I feel like I've just been walking through the grief-haze for the last week. That haze where you can't remember 3 seconds ago what you said or what you were doing. But somehow you're still semi-functioning. I think I owe it all to Lorazepam. Well...probably not all of it.
Yesterday was another terrible day for me. I had to leave work. This is the 2nd day this week I haven't been able to keep it together. I am so profoundly sad. The depth of it is infinite. It's as though there's an empty hole going straight through my chest that is filling with sadness. But instead of the hole opening up to the other side into my back, it never makes it there. It just grows deeper somehow. And there's no relief. I feel as though it's going to fill my entire body and soon I'll be drowning in it. A deep, dark sadness.
I feel like maybe if I say, "I miss her" over and over again to you, that you'll understand how much I do miss her.I miss her, I miss her, I miss her, I miss her, I miss her....is it easier to understand now? Probably not, but I don't know how else to describe what I am feeling for my child. For Astrid. That's where this empty hole in my chest is coming from . Because I don't have her to hold and love, I'm not complete. There's a movie coming out that spotlights child loss and it's called Return to Zero. There tagline is 3-1=0. That equation seems so right for this situation.
The quietness in the house is haunting me. It's so still this morning just like the still sadness inside me. I miss Astrid so incredibly much. If you could only know how much I long to hold her in my arms just one more time. Even if it wasn't forever...just once more.
Thursday, July 18, 2013
Tuesday, July 16, 2013
Me vs You
I'm back. I need to stay back too. This is where I belong. I can't keep all these thoughts to myself. I want them written down for others to stumble upon. I want them written down so I don't forget my pain.
I've been sitting here with an aching heart this morning. We're less than two weeks away from Astrid's due date. That date is haunting me this month. I'm sitting here with this cloud of grief around me, wondering what it would have been like had everything gone according to plan. Would I have been miserable and ready to just have the baby already? Would I have been elated just waiting to meet my child? Would the nursery have come together as planned? What would the rest of my pregnancy been like? My heart just breaks right now because I was supposed to know the answers to all of those questions. Instead I know the answers to questions like: What if something goes terribly wrong with this pregnancy? What if my baby has a condition that's incompatible with life?
My reality now is a pill that's almost impossible to swallow.
I should probably update those of you that pop in here to read and check in on us. We found out that Astrid did not have any type of syndrome associated with the bilateral renal agenesis. She was a healthy normal baby, except she had no kidneys and no bladder. The geneticist said they have about 1500 births in their hospital a year and they see this happen once every 3 to 4 years. We won the shittiest lottery in the world. The next step is to find out if James has both of his kidneys. If he has both kidneys, there is a 4-9% chance we'll experience this again. If he has one, there is a 10-15% chance it will happen again. Although I'm relieved that there is no syndrome associated with her condition, the rest of the information provides little comfort.
Some other things that have occured to me as of late are the differences between myself and those around me. Before I rant about this next part, please know that when I say "you", I'm not referring to the other baby-loss mamas that might be reading this. My rant starts now:
Me: It's only been 4 months.
You: 4 months is an eternity ago.
You: You must not be grieving. I saw you smile and laugh yesterday
Me: Don't let smiles and moments of happiness fool you. You can't see my heart.
Me: I think about my baby every. single. day.
You: You don't even remember that I was pregnant.
You: If you're having a hard time now, it must mean you're going backwards.
Me: When I'm having a hard time it's because I don't have the strength to go on ignoring my pain. Part of having a hard time and letting myself feel my grief and pain means that I'm healing.
I just have this feeling that my friends that don't know loss and don't know grief are thinking that I'm milking this. I just want to scream some times, "I HELD MY DEAD BABY IN MY ARMS. CAN YOU EVEN IMAGINE WHAT THAT'S LIKE????" But to them, it shouldn't be that hard...it's not like I knew this baby. It's not like the baby took a breath. It's not like the baby ever loved me back.
....Yet, maybe it's not what they're thinking. Maybe it's just what I assume they're thinking. Maybe it's what I'm subconsciously thinking? Maybe deep down I'm being hard on me and think I should be over this. Maybe this isn't Me vs. You. Maybe this is Me vs. Me.
I'm so sad. This is so hard. I miss her.
I've been sitting here with an aching heart this morning. We're less than two weeks away from Astrid's due date. That date is haunting me this month. I'm sitting here with this cloud of grief around me, wondering what it would have been like had everything gone according to plan. Would I have been miserable and ready to just have the baby already? Would I have been elated just waiting to meet my child? Would the nursery have come together as planned? What would the rest of my pregnancy been like? My heart just breaks right now because I was supposed to know the answers to all of those questions. Instead I know the answers to questions like: What if something goes terribly wrong with this pregnancy? What if my baby has a condition that's incompatible with life?
My reality now is a pill that's almost impossible to swallow.
I should probably update those of you that pop in here to read and check in on us. We found out that Astrid did not have any type of syndrome associated with the bilateral renal agenesis. She was a healthy normal baby, except she had no kidneys and no bladder. The geneticist said they have about 1500 births in their hospital a year and they see this happen once every 3 to 4 years. We won the shittiest lottery in the world. The next step is to find out if James has both of his kidneys. If he has both kidneys, there is a 4-9% chance we'll experience this again. If he has one, there is a 10-15% chance it will happen again. Although I'm relieved that there is no syndrome associated with her condition, the rest of the information provides little comfort.
Some other things that have occured to me as of late are the differences between myself and those around me. Before I rant about this next part, please know that when I say "you", I'm not referring to the other baby-loss mamas that might be reading this. My rant starts now:
Me: It's only been 4 months.
You: 4 months is an eternity ago.
You: You must not be grieving. I saw you smile and laugh yesterday
Me: Don't let smiles and moments of happiness fool you. You can't see my heart.
Me: I think about my baby every. single. day.
You: You don't even remember that I was pregnant.
You: If you're having a hard time now, it must mean you're going backwards.
Me: When I'm having a hard time it's because I don't have the strength to go on ignoring my pain. Part of having a hard time and letting myself feel my grief and pain means that I'm healing.
I just have this feeling that my friends that don't know loss and don't know grief are thinking that I'm milking this. I just want to scream some times, "I HELD MY DEAD BABY IN MY ARMS. CAN YOU EVEN IMAGINE WHAT THAT'S LIKE????" But to them, it shouldn't be that hard...it's not like I knew this baby. It's not like the baby took a breath. It's not like the baby ever loved me back.
....Yet, maybe it's not what they're thinking. Maybe it's just what I assume they're thinking. Maybe it's what I'm subconsciously thinking? Maybe deep down I'm being hard on me and think I should be over this. Maybe this isn't Me vs. You. Maybe this is Me vs. Me.
I'm so sad. This is so hard. I miss her.
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