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.

MISS

I had another MISS Foundation support group meeting last night and I left feeling weird. I don't know exactly what that means, but this is how it all went down. 


I was able to, for the first time, get through my story without crying. I think it might have been because I have a short and condensed version since we had three new people there with us. I left and still did not cry. This sort of bothers me. 


Lately, I have felt so numb that there is nothing that could rock me. Yeah, I may get teary eyes about something. But for the most part I feel like I could get beaten by a mob and not feel a thing. This scares me. I feel disconnected from my feelings and from Sam. I should cry, crying keeps me in a reality check. I know, I know some of you are thinking, it's okay to not cry. For me it's not. This puts me in a place of anger and disconnect. 


I am feeling that I am on the outside looking in at this poor girl who gave birth to her son who never took a breath outside of her womb. I feel sorry for this girl and wish she didn't have to live a life like this; a life filled with mausoleum visits and a constant need to honor her son that few have met. This girl is someone who is lost in a world of loss and grieving. A girl who will always live a life filled with "what if's". A girl who is forever changed by an angel she never got to tell him she loves him. A girl who would give her life to bring her son back.  That girl that I watch everyday is me walking in a life that I never thought I would live or try to live.






Maybe these feelings of numbness are a result of the much anticipated family gathering tomorrow. It will be the first gathering that I am attending with my husband's family. It would be such a big deal if a cousin did have a baby boy one month after me. The only difference is she got to bring her baby home and lay him in a crib, I got to lay mine in a crypt. I don't know why, but it bothers me. Of course, this is no fault of her, but it is the unintentional slap in the face that I don't have my son in my arms. Just thinking about the baby noises he will make or the crying he will let out makes me sick to my stomach because those are the sounds that I miss and yearn for sooo badly. Silence haunts me. It is not the kind of silence like you may think. Silence to me is something so much more. Silence to me is not hearing my Sam cry or make those cute little grunting noises that infants do. Hearing another baby do that in place of mine is earth shattering and crippling. It immediately puts me back to May 9, 2011, in a delivery room filled only with silent tears as my son slipped into this world only to have never entered it. It puts me in the silent delivery room where a hopeful 3 year old enters only to be told her brother is an angel. 
It's the sound that haunts me...




Okay, with Saturday in mind I would like all of my fellow blog followers to join me in National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day and honor Sam by lighting a candle. I will be taking part in a balloon release in South Elgin given by the MISS Foundation and the Sweet Pea Project. Should you participate in remembering all of the babies lost to the unknowns of Stillbirth, please take a picture and send it to me. I would love to make a collage of the candle pictures that you guys send. For me it would be a reminder that Sam's birth has not gone unnoticed and he continues to make in impact on this secret society of Babyloss.


Never forget our babies that were born angels...

Grab a facebook button in honor of October 15th...

Rough Day Strikes Again.

Today was rough. I hadn’t had a rough day in a while. I’ve had rough moments, but I always, somehow manage to regain my footing. Today the sadness has just kept close to me today. Just when I thought I was pulling out, sadness struck again today.

My darkness today started with a light. This light was so beautiful that it brought a smile to my face and warmth in my heart. However, that shining light was quickly followed by guilt. The guilt was so heavy that it was hard to breath. A friend created her status on facebook for a protest and remembrance of babyloss. This friend, to my knowledge, had not experienced babyloss expect for Sam. This public protest against the taboo of stillbirths/babyloss was so heart warming to me it brought guilt. (Now, I don’t want her to feel that she shouldn’t have done this because I feel the exact opposite-I couldn’t be more proud.) But there was guilt that swarmed around my head. The guilt filled me because I see it as because of me she had to fester that type of courage; she would have never have had to do that if it weren’t for me. I was informed that a few other people put this on their status and that makes me smile. Smile, because the shroud is slowly lifting from the faces of the babyloss community.

Then I get another baby announcement/baptism invite in the mail today. This is the second one from close family that I have gotten since Sam was born. I have to say it…are people really that stupid? It doesn’t bother Lucas like it bothers me. He sees it as just another announcement or invite. I, on the other hand, see it as a slap in the face that someone else got to walk out of the hospital with their head held high, a smile on the face, and joy and love overflowing their hearts. What did I get? I got to walk out of the hospital with a white box with a purple ribbon on it and my son’s hospital hat and blanket inside. I got to leave shattered and broken, ever to be pieced back together again; forever, broken and un-whole; always missing a piece of my life, my heart. I know that these people mean nothing by their efforts of sharing their joy. But, come on, seriously, think about how that might make a babyloss mother feel.

Third, I went to a mall that I was last at pregnant. I remember being there and thinking about Sam’s arrival; shopping with Michalina in tow. Raiding the Carters clearance rack for the cute little baby boy clothes, searching for the perfect outfit to bring Sam home in. Just being near the stores I was in months earlier were hard for me to swallow.

The sadness. It always manages to find it’s way back into my heart. Missing Sam today more than ever. I want to hold and feel his warm cheeks against mine. Sadness strikes as I prepare for work to come at me full swing. The normalcy makes me shiver with guilt. how am I supposed to go about living a “normal” or “before Sam” life knowing that my baby is gone. I type with tears streaming down my face and think a burrow seems like a great place to retire and never emerge again. I just want to hide and wait for Sam to come and get me.

Today, I ache. The darkness that lurks around the corner daily has filled my day. Sadness is not what it used to be. Sadness is so much more. There are no words that could describe what sadness is to a babyloss mom. Sadness is pain.

Here are a few pictures that we took on our Sam vacation. The book is something I read to Sam every time I visit him.