Friday, November 30, 2012
Sunday, November 18, 2012
Luck.
I am a very fortunate woman. I have two beautiful kids, who are happy, healthy, and full of love. I have an amazing and supportive husband who is patient and compassionate and great at making me laugh. I have a nice nuclear family. I have a job. I have a dog. I have my health. Friends. Family. Clean water. Electricity. Music. Laughter.
And still I am missing something.
I didn't know that I was so incomplete until he was born. I didn't know that he made my entire life whole, that he perfectly completed my family. I didn't know there was a big hole where the youngest brother was supposed to be. How could it be that I didn't see that emptiness until he filled it and then left it empty again?
I have been having a hard time. I get sad and just hurt and hurt. I still have break downs where I can't help but sob. Will this pain every dull?
"Most deaths due to SIDS occur between 2 and 4 months of age, and incidence increases during cold weather. African-American infants are twice as likely and Native American infants are about three times more likely to die of SIDS than Caucasian infants. More boys than girls fall victim to SIDS." -From this site.
I didn't know that being Native made it more likely for my child to die randomly in his sleep. Or being a boy. Todd said that in a book he was reading on coping with infant loss it said that once you have an infant die of SIDS you are more likely to have another one do the same.
Part of me wants to have another child. I want to give my babies a youngest sibling. I want them to have a Jessa, or a Caela, like Todd and I have. They were so good with him. And he made our family so complete. But the horror, the sadness, the pain... I couldn't endure it again. There is something in this world that says that I am more likely to have my baby die than many others... I know the chance is always there, but having an increased chance? I don't think I can take it.
Maybe some day I will feel differently.
For now I just have to remind myself that I am one lucky lady. I have two happy, healthy, beautiful children who are full of love. I have an amazing husband. I have a job. I have a dog. My health. Friends. Family.
Its a mantra.
And still I am missing something.
I didn't know that I was so incomplete until he was born. I didn't know that he made my entire life whole, that he perfectly completed my family. I didn't know there was a big hole where the youngest brother was supposed to be. How could it be that I didn't see that emptiness until he filled it and then left it empty again?
I have been having a hard time. I get sad and just hurt and hurt. I still have break downs where I can't help but sob. Will this pain every dull?
"Most deaths due to SIDS occur between 2 and 4 months of age, and incidence increases during cold weather. African-American infants are twice as likely and Native American infants are about three times more likely to die of SIDS than Caucasian infants. More boys than girls fall victim to SIDS." -From this site.
I didn't know that being Native made it more likely for my child to die randomly in his sleep. Or being a boy. Todd said that in a book he was reading on coping with infant loss it said that once you have an infant die of SIDS you are more likely to have another one do the same.
Part of me wants to have another child. I want to give my babies a youngest sibling. I want them to have a Jessa, or a Caela, like Todd and I have. They were so good with him. And he made our family so complete. But the horror, the sadness, the pain... I couldn't endure it again. There is something in this world that says that I am more likely to have my baby die than many others... I know the chance is always there, but having an increased chance? I don't think I can take it.
Maybe some day I will feel differently.
For now I just have to remind myself that I am one lucky lady. I have two happy, healthy, beautiful children who are full of love. I have an amazing husband. I have a job. I have a dog. My health. Friends. Family.
Its a mantra.
Thursday, November 8, 2012
Taking the bad with the good.
Some days are just so hard, and others seem to just pass, but then there are the days that are a strange mix of horrible and great. That was today. I had a lot of ups today, but my downs were unfortunately deep.
Triggers today included an innocent discussion with someone and riding in a big truck.
This morning as I was walking to my office I ran into a guy that I have known for several years. We aren't friends or anything, but we are friendly. I know he knows about my situation, because my chain of command put out an email to everyone in the department to let them know... it is a blessing because a lot of people aren't asking me how my baby is. If people don't ask I don't have to see their faces when I say "He is dead." The rough part of it is... no one knows how to talk to me. I ranted previously about the people directly in my office, but when I speak to people in my Navy community it is different. Some don't recall straight away that I am the one who has the dead baby.
So this guy says "Hey! How are you?" which is a very general and innocuous greeting... under most circumstances. To the lady with the dead baby this is not so. At least, everyone thinks that. I know when you ask me how I am that you are not looking to hear me tell you that I am hurting, that every day I am pained and empty, that while I can walk around and talk and perform daily tasks marginally well, I am a wreck. I know you don't want to hear that I am drinking too much, eating too much, and trying to lust away my pain, and I know you don't want to know that none of it really works. So when you say it, when you ask "How are you?" and then realize that you have just invited a tidal wave of emotion, that you have just made some social faux pas because I cannot answer with "Great!" or even "Good," and that it is even forced for me to say "Ok," please just take my casual "Fine, thank you," as a normal courteous response, and maybe as a sign of forgiveness for asking. The stricken look I get after someone asks that, when they realize as it is coming out of their mouths, before I can answer casually... is almost comical. I can't promise that I won't get weepy, because I can't promise that these days. I can only promise that I will not hold it against you. It's just a greeting.
So, this guy asks how I am, then immediately tries to back pedal. He tries to add words to his question, so there is no pause. "Hey! How are... you? Gosh it sure is cold, I just started wearing my winter coat, and even still I am still chilly." And I say "I am ok, thank you. How are you?"
And what does he say? "Oh, well enough. I'm alive."
And my heart screams at that answer. Yeah. You are alive. That is well enough. Not everyone is so lucky.
Maybe it was something on my face, because he tries to pedal out of this, too, but he was spinning his wheels. "Yeah, I mean, it's good to be alive. I have been busy, and stuff. Ya know, not great, but alive. At least I am still breathing."
And my heart screams and screams and screams.
This oaf is alive. And breathing. Some of my last memories of my son are me finding him not. Not alive. Not breathing. So fuck you, buddy. All of this, my heart is screaming, and I want to scream, and I want to cry, and I want to run from the building.
Instead I say "Well, nice to see you. Take care," and I walk to my desk.
Such a simple encounter... how could it feel so horrible?
The other time I had a total break down today was around 10:00. A friend gave us some sofas, so I went to rent a flatbed truck from Home Depot. As I was driving the truck down the highway, I hit a bridge, and at the seam where the bridge and the road met, the truck bounced and jostled. I flashed back to that night, riding in the front of the ambulance that came to take Rhys to the hospital. I sat in the passenger seat in the front. There was a window, and I could have looked back, but I didn't. I rode all the way to the hospital without looking in the back. I knew he was gone. I knew nothing could be done, and I did not want to see what they were doing, or not doing, or any of that. Instead I just sat in the front seat, and whenever we went over a bump the ambulance bounced and jostled.
These were the lows... the horribly low lows of my day. I cried while I washed dishes and cut broccoli for dinner, but that was just sadness, not horrific heart-rending pain.
The high parts of my day were getting the new sofas, and rearranging the downstairs to fit them with Todd. I love my husband. He works in fascinating ways. He is so particular about placement of things, and he gets so frustrated. We have a lot of things, and a not so big house. So when we try to make everything fit, it is not necessarily aesthetically ideal... at least for him. He doesn't like having the movie shelf by the TV. Its too busy, and too distracting. He doesn't like it when the room doesn't flow. When there is something wrong with the way something looks to him, he can tell you exactly what he doesn't like. I, on the other hand, can't. If it doesn't feel right, I have to move and adjust and switch things until it DOES feel right. So we got to do our fun redecorating dance today. It always makes me happy to see his mind at work.
And our house feels clean. And we have ample seating. And my sofas are SOOOOO comfortable.
Not the best day, but not the worst.
Triggers today included an innocent discussion with someone and riding in a big truck.
This morning as I was walking to my office I ran into a guy that I have known for several years. We aren't friends or anything, but we are friendly. I know he knows about my situation, because my chain of command put out an email to everyone in the department to let them know... it is a blessing because a lot of people aren't asking me how my baby is. If people don't ask I don't have to see their faces when I say "He is dead." The rough part of it is... no one knows how to talk to me. I ranted previously about the people directly in my office, but when I speak to people in my Navy community it is different. Some don't recall straight away that I am the one who has the dead baby.
So this guy says "Hey! How are you?" which is a very general and innocuous greeting... under most circumstances. To the lady with the dead baby this is not so. At least, everyone thinks that. I know when you ask me how I am that you are not looking to hear me tell you that I am hurting, that every day I am pained and empty, that while I can walk around and talk and perform daily tasks marginally well, I am a wreck. I know you don't want to hear that I am drinking too much, eating too much, and trying to lust away my pain, and I know you don't want to know that none of it really works. So when you say it, when you ask "How are you?" and then realize that you have just invited a tidal wave of emotion, that you have just made some social faux pas because I cannot answer with "Great!" or even "Good," and that it is even forced for me to say "Ok," please just take my casual "Fine, thank you," as a normal courteous response, and maybe as a sign of forgiveness for asking. The stricken look I get after someone asks that, when they realize as it is coming out of their mouths, before I can answer casually... is almost comical. I can't promise that I won't get weepy, because I can't promise that these days. I can only promise that I will not hold it against you. It's just a greeting.
So, this guy asks how I am, then immediately tries to back pedal. He tries to add words to his question, so there is no pause. "Hey! How are... you? Gosh it sure is cold, I just started wearing my winter coat, and even still I am still chilly." And I say "I am ok, thank you. How are you?"
And what does he say? "Oh, well enough. I'm alive."
And my heart screams at that answer. Yeah. You are alive. That is well enough. Not everyone is so lucky.
Maybe it was something on my face, because he tries to pedal out of this, too, but he was spinning his wheels. "Yeah, I mean, it's good to be alive. I have been busy, and stuff. Ya know, not great, but alive. At least I am still breathing."
And my heart screams and screams and screams.
This oaf is alive. And breathing. Some of my last memories of my son are me finding him not. Not alive. Not breathing. So fuck you, buddy. All of this, my heart is screaming, and I want to scream, and I want to cry, and I want to run from the building.
Instead I say "Well, nice to see you. Take care," and I walk to my desk.
Such a simple encounter... how could it feel so horrible?
The other time I had a total break down today was around 10:00. A friend gave us some sofas, so I went to rent a flatbed truck from Home Depot. As I was driving the truck down the highway, I hit a bridge, and at the seam where the bridge and the road met, the truck bounced and jostled. I flashed back to that night, riding in the front of the ambulance that came to take Rhys to the hospital. I sat in the passenger seat in the front. There was a window, and I could have looked back, but I didn't. I rode all the way to the hospital without looking in the back. I knew he was gone. I knew nothing could be done, and I did not want to see what they were doing, or not doing, or any of that. Instead I just sat in the front seat, and whenever we went over a bump the ambulance bounced and jostled.
These were the lows... the horribly low lows of my day. I cried while I washed dishes and cut broccoli for dinner, but that was just sadness, not horrific heart-rending pain.
The high parts of my day were getting the new sofas, and rearranging the downstairs to fit them with Todd. I love my husband. He works in fascinating ways. He is so particular about placement of things, and he gets so frustrated. We have a lot of things, and a not so big house. So when we try to make everything fit, it is not necessarily aesthetically ideal... at least for him. He doesn't like having the movie shelf by the TV. Its too busy, and too distracting. He doesn't like it when the room doesn't flow. When there is something wrong with the way something looks to him, he can tell you exactly what he doesn't like. I, on the other hand, can't. If it doesn't feel right, I have to move and adjust and switch things until it DOES feel right. So we got to do our fun redecorating dance today. It always makes me happy to see his mind at work.
And our house feels clean. And we have ample seating. And my sofas are SOOOOO comfortable.
Not the best day, but not the worst.
Tuesday, November 6, 2012
40th Day.
A couple weeks ago I spilled a rum and coke on my keyboard, and since then I have fought the urge to type anything. I have had a million times where I have wanted to sit down and say things, just get them out, but now, now that I have taken my nice quiet keyboard and replaced it with a dusty old clacker from the garage... Now I feel overwhelmed.
Today is the 40th day. I am a Tlingit Indian, and Tlingits have a tradition called the 40-day party. It is a chance to honor the deceased, and to help send them off, and to help with the grieving process. On the 40th day we honor those who have passed by burning a plate of food for them... usually their favorite.
Well, Rhys died with nothing eaten but breast milk... and now we are in low supply of that. Besides, I don't think that would burn so well. Instead we will be burning things I craved during pregnancy. My mom is making a pot roast, we will be having tacos.
Some moments I feel so despondent, like the world will never be ok again. Other times I feel so numb, and empty, and listless. Mostly, I just feel sad. I feel like I lost something, and no amount of searching will result in it being found, but I just can't stop looking anyway.
I have been back at work a bit. It is a lot harder than I want it to be. My branch chief had a baby two months before me. We were pregnant at the same time. I went in to let her know that I was trying to come back, and plastered all over her office are pictures of her precious little boy, those big round cheeks, and that sweet little mouth. It hurts me in my heart to see him. I want to bury my nose in the neck of my little boy, smell his baby scent, and feel the soft tickle of his fluffy hair on my cheek. I want to feel his little fingers wrap around one of mine, and rub my thumb on his silky little feet as he nurses. I want to not cry every time I walk into her office, because all I can think of are these things.
Yesterday was really rough. There is a gentleman that walks through the office and jokes with everyone, he is from another shop, so he doesn't know the intimate goings on, and I guess he wasn't given the "Watch out for Prescott, her baby died" speech that everyone else was given. He walked in yesterday and saw me, back from my extended maternity leave, and goes "Hey, where are all your baby pictures? I want to see that baby!" I started crying immediately... I couldn't help it.
"He died,." I said. I want to see that baby, too, but I can't anymore. Not ever again.
It's strange. I have an office full of people who are warm and friendly and eager to share stories and joke. I know my chain of command spoke with them, let them know that I don't want to talk about it, and they are being so respectful. I know they must be uncomfortable, or unsure of how to be, but it isn't like it used to be. I used to walk in and be greeted warmly... now people don't even aknowledge me. I try to resume business as usual, to chirp out a happy greeting, and chat normally, but I am largely ignored. I know they don't mean to be that way, but sometimes it makes me feel like maybe I am just a ghost floating unnoticed through the office. Maybe in a way, I am the one who died.
I know this post has been long, disjointed and a little bit random. I apologize for that. I am just letting emotions out in a way other than crying. Maybe I will be able to do more later... though I make no promises. I am not loving typing on such a loud key board.
Today is the 40th day. I am a Tlingit Indian, and Tlingits have a tradition called the 40-day party. It is a chance to honor the deceased, and to help send them off, and to help with the grieving process. On the 40th day we honor those who have passed by burning a plate of food for them... usually their favorite.
Well, Rhys died with nothing eaten but breast milk... and now we are in low supply of that. Besides, I don't think that would burn so well. Instead we will be burning things I craved during pregnancy. My mom is making a pot roast, we will be having tacos.
Some moments I feel so despondent, like the world will never be ok again. Other times I feel so numb, and empty, and listless. Mostly, I just feel sad. I feel like I lost something, and no amount of searching will result in it being found, but I just can't stop looking anyway.
I have been back at work a bit. It is a lot harder than I want it to be. My branch chief had a baby two months before me. We were pregnant at the same time. I went in to let her know that I was trying to come back, and plastered all over her office are pictures of her precious little boy, those big round cheeks, and that sweet little mouth. It hurts me in my heart to see him. I want to bury my nose in the neck of my little boy, smell his baby scent, and feel the soft tickle of his fluffy hair on my cheek. I want to feel his little fingers wrap around one of mine, and rub my thumb on his silky little feet as he nurses. I want to not cry every time I walk into her office, because all I can think of are these things.
Yesterday was really rough. There is a gentleman that walks through the office and jokes with everyone, he is from another shop, so he doesn't know the intimate goings on, and I guess he wasn't given the "Watch out for Prescott, her baby died" speech that everyone else was given. He walked in yesterday and saw me, back from my extended maternity leave, and goes "Hey, where are all your baby pictures? I want to see that baby!" I started crying immediately... I couldn't help it.
"He died,." I said. I want to see that baby, too, but I can't anymore. Not ever again.
It's strange. I have an office full of people who are warm and friendly and eager to share stories and joke. I know my chain of command spoke with them, let them know that I don't want to talk about it, and they are being so respectful. I know they must be uncomfortable, or unsure of how to be, but it isn't like it used to be. I used to walk in and be greeted warmly... now people don't even aknowledge me. I try to resume business as usual, to chirp out a happy greeting, and chat normally, but I am largely ignored. I know they don't mean to be that way, but sometimes it makes me feel like maybe I am just a ghost floating unnoticed through the office. Maybe in a way, I am the one who died.
I know this post has been long, disjointed and a little bit random. I apologize for that. I am just letting emotions out in a way other than crying. Maybe I will be able to do more later... though I make no promises. I am not loving typing on such a loud key board.
Thursday, November 1, 2012
It's Morphin' Time
Halloween.
What a spook-tacular holiday. Little ghouls and boys dress up and beggar themselves about the neighborhood for candy and the occasional scare, the streets are abound with witches, goblins, princesses and superheros. What was truly frightful about this day for me was the day it was supposed to be.
Todd was struck with genius one day as we were sitting around. There were five of us. Todd, Me, Sami, Rowan and Rhys. Just the right amount for a Power Ranger's family costume. I ordered red sweats for Todd, and bought blue sweats for Rowan, black for Rhys. I was still on the prowl for pink and yellow for Sami and me. I was going to sew on the white diamonds around the chest, make an awesome gold pendant belt, and find some sweet white boots to "top" off the ensembles. I was so excited, and I think Todd was too.
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| How cute would that be? |
I don't really remember what I said, or how long after his death it was, but I know we were on the front porch, entering the house. It may have been our first time coming home together... I turned to Todd and said something along the lines of "We don't have enough to be the Power Rangers." For some reason it seemed so important in that second. Todd told me we could do something else, and still in my mind I had to figure out how to fill the spot of our tiny Black Ranger. The dog? Could I dress up a doll? Should I invite a friend?
What the hell was wrong with me?! How could I have possibly thought that I could tackle such a huge sewing job right after the death of my son? How could I have so easily replaced him in our family costume scheme? It didn't take too long for me to snap back to reality and realize I would not be able to do it. Of course this caused a whole different point of stress... what would we be doing for Halloween?
Fortunately, my sister Paige swooped in with her amazing sewing skills and unstoppable creativity. She saved the whole day for us. She sewed up a Dora and Boots costume for the kids, on short notice, no less. Todd and I let go of the pressure we were putting ourselves under to dress up and let it be just a day for the kids. It was their first time Trick or Treating. Their costumes were a HUGE hit! Parents all over the block ooh-ed and ah-ed at how cute they were, and they even got their pictures taken!
Rhys didn't even live for six weeks. It's not like we had a million billion actual plans for him, things to do together... at least nothing concrete... except for this. This one day was supposed to be a family thing, dressing up together. It made the day hard for us. It was sad.
But man, Dora and Boots really brightened it. Happy Halloween.
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| How cute is that?!? |
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