Holiday Horror

Ok, so maybe the title of this blog is a LITTLE over dramatic. My children had a delightful Christmas. Sami and Rowan were spoiled rotten by relatives. Todd and I, well... watching the children enjoy Christmas was nice, but the whole day was overlaid with a heavy sadness.

All day my thoughts were heavy with longing for the 15 lbs of happy infant that should have been in my arms. I should have been sitting back on the sofa, watching his little baby senses take in the whole scene: bright paper, lights, squeals of delight. He would have been handed a piece of red and silver ribbon, which he would clutch in his chubby baby fist and wave around with little coordination. He would give us that big, gummy baby smile.

Happy memory:
Rhys was in my arms, and as usual we were just enjoying each others presence. I was talking at his cute little face, and touching his soft little cheeks. All of a sudden, he broke into the BIGGEST baby grin, all gums and joy. At 5 weeks and 5 days, my son gave me everything my heart could have asked for. He gave me a smile that will live in my heart forever.

How could any Christmas compare to that?

Further holiday challenges included socializing with people that I didn't know. They were delightful, and thank god for everyone's favorite social lubricant. Despite these things, I still have trouble talking with new people, or people I haven't dealt with since the death of my son. I feel like my story wants to jump out of my mouth, unbidden, every time it opens.

Also, my sister-in-law, Micaela, is 7 months pregnant with a little baby boy. She got all kinds of awesome baby stuff for Christmas. She talked to me about her pregnancy.

And here was the biggest kicker of the day. After opening presents, Sami sat  on her auntie Micaela's lap, and Micaela told her that there was a baby in her belly. Sami looked at her auntie and said, "Oh, my mama had a baby. He was baby Rhys, and he was so cute. Then he had to go to the doctor, and he is not coming back. He is gone now, and we miss him, and sometimes we look at pictures. There are pictures of mommy, and daddy, and Sami and Roro with baby Rhys."   Micaela sat and cried, and it took everything in me to not run from the room. It is good that Sami can talk about it. I am glad she got that opportunity to share, and I am impressed with her comprehension of the situation. It still broke my heart.

All in all, it was as pleasant a holiday as one could expect, being 3 months from the death of a child. Happy Holiday's everyone. Love to all.

A quick blah-blah

I have overcompensated for my grief this year in purchases. I bought my kids WAY more presents than I should have, and also overspent on extended family. I just want to GIVE to everyone. I want to give love and happiness and joy, simple pleasure, anything... any tiny positive thing that I possibly can to as many people as humanly possible. I want give all my love to all the people out there. 

Things that wont bring Rhys back include: over eating, over spending, drinking too much, and anything.

So I guess it'll come down to a New Year's resolution. I will limit my bad grief habits. I will allow myself the occasional grief indulgence in order to prevent me from falling into a pit of sadness that I cannot claw my way out of, but I cannot keep living like this. I have already taken steps to improve my diet, and have cut way back on drinking (part of improving my diet) and I will put a serious reign on my budget. 

Auld Lang Syne and all that, you know. 

My children are grieving. Sometimes I forget that they miss him, too. Samantha asked when we would see baby Rhys, and I had to tell her, again, that we won't see him again. That we have the love in our heart for him, but he is gone, and we have to just remember him. Rowan heard this, and my poor heart broke when he started to cry. The three of us sat on the sofa and looked through the Rhys album we created for his memorial. The kids enjoyed pointing everyone out, "Look, mama, its Sami, and Roro, and Auntie, and Mercy, and Baby Rhys! Baby Rhys is so cute." 

He was a damn cute baby. I have to remember him in my heart and try and be happy... happy that I had time with him, that we shared the brief and magical bond of mother and son. I should be happy that I have known his weight in my arms and I have felt what it is to love him. 

So in case this is all I get in before 1 Jan. my heart is with everyone in this season of giving, thank you for thinking of me as well. Here is to a New Year, with all the pomp and circumstance. 

Much love. 

The Physiology of Grief.

I have never been an emotional eater, but I do gain a lot of weight whenever I am pregnant. I haven't had much trouble getting it off previously, and I was losing fine after my baby Rhys was born. I was only 20 lbs from being my pre-pregnancy weight, and losing by the day.

After Rhys died I didn't eat for a week. I couldn't. I ate a strawberry when it was forced upon me, a few bites of dinner. Eating made me feel physically sick. Then one day some switch flipped and all of a sudden I was eating. I was eating well. Too well. I was eating a lot... and drinking. Drinking all those delicious calories. Mmm, beer calories, vodka calories, juice mixer calories. Tons of em.

And now here I am, almost three months later and nearly 20 lbs heavier than I was when I lost him. I am nearly 40 lbs heavier than I was before I was pregnant with him. I am starting to eat better, eat a lot less and try to eat a lot healthier. I am trying my damndest to not go to McDonald's on day's that I feel too sad to fix dinner for my kids. I am not drinking every day, and on days I do drink it is not nearly as much... yet I am still 40 lbs heavier than I was before him.

I want to make the excuses. I want to say that this weight is something he gave me, how could I possibly want to lose it? I want to rage against the bad feelings I have about myself when I look in the mirror, I want to scream "GRIEF IS MAKING MY PANTS TOO TIGHT!" and be ok with that. 

But that is all those are. Excuses. Bad excuses. Rhys gave me so much love, and he brought so much light into my life. He showed me that my two children could be beautiful and loving and proud of a new tiny member of the family. He showed me that my capacity for love is greater than I could have guessed, and that my love can extend beyond life and breath. He showed me that I should love wholly and entirely while I can, because as cliche as it sounds, you never know when it will be over, suddenly. Unjustifiably. My beautiful son, my baby who is gone from me forever, is not an excuse. He is not a reason to stay fat and sad. 

But how do I get out of this? How do I make my body stop being so fat? How do I make the celery and the extra flights of stairs, and the nights where I want just one more drink, but stop myself... how do I make them make a difference? Why am I letting myself carry an extra 40 lbs around my belly and thighs when I should be carrying an extra 20 in my arms? 

I do want to eat all the time. I am constantly hungry, empty, feeling like another helping might fill me a little. I want to imbibe, revel in the delicious heavy haze that drinking affords me... heavy in my head, and heavy on my cursed bathroom scale. 

How do I come out of this? How do I recover? How do I find it in me to make my body into something I am proud of again? How do I make myself really want to?

And beyond that... how do I just be ok?

Did I WHAT?!

I tend to consider myself a very understanding and forgiving person. I know that most people don't know how to be around me, how to react when I tell them my child is dead. I know people, especially young people that I encounter in the military, will not know what to say, or how to respond. I don't expect anyone to. I expect a level of insensitivity, a  lot of saying the wrong thing with the best of intentions, and a whole lot of stupid or sympathetic looks.

What I DO NOT expect, and am having a really hard time forgiving is downright stupidity.

Today as I was walking out of work, sort of rushed, I ran into a guy that I have spoken to on a few occasions, a fellow Sailor, a mature, ranked individual who seems like a kind and caring individual from the few interactions I have had. As I was about to go out the doors, he stopped me, and we shook hands in that passing-in-the-hall sort of way, and he asked me where my baby was. (I haven't seen him since I was pregnant, and I think he was just alluding to the fact that I am no longer pregnant, because of COURSE I wouldn't have the baby with me at work...)  I paused for a moment and considered lying. I do just about every time someone asks that sort of question, but instead I looked him in the eyes, I sighed and I said "He died." At this point we were a few steps apart, with him carrying on his way and me on mine. "Oh," he said. I thought that was it. Then he looked at me deadpan as he walked away and asked...

"Did you eat him?"

...

What in the FUCK is wrong with that guy?! There are no words to describe the feelings that have coursed through me over this statement in the last hour and a half since it happened. Seriously... what the fuck?

There are no words.

The Verdict...

Re-posted from Glow in the Woods:

 In the state of Maryland, whenever a child dies there is an investigation and an autopsy to determine the cause of death. 

Today, two months, two weeks and three days after his death, the medical examiner notified my investigator that the cause of death for my beautiful and perfect baby Rhys was Sudden Unexpected Death in Infancy (SUDI). My son was just that... beautiful and perfect. There is no medical explanation for his death. He did not have any undocumented defect or any chromosomal abnormality that contributed to him not being in my arms tonight. There was no good reason for him to die. 

Tragically, this explanation leaves me feeling guilty. If it was not nature, not something wrong with his amazing, tiny little body... then what did I do wrong? I checked on him. 45 minutes before I found his lifeless little body I saw him breathing, I saw him whole. Now I feel like I will never be whole again... and I feel that I don't really deserve to be. I should have checked on him more. I should have woken him up. I should have... I should have done so many things. 

The crime has been committed, and now the verdict stands. I will have to live the rest of my life without him. SUDI. That is the punishment. 

Please forgive me this self abuse. I feel that I am only saying what so many of us think on a regular basis. Please forgive me this moment of weakness, of falling apart. Please take my words at face value only and know that tomorrow morning I will wake up and tell myself that it is not my fault, that no matter what this would have happened anyway... that I am not to blame. Let me have this hurt tonight, open and honest and pure. 

Thank you for listening and understanding my pain. My heart goes out to all of you, all of us. Thank you.