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.