A New Type of Grief

Grief is weird these days. We are coming into the dreaded holiday season and our trip to Faith's Lodge is just around the corner.

After our weekly trip to Sam's Park this morning I came to a realization. I hate leaving there.
I hate that feeling like I am leaving him behind for the wolves to raise.
I leave him every week.
I leave his body behind and hope that I'll make it the next week.
I leave his "things" behind and hope the animals or bitter bystanders or groundskeepers don't mess with it.

I leave with the feeling that I've left my son with a stranger.

I leave feeling like I have to choose between my children.
Between the living and the dead.

A mom should never have to choose one child/children over another. But that is what I'm asked to do every single day of my life.

I have to choose my living children or my dead child.

And every day I breathe.
I'm not sure why. I don't know if I am actually making that decision or not. I don't know what would happen if I did make that decision.
Would I see my son?
Would I be damned to hell for all eternity?
Would I or my family be punished by some higher being?
Would nothing happen? Would I placed in my wall next to my son's body for my living children to visit  and life moves on?

I don't know. And that scares me. I don't know where my son is and I don't know why I continue to breathe.

I'm caught in a realm that demands both the living and the dead.

I need Faith's Lodge more now than I think the last time we were there. I need it's comforts, warmth, community, peace, and hope. We are going as a family this time and I think that will be a different experience than when we went just the two of us. My oldest is looking forward to it most; she's counting down the days.

Feelings of the unknown have cradled my grief and made it hard to handle. I've never been in this place before, the unknown. I have been given the reality check again. Control is not in my favor. Control has always been in my favor. I've always gotten a way around things and made them compromise with my demands. Grief has a handle on these and is holding tight.

After all of this, I'm left with guilt.
Guilt that I have chosen my living children over my dead. Guilt that I missed something in this calculated plan and somehow let grief slip in. Guilt that I am absent from reality because I'm trying to figure out how to navigate through this realm.

Michalinaism

Out of the mouth of sibling loss...

M: I love my sister. Mommy, can me, vivianna, and Sam all be together in the same square when we die?

Me: Sure. If that's what you want. 

(Exhausted from trying to explain to her for the millionth time that I hope she dies   when she is old and  has her own family)

...Sigh...

Reminders of why I hate this reality!

Poetic

Just now driving home from a morning breakfast-picnic at Sam's park and an afternoon of shopping with my girls, I see it...

The first and only Monarch butterfly I've seen all season.

It was beautiful. Just as I remember it on that cold windy late October day at Sam's park.

My little boy saying, "Hi, Mommy, I'm here."

This one was different.

I first noticed it as the van in front of me smacked it with the car.

It quickly disappeared from sight. It was gone just like that. Another victim to passing car.

Just then I see something fly from the front of this car and flail in the sky, as if trying to stay afloat.

The Monarch.

Desperately clinging to life.

Trying to fly.

Trying to stay alive.

I watched helplessly as this beautiful creature danced with death. Obviously there was nothing I could do....

But drive and flashback to 2 years, 2 months, and 4 weeks ago.

Did he dance with death?

Did he desperately cling to life?

Or was it quick?

Did he suffer?

I would have saved him if I could.
If I'd known.
I would have laid my own life down for him. I still would, just for a moment with him.

...and it was gone. I could no longer see dance with death. I supposed it died. How could something so fragile survive.

Life's fragile.

Life changes in a second.

Life is out of my control. I hate that.

That Monarch was my son. Gone in an instant.


Ahhhh...He laughs again at me. You don't make it easy to find faith.

It's been a while...

I  know, I know, I'm one of those moms that have a rainbow and forget about my grief and stop posting. Well I never wanted to be that way. No, I have not forgotten about my grief, I could never, that would be like forgetting Sam.

You know it's been a while when your husband asks if you have posted lately.

Well I'm going to post. Post something.

Here it goes...

Since my last post a lot has happened so I am going to be short winded because I don't have the time for anything else.

Sam's 2nd birthday. We had a nice evening with family. Since it is also hubby's day we had dinner with the extended family and chilled with just us most of the morning. First we as a family did our own thing; had breakfast, went to Sam's park, sang "happy birthday", and lounged around. It's hard for my husband because he feels the pressure from others to celebrate his birthday but all he wants to do is mourn his son. Since the day went to shit weather wise we ended up in the pitch black and rain at Sam's wall, with the whole family after dinner! That surprised the shit outta me. I have an awesome family to go stand in front of a wall in the dark rain!

Family is victim to another stillbirth. My 3rd cousin gained his wings in June. Yes, I said 3rd cousin, us Italians stick together. Just like Sam, his death was and is a complete surprise. The moment I got the call I knew what I had to do. I had to be there for my cousin and his wife. I waited around for a phone call all day to visit them in the hospital and see this beautiful angel. It was hard to see him but not as hard to see them, the parents of a baby that was supposed to be here in their arms not in Heaven. The odd thing about this set of cousin's is their first child. You see, their first has been one that I've been avoiding.
Why?
Well, you see she is one month younger than Sam. So, needless to say, seeing her is seeing Sam's should have's and what should be his milestones. I hear her talk and wonder what would Sam's voice sound like?
Anyways, of course, that has now all changed. She is a sister to an angel.

Vivianna's 1st birthday. We had the whole shebang. We always said we would. It is our rainbow after all! So we had 63 adults and 19ish kids at our house, and our house is not big by any means, but it worked.

I am amazed at her and her life. She is a firecracker like none other. She is one that will keep me up at night as a teenager. Complete opposite of M. But, I love her just the same.

My faith has gone over the edge. I am in a hole that is very difficult to get out of. Not sure where my son actual is. Is there a Heaven? Is there a God? I don't pray, I can't? I'm scare shitless to. I prayed with Sam and look what happened. Ugh! I hate this feeling and I know deep down this is evil trying to take over but my fucking analytical self seems to make it make sense! So I continue to lie to M and answer her God questions like a true believer. I just would hate to take that away form her too. Anyways, this is a post in and of it's self, one that I've wanted to post for a while just been too chicken to put these thoughts out there for the public. Just avoiding the lectures that will be store.

As for my grief, I'm numb. Just numb! Sam's 2nd birthday was worst than his first. I cried more and miss him more in year 2. I barely have any time to grieve and sometimes take that out on my kids. Which of course is not fair at all. I find my self stifling my tears for the sake of my girls and life that gets in the way. I hate that I don't have time to drown myself in my sorrows and cry whenever I want to.

I think I gave enough to read.

Mommy loves you, Sam.

Hollywood Style

Hollywood style without the lavish materialistic things. The things that make you feel good. Kinda like the work with no play. You know the acting without the payoff.

I pretend a lot lately.

I pretend for my eldest daughter.
I pretend for my youngest.
I pretend for my husband.
I pretend for work.
I pretend for friends.
I pretend for family.

After all, it's been 2 years since I watched that little white box slide into the wall to never emerge again.

I should be different, right?

2 years without my son. It doesn't get any more fucked up than that.
I live a lie everyday.

I pretend it's ok that I have this life.
I pretend that it's okay that I a still furious with God and sometimes doubt his existence at all or that there is a heaven.

I shed a few tears here and there always making sure I don't fall apart. Keep the pieces together Stefanie.

People have forgotten. Or at least they are more comfortable talking babies and life with me. I'm not as comfortable as you think. I pretend. I act. It's what I do well.

Loving my girls doesn't change the fact that I don't have my little boy in my arms. Yes, he's in my heart. But, that's not fucking good enough. I selfishly want all 3 of my kids in my arms.

I don't pray. I have doubts of God existence or his goodness. I hate him for what he's done to my family.

-But I pretend for her, for them. They have to believe in something.

I'm aching for you baby boy.

-Mommy loves you.

Numb

There are days like today where I sit here in front of your wall so numb from the pain that it actually feels like reading a story book to your dead baby is something everyone does.

Man, I miss you.

Does this pain ever end? Will I ever feel close enough to you?

Probably not.

I love you baby.

Mommy loves you.

Padded Envelope

Who would have ever thought that a padded envelope would be a trigger. I haven't had one in a while, a trigger that is. At least not one that has sent me to the place I visited last night.

I needed a damn padded envelope to send back my K-cup for the Kruerig that was replaced under warranty last week. Last night I had one of those, "Wait! I think I have one here and I don't have to buy one." moments. Well in my search for the fucking thing I pulled open the file cabinet that now resides in my son's room.

I felt a bit of hesitation as I dared to open the cabinet. Not because of a potential trigger but because I knew I would come across memories that would be hard to resist. Memories of M and her baby days.

There it was staring at me. A file folder marked Sam.

Do I dare?
Now I clearly knew the damn envelope wasn't going to be in there. Why the hell would there be a padded envelope in his file?

I thought about it for a split second then wrestled the idea of "Do I?" "Leave it?"

No. I want to feel close to him. I need to feel close to him. 
Time has a funny way of robbing you of this sense of closeness. The more time passes the farther I feel from him.

I did it. I opened his file. There staring back at me was a stack of papers that explained his life. These were papers that I had faxed to the maternal and fetal medicine doctor that I saw just after Sam died.

I began reading his autopsy report, the only proof of life that I have. These papers are gold to me. They prove to me that Sam is a real baby and he exists. I've read this before not long after he died for the same reasons I read them last night.

To feel close to him.

As I read it, there alone in his room, the tears began to flow, I mean really flow. I cried out in anger at the God that stole my son, "I should be holding him in his room, not reading his fucking autopsy report."

This reading did something different this time. Besides filling me with closeness it filled me with anger. If any of you have ever read an autopsy report you would know what I'm talking about. The verbiage used to describe my son felt cold and disconnected. Although reading it gave me validation and comfort.

When I started reading it I was noticing that his blood type was nowhere to be found! Mine was but not Sam's. this bothers me. Again, this is another way to validate his life since he was never given a birth certificate.

I continued to read, trying to see through the tears. The pain ripped through me like a tornado. I had to keep reading, I just have to know his blood type.

At this point my I can barely see through my tears and my husband walks in. Then M. She asks what's wrong and my husband tells her, "we miss Sam." Of course she comes back with Kleenex for my tears.

Again filled with the should have and left with empty arms and a gaping hole in my heart.

Mommy loves you, baby boy, mommy loves you.

Groundhog Day

That's right my post is going to be about Groundhog Day. How does that have anything to do with grief? I'll tell you...

A poetic viewing of the movie Groundhog Day on Saturday sparked a question in my husband. He says to me, "If you had to do/live one day over and over again, which would it be?"

With out hesitation I answer, "as much as it would hurt...giving birth to Sam. Even though the pain would be so great, I'd get to hold him everyday."

I miss him. I yearn to hold him and feel him again.

Days have been rough lately. Just feeling very exhausted in my faith and its slipping quickly. Am I really going to see him again? How do I trust God again?

I want a Groundhog Day.

Mommy loves you.

Pieces

I have to begin by saying I'm sorry. I'm sorry I haven't written. I doubt anyone notices how long it's been but its been awhile.

I've had a lot on my mind just haven't had the time to write. Then again I've had nothing to say because I've been at a loss for words. I just don't know where my grief or emotions stand right now.

What has sparked me to write is my AMAZING 4 year old. Last night she said words to me that no 4 year old should ever say.
Here is how our conversation went:

M: are you happy you have a live baby?
Me: yes honey I'm am.
M: Sam is up in heaven and when you get there he will be there waiting for you.
Me: yes, he will be.
M: -and nonni and poppy will put you in your box.
Me: I hope nonni and poppy are gone long before me.
M: then who will put you in your box?
Me: (this took me a minute to figure out how to answer, but I figured since we've always been honest and up front with her...) hopefully you will.
M: okay I will do that!
Me: (tears begin to form and I'm loosing my stomach at the thought of our conversation not because of the content but because its with my four year old)
M: mom, I'm going to miss you when you die.
Me: I'm going to miss you too, but that's not going to be for a very long time. Can we talk about something else? Lets not talk about me dying anymore.
M: ok. I love you mom.
Me: I love you too

With my four year old! Well beyond her years. Sam has given her so much emotion that I think a normal preschooler would never be able to handle.
And what for?
Is she going to be something great?
Or will she too die too soon?
God I hate to think of that! But that's me always analyzing.

Since then, or maybe it was before that, I'm trying to pick up the pieces. I feel shattered again. Barely able to breathe.

It's been 18+months since Sam died and people are starting to forget. Or at least it feels like it. I have a wonder family that always say his name and acknowledges his presence but others are forgetting.
Not forgetting him but forgetting I may still be broken. I will never be whole. Sam is the piece that competes me. Since V was born people have been blinded by excitement of a new baby and filled with joy. It gave them something to talk about with me.

"How are your girls doing?"

Before people would ignore me and I knew that they remembered my story. They recognize that I may still be fragile.

Remnants of him...

----------------------------~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~------------
I'm surrounded by babies lately. Babies being born left and right. I politely converse about their pregnancy and act excited for them.
I feel like people feel like they owe me the sympathy and say something like this towards the end of the conversation, "yea it's getting close. I just want him/her to be healthy."

Really, dumb fuck! Is that your little way to acknowledge my loss in your ignorance?
Sam was healthy. Nothing came back abnormal in his autopsy report.

HEALTHY BABIES DIE TOO!

Ugh, when will society get there head out of there ass! Nothing's impossible.

Do me a favor just acknowledge my brittle heart, mention his name and pray your baby is born alive.
Sam