossibly daunting. But since there are no better options, I continue down this road one day at a time and am thankful for the good things that balance the grief. And thankful for hope.
P.S. Despite my conviction last weekend that new baby had died, our doctor's appointment on Tuesday showed all is well at 16 weeks. I have no faith right now in mother's intuition - all I've got is mother's paranoia.
At least I feel forward progress, even as the grief cycles back around. Up and down - up and down, but not stuck. The grief echoing from a year ago exposes things I had been avoiding, wounds I had covered tightly without cleaning first. One year ago, that had to be done, so I could mother a very sick baby. Now I have to do the work of reawakening and processing the pain. And I know there are other wounds that will not show themselves for many more years. And there will always, always, always be the constant ache of missing Elizabeth, the gaping hole in our family. Sometimes this lifetime of grief seems impossibly daunting. But since there are no better options, I continue down this road one day at a time and am thankful for the good things that balance the grief. And thankful for hope.
P.S. Despite my conviction last weekend that new baby had died, our doctor's appointment on Tuesday showed all is well at 16 weeks. I have no faith right now in mother's intuition - all I've got is mother's paranoia.
Saturday, January 14, 2012
Broken, Never Mended
The overwhelming kind of grief is back. The kind that wakes me up in the middle of the night with sobs, the kind that keeps me from functioning, the kind that makes me push away those I love because I am in such pain.
Maybe I should have seen this coming. This is one year from the worst of everything. One year ago we found out that Elizabeth was never going to recover in any meaningful sense - that her brain damage from the cord accident was a death sentence. That my precious perfect baby girl would never grow up. That she would never again hear our voices as she had in utero. Never see or have control of her limbs or speak or eat or be able to control her own temperature. And the world as I had known it for 33 years ended and instead I live in this new horrible place.
This place without Elizabeth.
And after a year the grief feels as new as it was then and I am drowning in it.
All of those good days, those days of acceptance and peace, I don't know what they were good for. Not in moments like this.
And most of my dreams now are about what horrible thing might happen next. The new baby has no heartbeat at our next ultrasound. My husband dies in a car crash. I assume life is cursed now and I just wait for the next shoe to drop.
Maybe I should have seen this coming. This is one year from the worst of everything. One year ago we found out that Elizabeth was never going to recover in any meaningful sense - that her brain damage from the cord accident was a death sentence. That my precious perfect baby girl would never grow up. That she would never again hear our voices as she had in utero. Never see or have control of her limbs or speak or eat or be able to control her own temperature. And the world as I had known it for 33 years ended and instead I live in this new horrible place.
This place without Elizabeth.
And after a year the grief feels as new as it was then and I am drowning in it.
All of those good days, those days of acceptance and peace, I don't know what they were good for. Not in moments like this.
And most of my dreams now are about what horrible thing might happen next. The new baby has no heartbeat at our next ultrasound. My husband dies in a car crash. I assume life is cursed now and I just wait for the next shoe to drop.
Sunday, January 8, 2012
Closer to the Edge than I Thought
I completely lost it yesterday, swearing and screaming and sobbing. I screamed so hard that I hurt my throat and made my own ears ring. Why? I wanted to be sleeping. My husband was at work on a Saturday (again), left me home alone with the dog (again) without having taken him for a walk in the morning (again), I was especially sick and tired, trying to nap, and the dog was waking me up by barking about every 20 minutes. I just snapped. Sleep is sometimes the only escape from the nausea and I needed it so badly.
I just feel so alone and beaten down sometimes. Why does pregnancy have to be so miserable for me? Why did my daughter die? What happened to the life I used to have?
I have to go back to work/school tomorrow - just part-time, but I'm terrified. Given that I have barely kept myself showered and fed for the past few weeks I'm thinking this will be a disaster.
I just feel so alone and beaten down sometimes. Why does pregnancy have to be so miserable for me? Why did my daughter die? What happened to the life I used to have?
I have to go back to work/school tomorrow - just part-time, but I'm terrified. Given that I have barely kept myself showered and fed for the past few weeks I'm thinking this will be a disaster.
Thursday, December 29, 2011
Holidays
My husband and I stuck close to home for Elizabeth's birthday and Christmas and will do the same for New Years. He refers to us as "hermits" these days and there has been a fair bit of crying and thinking of the "should have beens" but there has also been a fair bit of laughing and appreciating each other and the good things in life. I don't think we could have handled other people on those days and am glad that (almost) everyone let us off the hook from commitments this year. I'm also glad we stayed home because I feel closest to Elizabeth right here in our house. Here are our stockings on Christmas morning. Our first time around as Santa and we decided to leave Roo a beautiful pink rose:
We also bought Elizabeth a Christmas ornament on her birthday - probably this will become a tradition. It's this whimsical little bunny hiding under a sparkly toadstool. Not at all what we set out to buy, but it's exactly right (her other nickname is Bunny):
And - still pregnant. Just past 13 weeks now. I am starting to have more nausea-free mornings, which we try to take advantage of - go for a walk with the dog, make pancakes, do a household project or errand. Afternoons are still brutal and I'm still on a 6:30pm bedtime and hubby is still sleeping on the couch, but maybe in another month or two some of that will let up. My sensitivity to food smells has gotten worse (no cooking in the house after noon is the new guideline - thank goodness for the grill outside). I figured the super-smell-nausea phase was coming. When I was pregnant with Elizabeth, there was an infamous episode at 16 weeks when my husband went out to dinner and ate garlic mashed potatoes. He came home after I was asleep and snuck into the bedroom. I sat bolt upright and started throwing up almost instantly just from the garlic smell he was giving off. Ah, memories.
My husband, without clearly stating his intentions, seems to be avoiding other people's children/babies. He doesn't go with me to visit our support group friends whose rainbow baby (the preemie boy I posted about in November) is at home and doing well. I wonder how long this will last. Perhaps the rest of the pregnancy? Or just for the holiday season?
We also bought Elizabeth a Christmas ornament on her birthday - probably this will become a tradition. It's this whimsical little bunny hiding under a sparkly toadstool. Not at all what we set out to buy, but it's exactly right (her other nickname is Bunny):
And - still pregnant. Just past 13 weeks now. I am starting to have more nausea-free mornings, which we try to take advantage of - go for a walk with the dog, make pancakes, do a household project or errand. Afternoons are still brutal and I'm still on a 6:30pm bedtime and hubby is still sleeping on the couch, but maybe in another month or two some of that will let up. My sensitivity to food smells has gotten worse (no cooking in the house after noon is the new guideline - thank goodness for the grill outside). I figured the super-smell-nausea phase was coming. When I was pregnant with Elizabeth, there was an infamous episode at 16 weeks when my husband went out to dinner and ate garlic mashed potatoes. He came home after I was asleep and snuck into the bedroom. I sat bolt upright and started throwing up almost instantly just from the garlic smell he was giving off. Ah, memories.
My husband, without clearly stating his intentions, seems to be avoiding other people's children/babies. He doesn't go with me to visit our support group friends whose rainbow baby (the preemie boy I posted about in November) is at home and doing well. I wonder how long this will last. Perhaps the rest of the pregnancy? Or just for the holiday season?
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