Cloudy With a Chance of Rain…

Weather always effects my mood…cloudy and dark makes me sad and sullen.  It’s the depression, I’m sure.

My insurance coverage changed in August.  I knew my employer had to make some adjustments to continue to be able to afford to cover us but I had no idea that it would effect the mental health coverage in the policy.  That’s right gang, no more therapy unless we want to pay for it and with Hubby being laid off, it’s not in the budget.  We might try and do 2 sessions a month once we get a little more “in the black” but right now, it’s not going to work out.  Nothing I can do about it except hope for health care reform that will include a mental health option.  So I’m sullen and depressed with no outlet…yeah.

We have to give up our boot camp sessions too.  We’ve been going 3 times a week for the last 5 months and it’s been great.  I haven’t really lost weight but I’ve toned up a lot.  I’m feeling confident that I can continue to work out on my own.  I have hand weights, a jump rope and 3 dogs who love to go for long and fast walks….I just need to make myself accountable to get up every other morning and go.  We just can’t afford to spent the money anymore.

Which brings me to a realization I had yesterday.  I think I’ve gone “soft.”  I used to not have the luxury of therapy and trainers and ready-made food and fancy coffee.  Since our income increased several years ago, I’ve gotten accustomed to “the good life” – which, don’t get me wrong, I enjoy but I’ve lost my ability to survive.  Part of that has to do with losing the boys – I’ve lost my will to survive, not just the ability to do so.  I think, at some point, I just decided I would float along until I got pregnant again – maybe in the hopes that would make “it” all okay and give me more of a sense of purpose.  I don’t know.  Until a couple of days ago, I was feeling good.  I felt confident that we would be having another baby soon.  I was hopeful, I was almost cheerful, even slightly happy.  But that happiness, like my pregnancies, seemed to end as quickly as it started.  I’m filled with doubt – have I ovulated yet, did we “do it” enough, is this “our month.”  So much doubt and fear and sadness…almost overwhelming…

Maybe I just need to sack up, stop feeling sorry for myself, stop feeling bad about myself and focus on the good things in life, things I want to accomplish.  It’s so hard to do though.  I know you other lost baby mamas and daddas understand this.  It all comes back to that one phrase…”I’m sorry, I’m not seeing a heartbeat.”  It resonates with me constantly.  It effects everything I do.

Looks like a 90% chance of rain today.

A Little More Music In My Life…

I love this time of year – the beginning of September which leads to Fall and October and Halloween – which is my absolute favorite holiday.  August is over and that’s a relief and it’s too early to worry about Thanksgiving and Christmas and the inevitable depression that will come from missing the boys.  September on the beaches in North Carolina is ridiculously lovely and Hubby and I usually take advantage of the lack of tourists to head out there at least a couple of times before the warm weather is gone.  Here at home, the leaves change to amazing jewel tones that this California girl didn’t think occurred in nature.  I marvel at the fireworks show that the trees put on.  October brings Mullet Festival (the fish, not the hair) and the informal family reunion.  In years passed, I have dreaded going but this year, I’m looking forward to it.  My best friend, M, will be coming for the State Fair in mid-October and I can’t wait.  And then Halloween…my favorite…I’ve already planned costumes for us and priced new yard decorations.  The mums are in bloom already and I need to put some in the yard…Fall and mums to me is like milk and cookies.

But my heart is heavy.  I thought I would be pregnant again.  All the way pregnant – not just the slightly pregnant that my body seems to be fond of but really, truly and totally pregnant.  But not yet, not that I know of anyway….

My birthday was yesterday and I haven’t cried that much on my birthday in I don’t know how long.  I cried for the boys, I cried because of an insensitive comment said to Hubby in my presence that morning (“So Hubby, got anymore offspring?”), I cried for Craig and Mirne and baby Jet, I cried for the baby that would have been had I not miscarried in December.

In the midst of all my tears, I laughed a lot too.  I was reminded how loved I am.  I was reminded that in the midst of all the pain that I feel, people care for me, people think of me, people root for me.  I had over 60 messages on Facebook wishing me a happy birthday, numerous cards came in the mail, and I got a ton of phone calls throughout the day.  For someone feeling all alone with her grief, that’s powerfully healing. 

I think the hardest I laughed yesterday was when I got my gift from Hubby.  Hubby saw my post about wanting to learn the violin or mandolin so he found me a beautiful violin for my birthday and a woman to give me lessons at lunch.  He said that he thought I needed “a little more music in my life.”  He’s right.  I know I don’t deserve him.  He’s amazingly kind, thoughtful and caring.  I’ve never met a man like him. 

Over dinner, I said to him, “I can play the violin for our baby when he won’t stop crying.  You know?  Play him to sleep.”  That’s the first time I let myself hope for a future baby in a long time.  I surprised myself when I said it.  It’s been months since I thought of OUR baby actually happening again.

So, next birthday, I will be playing a concert (using the loose definition of “concert”) at my house.

Hopefully, our baby will be there.

As Popeye Would Say…

So I need to put this out there in the universe (who has been so gracious and kind to me these past 18 months…that’s sarcasm, just in case you were wondering…):  I can only do what I can do, you can accept that or not.

This is in response to a teeny, tiny, select group of people who seem to think that after 18 months, I should be fully capable of attending a baby shower, holding an infant or, for that matter, being in the same room with an infant.  I can’t talk about your perfect pregnancy in detail, I can’t look at ultrasound pictures.  I can ask you polite questions, I can watch your tummy get bigger, I can cheer you on when your due date arrives.  I can only do what I can do.

I need you to understand that it’s not jealousy.  I want another baby badly, I think I’ve made that clear on this blog and it’s very aggravating when people stand upwind of their husbands and get pregnant.  But I also still miss my boys.  I know you think that I should be okay after 18 months but I’m n0t.  I will be eventually but I’m not there yet.  Your ultrasound pictures? They bring up that day in the hospital when the Dr. S said, “I’m so sorry but I’m not seeing a heartbeat.”  You can’t imagine that pain and I hope you never find out.  That’s what I see when you email me your ultrasound pictures.  Your baby shower?  I can’t do it.  It’s not that I never got one.  I just can’t go and see all the tiny little outfits that my boys might have worn but now, never will.  If I hide your profile on Facebook because I can’t read any more posts about how sick/cranky/tired/whatever you are because you’re pregnant, it’s only because it would never occur to me to complain about something I loved, miss and desperately want back.  I rubbed my tummy, I sang to them, I gleefully looked forward to morning sickness because that meant I was pregnant.

I am what I am right now and I can only do what I can do. 

You can take or leave it.

Hope…

It is a funny thing, isn’t it?  I feel like all of you understood what I was trying to convey yesterday – I really appreciate that.  I want to be positive, I want to look forward to a future where I am pregnant for longer than a minute and it results in a live birth.  I want that, I really, really do.  However, my frustration is two-fold, I think. 

First, I have issues with this idea that with a positive outlook and a smile, I can somehow influence what will happen in this world.  If that were the case, I would have two living, breathing, healthy one year old boys and I don’t.  I begged, I pleaded, I made deals with the universe and the universe didn’t care – the boys died.  I had an army of people praying, being positive, hoping that my boys would be okay and it didn’t work.  I also understand that the therapist is not blaming me for not being pregnant because I don’t have a happy outlook on the whole situation.  I don’t feel like there is any judgment.  Any guilt or anger that I feel is self-made.  My friend F and I have talked about the idea that my grief could be acting as a barrier to getting pregnant again and I agree that it’s not healthy.

Second and I think, more prominent in my emotional psyche is the fact that I start to cry whenever anyone talks about Hubby and I having more children.   I think that the therapist is thinking that the only way to work through the grief is to hope for the one thing that is causing the grief – a baby.  Except that won’t work.  My grief is caused by the death of my boys.  I’m want a baby with my husband but that’s not the reason why I cry in the shower.  I cry because I want my boys and there is nothing anyone can do about that.  I’m have that moment every two year old has when she’s given a beautiful ice cream cone with two scoops and she drops it.  Even if you replace the cone, I’m still crying over the one I lost.  I want my boys.  It’s not rational and I don’t know what to do about that.  Maybe the therapist does.

And maybe this why when I look at adoption websites, I can’t take the next step.  Or maybe I’m not willing to give up on my fertility.  There is an information session in Raleigh on September 12th for an adoption organization that would work with us in terms of money.  I’ve thought about going but I haven’t talked to Hubby.  I can’t even think about pursuing that path without talking to him extensively.  I’m afraid it would look like I’m giving up.  I’m not.  I don’t want to give up.  I want to be pregnant again and have a baby with Hubby.  I don’t want my only memories of being pregnant and giving birth to be what they are now.  But practical me also knows that this is taking a long time and Hubby and I want 2 children.  I’m not getting any younger and those screwy eggs of mine, they aren’t getting any fresher. 

But that makes it sound like I want just any baby and I will feel better if I just get A BABY and all will be right with the world.  I know that’s not the case because when I look at the websites, I think about the boys AND they are what I want. 

I can’t move forward and I can’t get back what I’ve lost and I don’t know what to do.

Today

Baby Boys:

Today would be your first birthday and I hate that you aren’t here for it.  I love you and I miss you terribly.

Love,

Your Mommy

Quiet

I know that I have been quiet. 

I should be planning a first birthday party for my boys this weekend and I’m not. 

I don’t know what to do with how bad I feel without them.

A Second Poem…

Amy from Surviving the Day sent me this poem yesterday.  I love it, I think it’s perfect – I love the two petals.  It’s another one to add to my collection of “things”.  Not sure what I am doing with these “things” yet but I’m leaning towards a box…Still no word from the friend regarding the certificates.  I understand it’s hard to think about and I’m going to be patient until I hear from her.  Thank you for all the amazing thoughts and words…my little invisible army…thanks.

MEMORY

My mind lets go a thousand things,

Like dates of wars and deaths of kings,

And yet recalls the very hour – 

‘Twas noon by yonder village tower,

And on the last blue moon in May – 

The wind came briskly up this way,

Crisping the brook beside the road;

Then, pausing here, set down its load

Of pine-scents, and shook listlessly

Two petals from that wild-rose tree.

~ Thomas Bailey Aldrich

Poem

My friend, T, she’s my sorority sister and one of my people.  She’s lost 2 little girls (at separate times,  no less).  She sent me this in response to my last posting.  I thought I would share.  I’m thinking that I will take some of the suggestions and finish their baby book with the ultrasound pictures and the cards – maybe find a box to put it all in.  I can do this when Hubby is out of town next week…I haven’t heard from J, I will keep you posted as to what she says…if the answer is no, I might make a plea to all my crafty and creative readers to help me with this….

My Child

You left this life too soon, my child.
Your arrival to our family was greatly anticipated.
We cherished the opportunity t o share our love
And watch you grow and become your own person.
But you were taken from us too soon.

We will go on without you, although it will be difficult.
You will be missed and loved for as long as we live.
May we be together on the other side of this life.
A star will always shine brightly in our hearts for you.
Thank you for blessing our lives even so briefly.

Goodbye, my dear child!

Father’s Day Faux Pas?

So I think I may have inadvertently hurt Hubby this weekend.  We went camping for our anniversary and on Sunday, we hiked with the dogs up Chimney Rock.  If you haven’t been there or seen pictures, it’s lovely but it’s a climb.  We got to the top and stood admiring the view with our three doggies.  I put my arm around Hubby’s waist and leaned my head on his shoulder and whispered, “Happy Father’s Day.”  He smiled, said “thank you” and then got really quiet.  He then said, “what did you do that for?”  As I looked over, he had tears in his eyes and his cheeks were pink (could have been because it was hot but I don’t think so).  I apologized but told him that I wanted to say it and this seemed like a good time.  He hugged me and we turned to leave but he was a little quiet and distant….I worried all day if I shouldn’t have said something….

See, I want people to recognize Mother’s Day for me so I thought he would want me to recognize Father’s Day for him.  I have several amazing friends who wished me a Happy Mother’s Day both this year and last year.   You have no idea how good it feels to have someone acknowledge that you have children even if they aren’t here anymore.  It’s hard to make people understand that because they can’t comprehend that I would want to be reminded of what I lost but we have two little boys who died and it’s not fair to us to not recognize that.  A huge fear of women who lose babies is that people will forget about them – I know that is true for me.

I wanted him to know that I love him for the amazing father he is because as hard as I fought for those babies, he was right there with me.

I have big hopes that next Father’s Day will be totally different.

Confrontation

I’m not good with confrontation.  My mother told me for a number of years that I was a drama queen.  I think, because of that, I tend to go the exact opposite way.  I’m no shrinking wallflower but I don’t confront people.  I shy away from conflict.  A friend recently made an insensitive comment and while it hurt me, I know she didn’t mean it so why call her on it.  Another friend has no problem telling her mother, “hey!  That hurts my feelings!” I can’t imagine doing that.  If I said to my mother, “you know, it hurts me when you tell me that you are ‘ordering a girl next time’ when you know that the loss of my boys is still painful,” she would tell me that I am being overly sensitive and dramatic and that it was a joke.*  Ha.  Funny.

Hubby and I spent most of our hour at the therapist talking about my mother.  The therapist suggested that I confront my mother on the hurtful things that she has said and done over the past year.  My friend F suggested a letter.  My cousin suggested waiting a couple of days and then calling her.  I don’t know if that will accomplish anything but as Cousin Jenn-Jenn said, what have I got to lose.

The reason for this latest discussion was Easter.  My mother expected me to come to her house for Easter (I don’t say “home,”  I have never lived at her house in the ‘Boro – “home” is with Hubby in Holly Springs or San Diego).  I didn’t know this.  I don’t celebrate Easter beyond making a ham and some sweet potatoes.  I’m not religious, don’t go to church and have nobody to hide eggs for so I’m not big on the holiday.  It’s just another day in the garden as far as I am concerned.  I would have liked to see my family but I had a reason for not going – I had another miscarriage at the beginning of the week and Tuesday was the anniversary of the day I delivered the boys, I was in no place to spend time with anyone.  I couldn’t take any time off from work to rest so by the time Friday rolled around, I was tired, weak and exhausted.  I know that I need to go to my mother’s house to help clean out her spare room but I just didn’t have the energy.

I’m supposed to be practicing “self-care” as well.  The therapist (let’s call her Dr. J) told me that it was perfectly acceptable to be a little selfish right now.  Everyday, I am supposed to do one thing for myself.  Walking at lunch with K, a yoga DVD, walking the dogs, gardening, reading a book, getting a massage – something, anything that reduces stress in my life.

Dr. J thinks that I can’t practice good “self-care” with this dark cloud of a maternal relationship hanging over me.  She says that I am grieving the loss of the boys AND this changed relationship with my mother and what I really need to be doing is working though my grief with the support of my mother.  Okay, I’ll buy that.  But how? How do I get THERE?  I want to be there.  I do.  But I fear that confronting her will only result in the “you-are-really-quite-sensitive-aren’t-you?” conversation.  And the letter?  The actual ACT of the letter will make her mad – as if I embarrassed her by writing the letter.

So where are we right now?  It’s called a “Mexican Standoff” in our house.  The first one who picks up the phone to call the other loses. 

I lose a lot.  On oh-so-many-levels, I lose a lot.

 

*Nope, I’m not kidding, that really did happen.  See these this post for other such insightful comments:

https://survivingbaby.wordpress.com/2008/08/29/i-dont-get-it-…ither-does-she/