Three.

Things have been a delightful whirlwind for me lately, with life tossing me excitement and disappointment, new friends and new hurts, and as always both pain and joy. Grief always sneaks up on me when I am my busiest. That makes it kind of a slap in the face. I feel like I am trucking along the freeway at 90 miles an hour and then a tire blows out.

It starts with my stomach dropping and initial panic as I figure out whats going on. My grief starts with fear. I feel like my world comes to an almost complete stop, but only in my head
Then there is the recognition. Yes, it is happening. I am about to hurt.
Then there is acceptance. I have to deal with this, I can't avoid it. I have to figure out what the best way to deal with it is in that moment. Am I in a public place? Is there someone I know near me?
Then the pain...
Then I deal with it. I just do. There are no other options.

But why does it hurt like this? Why is the pain still so poignant? Its been nearly 3 years, and I don't feel the hurt every moment of the day. I don't feel like a pariah of pain and parenthood all the time. When the pain strikes, though, it hurts bad. I still cry; it's less often, less tears, less sobs, but I still cry.

Tomorrow will be Rhys's third birthday. If he were here we would be having a birthday party this weekend. He would be running around, probably climbing on everything, chatting up a storm, and growing every minute. He would run behind big brother and big sister, and fawn over little baby brother. There would be cake and ice cream, and maybe we'd get him a bike or a DS so he could be like the big kids.

It's so hard to not have that today.

My son Rhys,

I think about you every single day. A little piece of my heart is missing with you not here. I pour all the love I have for you into the family that is here and missing you. You are with me in every way.

I love you.
Mommy

Another milestone, in grief and growth.

This evening as I write, I am watching my beautiful baby boy sleep, with reflections of his dreams flitting across his tiny face, and the occasional twitch in his fingers, sucking periodically at his little blue binky. Most importantly, I am watching his rhythmic breath, in and out; his beautiful, life-sustaining breath.

Tonight he is five weeks and five days old.

Pregnancy was a huge emotional roller coaster. I had fear and joy, doubt and excitement, and more than anything, a growing sense of love. I had worries that all I would see in this amazing little guy is my lost baby. I dreaded that I would distance myself from him, just waiting for the possible end to happen. I lived in a state of unbalance, swinging between unease and a love filled contentment.

At 35 weeks I was diagnosed with gestational diabetes. I was set on a low carb diet and a strict self-testing regiment to track my blood sugar. At my 36 week appointment the doc looked over my numbers and hospitalized me for uncontrollable sugars. It was explained to me that when uncontrolled, gestational diabetes can have negative effects on baby. It can cause excessive weight, premature birth, and possible breathing problems. Those last two words sent me into an absolute panic. And of course, guess what has a negative effect on blood sugar control? Psychological stress. Monitoring through the weekend showed that my blood sugar was difficult to get in check, even with insulin, and after a scary early-morning severe hypoglycemic episode the doctors decided that an early delivery would be best.

That afternoon, my beautiful baby Ash was delivered at 12:32 through c-section. It was an extremely emotional delivery for me, wrought with worry for my child. I did my best to not sob through it, fearing that I would shake my body as they were digging around inside me. My deepest fears were realized when they brought him out and he had trouble breathing. They immediately put him on a breathing machine, and took him to the NICU.

As I lay on that table thinking about what was happening, all those doubts and fears came back. Would this baby not make it? Would I be able to bring myself to go and see him? Would my heart be able to take it if I looked at his tiny little body? What if while I was looking, he stopped breathing? How could I do this? How could I survive losing another child? But then, what I did know was that 37 weeks in my body had already created a bond, a love that I couldn't deny. As soon as I was off the table, I was asking how long till I could go see baby in NICU.

It was nearly five hours later when I finally got to go and see my beautiful child. I got to touch his soft skin, and look at his beautiful little form, and I got the reassurance that a machine was making sure that he was breathing... I didn't have to watch his back rise and fall, because they were tracking every tiny breath he took.

Ashton did great under their watchful care. He was off the breathing machine by four am on Tuesday, and I got to hold him in my arms. His breathing was normal, and he was taking whatever nutrition I was able to pump in addition to the feeding tube he still had. After they took him off the feeding tube, they told me that as long as his blood sugar level was good through four feedings, they would let him leave the NICU. Unfortunately, he had trouble nursing, which we later found out was because he was 'tongue-tied' (that's a thing!), which was corrected at about 1 month old with a simple procedure. This little problem kept him in the NICU until we started supplementing with formula, at which point, he thrived! Ash left the NICU early on Wednesday morning, We brought him home to his adoring big sister and brother that evening.

It has been five weeks and five days of motherly bliss. I still get anxious, of course. I have moments of absolute panic when I can't see the rise and fall of his breaths. I awake from nightmares, in a cold sweat, seeking reassurance in his living body. I don't doubt my ability to love him separately from his lost brother, though. And now I know I can do this. I can live with a little fear and a ton of love.

Tonight marks the night. This is the age Rhys was when he left us. This makes for an extremely emotional night, and an extremely watchful one as well. I don't imagine I'll get much sleep. I will, however, spend every last minute of it loving the hell out of this amazing child of mine.

Thoughts on the new one.

New baby Prescott is due 24 May. When I went in for my follow up, I got a young doctor, Army doc, who was clearly new to the game. He was incredibly sensitive while asking for a through history, including the loss of baby Rhys. He was kind, if a little awkward, and I appreciated his bedside manner. Some folks don't get enough appreciation. 

Sami is so excited about a new baby. Rowan still doesn't seem terribly interested or concerned about it, but I think he'll get there in his own time. Sami told Todd she wants a baby girl, and Todd told her that he wants another boy. The interaction made my heart full. I told my therapist that I wanted a girl because I would hate to feel like this baby is a replacement. He reassured me nicely, saying that the fact that we worry about feeling that way is a sure sign that we would never let it happen. New baby will not ever be able to replace the amazing boy we lost, and there is no way we could love it any less for coming after him. 

Sami has been obsessed with babies lately. She brings home books from school that she has to read to three people. She always picks Mom, Dad or Ro, and baby. The other day we were looking at pictures on my phone right before bed, and she asked me if we could please call and talk to baby Rhys. It was hard to explain to her again that he is dead, and that means that he isn't anywhere that we can call him. Her little eyes filled with tears, and all I could do was hold her, and tell her that I miss him, too. 

I guess I'm not the only one confused by all the feelings brought on by this pregnancy. We are keeping it positive. Only 7 months left. 

Jumbled emotions and waiting.

It has been two years and four days since we lost Rhys. The last month has been one of mixed emotions, confusion, lots of feelings, and lots of love, too. This year we both had our rough spot closer to his birthday, back in August. I am not sure what it was, but we both felt it. We did not do a cake this year, or anything special. I feel a little guilty about that. We didn't burn a plate on his day, either... but we remembered him in our own individual ways. It still hurts, it still sucks. It always will. We are functioning, for the most part, most of the time. We are raising beautiful children that lived, and remembering the beautiful baby that didn't. There is joy in memories, and such sadness, too; guilt about whether or not we are doing the right things to remember him, about whether or not we are loving the living children as much as we possibly can; fear that something could happen to them.

Adding to the jumble of emotions this year is the fact that I just learned I am pregnant again. This fills me with joy, but also with a heart stopping fear. I have known for nearly two and a half weeks, and today went to get my estimated delivery date. They did an ultrasound and saw a gestational sac, but could not find anything in it. Hopefully it's just too early. The doc said it looks like I am about six weeks along, and scheduled me to have another ultrasound on the 9th. He did not seem pessimistic, but was clear in telling me that there is no way to tell right now if I am developing a baby or if there is non-uterine pregnancy. I have already been having bad dreams... I can't help but dread the worst.

I want to say we've had bad luck, that life doesn't favor us because we lost a beautiful baby boy... but I also feel that isn't fair. We have two beautiful children, who bring us all the joy and frustration that beautiful children bring. We live with a huge and painful scar. All the hope and fear that comes with this pregnancy is not going to make a difference. Ultimately, I just have to wait.

I am waiting, breath bated, butterflies of hope in my belly and shadows of fear on my heart, I am waiting.

Fear

Today Rowan went to the hospital for an MRI. Because he is only three, they put him under anesthesia. I think that it would not have been so awful for me if this had been a year and a half ago. I guess I cant say for sure, but today was... beyond horrible.

It started with the build up, as all hard things do. For the last couple days I have had horrific images running through my head... having to see him the way I saw my other son, having to feel his cold skin, and having to make those phone calls... to stay sane and tell other people that I have lost a child. I lived it in my head in flashes, and each one came with a sharp pain deep in my heart.

I haven't slept much. I haven't been concentrating. I cant control this fear. I told myself that the risk was low. I told myself that it is for the better. Doctors do this all the time. He is a strong and healthy boy. No amount of justification took away that fear.

Being in the hospital was hard. Being in those rooms. It wasn't, but it may as well have been the room that Rhys went to, where they tried so desperately and so fruitlessly to bring him back to life. Those rooms weren't, but may as well have been the rooms that my children played in, blissfully unaware of the grief surrounding their parents. They may as well have been the rooms that we cried in... well, I did cry in them. I couldn't help it. I was so scared.

Then I watched them put him out. I watched him and was so scared, waiting for something to go wrong. I watched him breathing and sleeping, his chest rising and falling as it was supposed to be. I kissed his face and could do nothing but wait.

Things went perfect. Rowan went through his scan with no problem, and he woke up with no problem. He is my perfect boy.

But after today, I feel so broken.

Happy Birthday, Rhys

Today is a day of cakes and decorations, the first taste of chocolate, messy faces, laughter, love, pride and adoration.

On Sami's first birthday she started walking for the first time. We had a pool party. On Rowan's first birthday, he got to spend time with his Uncle Cooper. He got a musical turtle and Thomas toys that he loved endlessly. I burned some plastic in the oven and it made the cupcakes taste bad. On Rhys's first birthday... I wrote a blog, wishing that I could be creating memories with my son.

Rhys Tracy Zael Prescott was born at 9:50 AM on 17 August 2012. He was 8lbs, 10oz and the most perfect, beautiful baby ever born.

We were fortunate enough to have five weeks and five days with him.
Happy First Birthday, my son Rhys.

Not sad... something else.

Days like today I feel like I should just be put somewhere alone, to live out this punishment for whatever cosmic crime I have committed. I just want to be by myself. I want to let my sadness out in whatever form it happens to be manifesting itself in, rather than let it be crankiness, irritability and impatience.

I fought with my husband today over nothing, I think because we are both sad. He said he feels nothing. I won't push, because maybe that is what he wants to feel. I sort of wish I could feel nothing, just for a little while.

Instead I feel like I snap easily. I don't have the patience for my kids... my beautiful, living, breathing children. I am short with my husband. I don't have it in me to perform day to day tasks. The laundry is piling up, so are the dishes. I just want to scream.

Why can't my sadness just be sadness? Why does it have to be irritation? Or anger? Or the desperate need to just be alone in the quiet?

PSA

Hey heart.... stop it! Stop being broken.

I  mean it. I am tired of it.

Unexpected trigger

A warning to my readers, this post is graphic and possibly very upsetting.

Today was a beautiful day. I was happy and spending time with my beautiful children and my husband, and feeling motivated to try something new.

We had a gallon of milk in the fridge about to go bad, so I figured I would try and make some feta cheese! How crafty! How exciting!

I put the milk on to slowly boil and put the kids up to their beds for a nap. Todd was getting ready for work, and I was watching my milk warm. It took a long time to boil.

Finally is started steaming, and I would stand over it and stir. The smell was not unpleasant to me but for some reason it was making my stomach turn. As I kept stirring and it got hotter and hotter, I just kept feeling sicker and sicker. I wanted to be by it, watch it boil, tend the project... and be by the smell... but I also wanted to run and cry and vomit.

I couldn't figure out what was wrong with me. The milk achieved boil, and I pulled it off the heat and added the lime juice and vinegar. All of a sudden it hit me... as the smell wafted up to my face it hit me... it was the same thing I smelled as I gave my infant son CPR. The smell of the milk, warm and curdled. When I gave him CPR his stomach emptied. It got all over me, all over him and the floor. I had a baby blanket that I'd wipe his face with as I tried to resuscitate him.

All that night in the hospital that I what I smelled on me. I smelled it as they told me my son was dead. I smelled it when I made the phone call to my family. That smell... the death of my son.

It really ruined my day. I feel so upset, so heart broken all over again. What a horrible memory. It made everything so fresh.

Wee ones.

There is a really big empty spot in me where my son once was. I held him, and talked to him. I nursed him and loved him and was his mother. I had three beautiful children, and now when people ask me how many kids I HAVE, I am force to say two. I HAVE two amazing and beautiful children... and for that I am blessed.

... but I should have three.


Today my husband told me he would love to have another, if only we didn't have to endure the horror that is me being pregnant... well, not in so many words, but that is the general idea.

Pregnancy does NOT suit us. When we are pregnant... yes we, because he suffers too... we are not compatible. I get sensitive, and scared, and anxious. I feed off of all the insecurities that I might feel on any given day. My expectations of him SOAR. I think "Why should I do the dishes?! Why should I cook and clean, work and deal with the kids... I'm busy creating life here!!!" and then I get belligerent when he doesn't read my mind. It's not fair to either of us. And he withdraws. He finds other things to occupy his time because he can't handle that.

So how do I fix that? I can try and make promises, but we all know all reality goes out the window when pregnant hormones kick in.

Part of me is begging to have another, begging for the life in my arms. Begging for the sweet baby breath, the soft snugly head to rub my chin on, the soft little one inch of foot to rub my thumb along. Babies are amazing, and I don't feel like I would be having one to replace my dear Rhys.

NOTHING. NO ONE. will ever replace the child that I lost. The little boy that I am supposed to be loving right now will NEVER have a replacement.

That is not to say I can not love another child.

We love Sawyer. My sister-in-law has an amazing little baby. I thought meeting him would be the end of me. I thought jealousy, shame, fear, sadness... I thought all sorts of negativity would overwhelm me upon meeting him. All I felt was LOVE. Pure love, as any mother to any other mothers child would feel. The feeling of needing to love and protect and nurture.

The bottom line is that babies are amazing...and that I have drank too much tonight and so should stop talking.

Good night.

Checking in.

I have been a bit of a ghost. I don't mean for that to be a pun or a joke, but it is kind of funny to me anyway.

I haven't written in a long time. I had plans to write a really awesome post about my trip back home. Being with my family in Oregon was more healing to my heart than anything has been yet. I felt surrounded by love, comfort and safety. I spoke openly about Rhys, shared pictures, and was hugged constantly.

Then I went on a cruise with my best friend in the whole wide world. We had a blast, but I felt bad. It was kind of the opposite feeling of being at home. I was away from my family, away from my kids for the first time ever. I felt bad talking about Rhys, because we were supposed to be on vacation, though I know she wouldn't have judged me for it, and was loving and comforting when I did talk about him. To be honest, I can't wait to go again, because next time, I know what I'm getting in to. Next time I will have had more time to heal. Next time it wont be my first time away from my kids.

Then shit got real at work. I have been INSANELY busy. I put in about 10 hours a day, and every weekend I am rocking study, and spending time developing new friendships with some very nice girls. (That means I have been going out and getting drunk, heh!)

So between not being able to really sort my feelings in to words, procrastinating because there was something I already wanted to say, and just being too damned busy to sit down and write, I have become a bit of a ghost. And I feel like that is what Rhys is sometimes, too. Or maybe he was just a figment of my imagination. Or maybe he was a twinkle in the sky, a star that I reached out and got to touch for just a little bit.

There have been a few days in the past few months that have hit me with crippling sadness and a depth of loss that is incomprehensible to anyone but those who have lost in the same way. There are nightmares that plague me, and daymares that pop up out of nowhere. There have also been a few days where I am nearly blissful, with just the softest edge of grief lingering at the far reaches of my being. Lets be honest, it will always be there. But mostly, I have been busy.

Today is Father's day. Todd is taking it so much better than I took Mother's day. I am glad, because the guilt, the self loathing and sadness that I couldn't contain is something I would never ever wish on him. He is such an amazing father, and my children are so lucky to have him.

I hope to come back to writing. It's not like a bunch of people read this, but it is cathartic. Thank you, friends who are reading. I know your hearts are with me, and it is much appreciated.

Exhausted

Gosh it's been a long day. Actually, a long couple of days...

Who the hell am I kidding?! It has been a long...everything it seems. Long five months.
My beautiful son is five months gone.

A guy just joined my division. Fresh to the Navy, the guy has been in less than a year! How wild is that? His wife is from Seattle. They have a baby. Six months old. He was born one day after Rhys.

I love knowing people in my division, knowing their families, being a part of their lives... but I genuinely hope I never have to see that beautiful baby boy. There is nothing more I can say, no way to soften those words, or be more or less honest. That makes me feel guilty and sad.

I am so pooped. I am bummed because on Thursday there is an awesome spin class at work, but that is the day that Todd has evening class. So today I picked up the kids and took them to the grocery store. They asked for pancakes for dinner, so that's what we'll have. They also wanted sausage. I got bacon for Todd, and fun-fetti pancake mix for the kids. We will make them together, a family thing... an attempt at least. Sometimes my patience is unreasonably short. I hope tonight is not that way. I hope that it can be a nice mom and kids night, and that my mind doesn't dwell on how it would be different with Rhys around.

It's not like his presence would have made things better in so many ways. My kids wouldn't magically behave, my house wouldn't be effortlessly cleaner... dinner wouldn't be less of an inconvenience. In fact, doesn't having a baby exacerbate all these problems?

But if he was here... I'd be damn thrilled to have those problems.

Always there.

My life, in a nutshell,

 is dashing from one task to another. 

Up, dressed, kids up, dressed, 

  off to work/school/daycare, 

work work work 

  workworkwork 

  WORKWORKWORK, 

spin class,

kidstoddhome,  

fix dinner, eat, 

  pay bills, make appointments,

  bathe kids, kids to bed, 

yoga, 

  collapse on the sofa and sleep. 

All time for feeling is gone. 

I don't have time for grief, joy, amusement...

I feel like I am moving from one objective to the next. 

Somehow I find time for stress:

  Too many bills, not enough money, 

  too little time, too many tasks. 

  Too many people, not enough talking,

  too much talking, not enough thinking. 

Bickering, 

  trying to listen intently, 

  trying to be interested, involved, amused.

I'm on autopilot. 

I'm spinning my wheels. 

I'm...

Alone in the car for a moment. 

I'm in the house for just a minute,

  after Todd and the kids have left, before I head to work. 

I am in the bathroom washing my hands 

  on the way from my office to someone else's. 

I am walking to my car from spin class... 

These are the moments that it hits.

It hits without warning, without any tangible provocation. 

It hits so hard.

It startles me every time. 

I jump at a sound, painfully familiar... 

  a strangled cry, a sound of infinate pain... of release. 

It's me, 

  and I never know it right away. 

Then the tears come. 

Sometimes they just stream down my face, 

  a silent and scared sadness

  that doesn't want anyone to know. 

Other times it comes in sobs, 

  loud and uncontrolled; 

  sudden, violent, and terrifying. 

You are always there, my son, 

  please don't feel forgotten,

  please don't feel passed by. 

You are always there at the edge of everything I do.

You are always right there...

  but not there enough.

And so my grief finds me, 

even if I don't have time for it, 

it finds the time for me. 

But, my baby, you are always there. 

Still breaking...

I feel like my heart is in a constant state of breaking. On the 26th of September my heart shattered, and I thought it would just be the most broken it could possibly be forever, but somehow... somehow my heart is still breaking. Those tiny pieces of shattered heart feel like they are continuing to break, until I am sure that all that will be left is a pile of shattered heart dust, bits of broken heart so tiny that a slight breeze will be off with them. 

And then what will I have? 

I will still have my two beautiful children, full of life and joy, new experiences, humor and love. I will still have my husband who is my rock, my light, my voice of reason. I will still have the love of family and friends who have shown that through it all they will still be here. 

I have to keep reminding myself of these things, because its so easy... so easy to just look in at my ever-shattering heart and be swallowed in my grief. 

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Sam and Ro started daycare. They are in a home with a nice woman who teaches them things, plays with them all day, and takes them to the gym and the park. I think that is nice. Todd is in school, learning new things and meeting new people. He has so much homework, he keeps so busy. I am wrapped up in my duties at work, trying to eat healthy and get to the gym. Life is so busy. I guess this is "moving on." I still feel stuck in my sadness. Every day I take my 75mg of Zoloft, dedicate myself to what needs to be done in the moment, and live. I breath and I feel and I respond. I try to be thoughtful of my feelings, and especially of those of others. I hurt. God, how I hurt.

I just want my little baby back. I want to hold him in my arms, and nuzzle is fuzzy little head with my nose and mouth. I want to see his big, beautiful eyes looking up at me. 

Sometimes I think I am beyond all the whys, all the hows... but they always pull me back.

Grief is cyclical  they say. It will come in waves. I must be on a high wave. 

I guess I should just wait for it to abate. 

Who is the master?

I frequently feel like I am the MASTER of grief. I think to myself "I am so strong, and so amazing and making so much progress. I can think back on my dear son and remember with love and happiness. Aren't I great?"

Then days like today happen, and I wake up absolutely heart broken. Today, my grief is the master of me. All I can think about is my baby boy, who should be here in my arms, should be babbling on the floor, knowing how to roll over and learning to rock on his hands and knees. He should smile his silly smile at his brother and sister as they wave toys at him, or sing him cute little songs. Today is a heartbreak day. I am enveloped in my grief, and it is all I feel around me. I am bathing in it, breathing it, living it. It is all my day is.

Todd is starting school. It's very exciting and very stressful. He hasn't been in school in a decade. While we are registering him for school we are also registering our children for daycare. The kids are so excited.

At the registration office yesterday the lady that was helping us was telling us how limited spaces are in the Child Development Centers on base, and that our best bet was to go with a family in-home provider. "You don't have an infant, and that is a good thing. Those spots are hard to come by."

I don't have an infant, and that is a horrible and sad thing. Spots be damned.

And so I am left with the question, am I so strong as I think I am? Is it normal to think I am handling my grief like a champ one day only to be wracked and ruined the next? Is this progress?

Big Navy.

It is almost four months since the death of baby Rhys.

A lot has happened recently. I was offered a new duty at work. Its a big one. Its called ALPO, and for all you non-Navy folks that is Assistant Leading Petty Officer. Basically it means I was granted a leadership position within my Navy division. For me, this is kind of a big deal. It is very validating. It means that someone knows that I have been working hard to be ok, and I am succeeding at it. It means they think me capable of increased responsibility, they think I can take care of other people. Its kind of a big deal, and it means  A LOT to me.

More on the Navy side of the house... I took my Chief's exam last week. I went in so horribly unprepared. I told my therapist that I just hadn't had the time and I was feeling guilty. I feel guilty because this is my big chance to make a difference in the way my family lives. If I make Chief, it means more money. If I could have just focused, made myself sit down and study anything... it would have been great. But I couldn't. I didn't. I am ashamed. My therapist said I shouldn't put so much pressure on myself. There is always next year. I am caring for my family the best I can. It was more important for me to spend the time healing and spending time with my husband and kids than to devote it to studying. I will be that much readier for next year.

And finally... here is my big conundrum. I am a Sailor, and I love the Navy, and I think I am good at my job. I feel like I could do it for the next 10 years... if it didn't mean being away from my children. I have job security, more money than I could make doing just about anything in the civilian sector, and best of all, insurance! If I can last just 10 more years, I will have retirement. But... after losing one child, suddenly and unexpectedly... how can I ever EVER make the decision to be away from the two I still have?

I love my Navy, but my family comes first. So what do I do?

To be completely honest, one year ago I was planning on getting out at the end of this enlistment. I was ready to put my family first, buckle down and get a "real" job, let Todd go to school, give my kids some stability... no more moving, picking the school they would go to for their entire childhood, letting them make friends they won't lose every three years. After Rhys died the Navy showed me how awesome being a part of this community can be. I had the most amazing outpouring of support and love... more than I ever could have hoped for. I had strangers making food for my family, I had leniency in the work place, and NON STOP love and kindness from people who knew little more of me than that I was one of them, and I was in need. It was amazing, and touching, and... enough to make me want to stay a part of this community.

This is where it gets hard, because I know that it has something to do with where we are. This duty station is so much nicer about things than the last one was. Where we were before was horrible, and when I was in need there (granted, it wasn't the death of a child I was in need over) I was shunned, and told that maybe the Navy wasn't the right place for me. Here it is different. I feel a sense of community, and I feel like people have my best interests at heart. How can I just turn away from that? It may not be the same kind of stability that I would like to offer my children, with school and the same house to come home to every day of their upbringing and so forth... but it is a very important stability that I can't imagine finding somewhere else.

Is there a right answer? Can't someone just tell me what to do?

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.