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.
Showing posts with label Sam. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Sam. Show all posts
Tuesday, May 7, 2013
Wednesday, February 13, 2013
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.
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.
Saturday, December 1, 2012
Silence
I felt it. I was thick neither one of us wanted to say anything but we both felt it. The anger both filled is at the same time. It was almost like I could see it enter the car and pry our mouths open and force us to swallow its bitterness. Our chests puffed out as if the anger was too big to fit in our lives at that moment.
never the less anger made its way in and fill our brains with the questions and sarcastic remarks toward our creator. Just like it always does. Never actually invited always an unwelcome guest.
We never said anything to each other. He looked a few times and I glared. As if to study it looking for an answer. Looking for a final answer as to why our creator took our son from us.
But I didn't find it.
Still we sat there stuck in traffic in a small town near our home. At a dead stop in front of a church with a huge banner swaying between the columns that would welcome the Saturday church goers.
A picture of what is supposed to be The Creators hands holding a baby still in the womb. Next to the hands was Isaiah 44:2.
There it was reassuring me that Sam was in His hands before he was born, "under his care". Then why'd he let him die. He's supposed to be a loving God. Why could he take good care for my son.
Why'd He choose my son to die and not yours.
My eyes felt with tears as we pulled away. Tears of anger. Tears of relief. Tears of pain.
And again anger consumes my thoughts. The stronghold strikes again.
Fuck you anger. I want my baby boy!
never the less anger made its way in and fill our brains with the questions and sarcastic remarks toward our creator. Just like it always does. Never actually invited always an unwelcome guest.
We never said anything to each other. He looked a few times and I glared. As if to study it looking for an answer. Looking for a final answer as to why our creator took our son from us.
But I didn't find it.
Still we sat there stuck in traffic in a small town near our home. At a dead stop in front of a church with a huge banner swaying between the columns that would welcome the Saturday church goers.
A picture of what is supposed to be The Creators hands holding a baby still in the womb. Next to the hands was Isaiah 44:2.
There it was reassuring me that Sam was in His hands before he was born, "under his care". Then why'd he let him die. He's supposed to be a loving God. Why could he take good care for my son.
Why'd He choose my son to die and not yours.
My eyes felt with tears as we pulled away. Tears of anger. Tears of relief. Tears of pain.
And again anger consumes my thoughts. The stronghold strikes again.
Fuck you anger. I want my baby boy!
Saturday, September 8, 2012
Kids
Kids.
Just the word alone has really been bothering me lately. I think it is more the plural part of it more than anything. After Sam passed away I would say "kids" in conversations, get that puzzled look from people as they glance over at the only "kid" standing near me. That usually was my cue to either tell Sam's story or interject his name.
Now there's no explaining to be had.
I say the word "kids" and people can undoubtedly agree, "yes, kids".
I don't like it.
I miss the opportunities to tell my son's story and spread awareness about stillbirth.
I find myself using the phrase, "the girls" more lately. To me, this is a way of not forgetting to include same in my "kids" ratio while still referring to my only living kids.
Do you ever think about that? Think, that one small word could rock someone's world and send them into a valley of grief or anger?
Who know such a stupid word would bother me so much. Maybe there will be a day that I won't think of it that way. Maybe there will be a day that I don't have to feel the need to tell Sam's story to the world (i doubt that will ever happen). Maybe people will hear me when I say kids and know that I am including Sam into the factor.
I could always talk to people about my THREE kids...
Until then, my girls and I know who's missing from the kids in our family.
Just the word alone has really been bothering me lately. I think it is more the plural part of it more than anything. After Sam passed away I would say "kids" in conversations, get that puzzled look from people as they glance over at the only "kid" standing near me. That usually was my cue to either tell Sam's story or interject his name.
Now there's no explaining to be had.
I say the word "kids" and people can undoubtedly agree, "yes, kids".
I don't like it.
I miss the opportunities to tell my son's story and spread awareness about stillbirth.
I find myself using the phrase, "the girls" more lately. To me, this is a way of not forgetting to include same in my "kids" ratio while still referring to my only living kids.
Do you ever think about that? Think, that one small word could rock someone's world and send them into a valley of grief or anger?
Who know such a stupid word would bother me so much. Maybe there will be a day that I won't think of it that way. Maybe there will be a day that I don't have to feel the need to tell Sam's story to the world (i doubt that will ever happen). Maybe people will hear me when I say kids and know that I am including Sam into the factor.
I could always talk to people about my THREE kids...
Until then, my girls and I know who's missing from the kids in our family.
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
Those moments.
Have you ever had those moments when there's just someone missing. You know if they were there they would love what you were doing. If they were there the moment would feel perfect. You want so bad to call them up and invite them, but you can't. You can't invite them or share the experience with them because they've died.
Last night was one of those moments.
We had a couple hours of opportunity open to go on the boat. The weather was perfect and it was a weekday so the lakes would be quiet. We packed up and headed out as quickly as possible so we could collect as much sunlight as possible. This was vivianna's first ride on the ski boat.
That's when it all came rushing it. It's like a whole football team charging you at once. You can see what's coming and put on your padding to cushion the hits but when you do get tackled it hurts worse than you thought. Almost like you shouldn't have bothered with the pads, they didn't help!
Vivianna's first boat ride…Sam never had a first boat ride. Another dream shattered and torn from me.
Damn it! I wish he was here. I wish he never had to leave me.
Sam, were you there? Were you with us?
On our way home we saw this beautiful sunset filled with so many colors. I asked Michalina what she thought of Sam's beautiful work. Her response, shouting to the heavens, "Thanks Sam for the beautiful sunset!"
Lucas and I well up with tears.
With the sunlight reaching through the tiny crevasses the clouds left, I ask her, "Do you know what those are? Those are the angels singing."
She remains in the intense stare at the sunset and reveals the most content, happy, proud smile.
I will never forget that smile it was as if Sam reached out and hugged her. She was immediately connected to him.
Those moments when someone's missing and he reaches out and fills your heart with love.
Last night was one of those moments.
We had a couple hours of opportunity open to go on the boat. The weather was perfect and it was a weekday so the lakes would be quiet. We packed up and headed out as quickly as possible so we could collect as much sunlight as possible. This was vivianna's first ride on the ski boat.
That's when it all came rushing it. It's like a whole football team charging you at once. You can see what's coming and put on your padding to cushion the hits but when you do get tackled it hurts worse than you thought. Almost like you shouldn't have bothered with the pads, they didn't help!
Vivianna's first boat ride…Sam never had a first boat ride. Another dream shattered and torn from me.
Damn it! I wish he was here. I wish he never had to leave me.
Sam, were you there? Were you with us?
On our way home we saw this beautiful sunset filled with so many colors. I asked Michalina what she thought of Sam's beautiful work. Her response, shouting to the heavens, "Thanks Sam for the beautiful sunset!"
Lucas and I well up with tears.
With the sunlight reaching through the tiny crevasses the clouds left, I ask her, "Do you know what those are? Those are the angels singing."
She remains in the intense stare at the sunset and reveals the most content, happy, proud smile.
I will never forget that smile it was as if Sam reached out and hugged her. She was immediately connected to him.
Those moments when someone's missing and he reaches out and fills your heart with love.
Thursday, July 12, 2012
Waiting...
Time seems to be moving at a snail's pace as I sit here waiting to be induced and meet our new addition. I am overwhelmingly calm. I know that I have no control over the outcome of today. I am here and doing what I am supposed to be doing, the rest is up to God. Now I know God and I have not been very cordial this past year. But I think it is for good reason on my part. I have had a very difficult time being able to put my full trust in him like I had May 8, 2011. I have admittedly kept him at arm's distance. I fully accept that he is in control of this life I lead, although that is hard at times to swallow. I know that there is only so much I can do.
Today I have missed Sam more than I have in a long time. I miss holding him and feeling his skin. Don't get me wrong there is not a split second that goes by that I don't miss or think about him, but today, on my indication day he is really on my mind and heart. I hope he is here with me in the room. I hope he is sitting right next to me snuggling up and keeping me calm.
I love you baby boy.
The nurses have been great so far. They were nice enough to put us in a new room so it looks nothing like the room we delivered Sam and Michalina in. Yea, it makes us a little bit more comfortable, but what I think is really putting us at ease is this experience so far is way different than our last two kids. However, now that I type that I am reminding myself of the unknowns. The unknowns are also what scares the shit out of me. I don't know what it is going to be like to actually know that I am going to go into labor. With both my other children I went so fast and was in denial the whole time to even think about what was actually happening. With this one, I have time to think. If anyone knows me well, ring me time to think is not always a good thing.
How to curb anticipation...
Today I have missed Sam more than I have in a long time. I miss holding him and feeling his skin. Don't get me wrong there is not a split second that goes by that I don't miss or think about him, but today, on my indication day he is really on my mind and heart. I hope he is here with me in the room. I hope he is sitting right next to me snuggling up and keeping me calm.
I love you baby boy.
The nurses have been great so far. They were nice enough to put us in a new room so it looks nothing like the room we delivered Sam and Michalina in. Yea, it makes us a little bit more comfortable, but what I think is really putting us at ease is this experience so far is way different than our last two kids. However, now that I type that I am reminding myself of the unknowns. The unknowns are also what scares the shit out of me. I don't know what it is going to be like to actually know that I am going to go into labor. With both my other children I went so fast and was in denial the whole time to even think about what was actually happening. With this one, I have time to think. If anyone knows me well, ring me time to think is not always a good thing.
How to curb anticipation...
Thursday, June 28, 2012
Confessions of THIS baby loss mama...
I must confess...
I am more prepared mentally, emotionally, and physically for this baby to die than I am for her to come home.
I know that sound morbid and sad, but that is my reality. That is the reality of many other mothers who have lost an infant. I mean I am ready; I know what outfit she would be buried in, I know that the cemetery has agreed to let her be buried with Sam if need be, I know the plaster impression kit I will bring to the hospital, I know who to call for pictures, I know what will happen as time goes on in the hospital, I know how it will feel to walk out with a box instead of a baby, and I know who I want contacted. Even though I know both a living and a dead baby experience, it's the worst experience that sticks with me. Don't get me wrong I remember what it was like to bring my daughter home, but not bringing my son home is more fresh in my mind. I know that there is no make up time with a baby that never comes home with you. I know that the hours spend with a still baby is precious and the only moments I will ever get. The moments that have to last me a lifetime.
With only weeks away I am finally making a conscious decision to "get ready" for this baby. It is crunch time. We may be meeting this baby in a bit more than 2 weeks if I induce. This has been really hard on me. I think and I am reminded of all the things I did leading up to Sam's birth. I did a ton of stuff for Sam. Every time I was out and about I was searching for cute little boy things, whether it was clothes or baby accessories. With this baby, I have steered clear of the baby section and try hard not to look at all of the newborn stuff. Maybe it is out of instinctive protection of my heart or maybe it is out of frugalness to not load up on things that may go to waste. In my leap of faith to "prepare" I have done things for her knowing it may be the only thing I buy/make for her.
A few weeks ago Michalina and I spent a while in Sam's bedroom just reading books, talking and playing. I don't know why, but it was something we did and enjoyed. I sat in the glider, in his room, for quite a while. I sat there and rocked staring at the crib filled with his clothes that were never put away, never worn. As I rocked it was apparent how comforting it was to be in his room, with his things, his stagnant dream. I was surround by Sam in a room he never was in. I knew then that I needed a room for this baby. Just in case she didn't come home, I would have a place, besides the mausoleum, to visit and be comforted by her.
So, it began.
I told my husband about my thoughts when he got home. Although it took some time we have been slowly moving things into and out of the rooms. We are keeping Sam's room and turning the office in to the new baby's room. Of course, we will be moving the crib, bookcase, and dresser into the baby's room. But nonetheless, Sam's room will remain the same. We are too attached to his room to paint over or wipe it clean. I remember spending hours painting his room and making sure it was just right of our first little boy that to remove that would be too much. We have been moving very slow at this. We have not yet put his clothes away and have not moved the crib. When we started moving things I took pictures and cried like a baby. It was hard to do. I felt like I was disappointing him, like I was forgetting him and moving on. Of course, none of that is true. I will never forget my first born son, I have not moved on. Sam is forever a part of my heart and my life, I am living not moving on.
Besides preparing a room for the new baby I have made some things for her. I had searched here and there for a cute outfit to put her in at the hospital and never had any luck. There was one that I liked I just couldn't bring myself to actually buy it. So....I have made two outfits so far. I will have to post the pictures when the second is completed-I have one thing left to do. I made these outfits knowing she may wear them once or multiple times. I have prepared myself for that mentally. I am content with that.
However, other than two outfits and a room transition started, I have nothing ready for her homecoming. I hope that I am frantic when we get home trying to figure out what to dress her in. I hope that all of Sam's diaper's and wipes will be used for her. I hope I will be able to set up the bassinet beside my bed.
But I know...
I have no control over her fate and the plan that waits.
Sunday, May 27, 2012
I need to tell you something…
I sit in front of Sam's wall and talk to the tiny white box hidden away from my sight.
I tell him things about what's been going on in my life. Tell him the same stupid things over and over again…
Mommy loves you…
I miss you so much…
That's always bothered me. That I didn't have some profound conversation with him after I gave birth. All I could say, repeatedly was, "mommy loves you." and "I'm so sorry, baby, I'm so sorry."
And still I have nothing clever or profound to say.
I tell him how his bedroom door has been open for almost a week now. How I opened it a week ago as a test to me. After being closed for over a year I wanted to see if I was ready to walk passed his open door without utter sadness crippling me. I tell him I'm doing better. I'm no longer drawn to my knees in tears and desperation to bring him back. Everything in his room looks just as it did when he was alive. Maybe that's why I closed it because it reminded me of death rather now it reminds me of his life. Mind you I would still give anything to fill that room with life and not just any life but Sam's life but now I don't want to close the door because of pain. I want it open because of the closeness I feel with him while in that room.
I miss you Sam.
Mommy loves you!
I tell him things about what's been going on in my life. Tell him the same stupid things over and over again…
Mommy loves you…
I miss you so much…
That's always bothered me. That I didn't have some profound conversation with him after I gave birth. All I could say, repeatedly was, "mommy loves you." and "I'm so sorry, baby, I'm so sorry."
And still I have nothing clever or profound to say.
I tell him how his bedroom door has been open for almost a week now. How I opened it a week ago as a test to me. After being closed for over a year I wanted to see if I was ready to walk passed his open door without utter sadness crippling me. I tell him I'm doing better. I'm no longer drawn to my knees in tears and desperation to bring him back. Everything in his room looks just as it did when he was alive. Maybe that's why I closed it because it reminded me of death rather now it reminds me of his life. Mind you I would still give anything to fill that room with life and not just any life but Sam's life but now I don't want to close the door because of pain. I want it open because of the closeness I feel with him while in that room.
I miss you Sam.
Mommy loves you!
Sunday, April 29, 2012
In his memory
We are finally home after driving 370 miles, one way, to Faith's Lodge in northern Wisconsin. We had very different plans this time when we went. We went there to volunteer and participate in a tree planting in honor of Sam.
We arrived Friday early evening, tucked into our hotel in a neighboring town and the anticipation began. I always get so excited when I have a chance to talk or go to Faith's Lodge. Lucas and I have found so much peace there. When we went in November we were there just the two of us for a week away from reality shortly after we lost Sam. I wrote about it here.
This time was different, we had Michalina with us.
She was elated with joy to be able to go to Wisconsin to see Faith's Lodge. She wanted to see where mommy and daddy stayed when we were "in Wisconsin". She was ready to go in her adorable shirt I made for her, special for the tree-planting occasion. A shirt that says, "My little Brother's an Angel"
We arrived Friday early evening, tucked into our hotel in a neighboring town and the anticipation began. I always get so excited when I have a chance to talk or go to Faith's Lodge. Lucas and I have found so much peace there. When we went in November we were there just the two of us for a week away from reality shortly after we lost Sam. I wrote about it here.
This time was different, we had Michalina with us.
She was elated with joy to be able to go to Wisconsin to see Faith's Lodge. She wanted to see where mommy and daddy stayed when we were "in Wisconsin". She was ready to go in her adorable shirt I made for her, special for the tree-planting occasion. A shirt that says, "My little Brother's an Angel"
 |
| I would love these shirts to be a part of Sam's Promise. |
Once we arrived, Michalina was prepared to tell every one about her brother and tear her coat off to show her t-shirt to anyone who would look her way and listen. It still amazes me how much of a proud sister she could still be to a brother that is not even here.
After I gave Michalina her much anticipated tour, Lucas noticed the pier sitting on shore. He of course could't wait to jump out of the car and tell Evelyn that he will do the pier. He suited up and began lugging what he needed to be in his glory of pier work.
The day was filled with love and hope of families who have all said good-bye way too soon. There was a brief beginning ceremony and the planting began. We headed to our spot to plant our Silver Maple that was assigned to us and began digging. Okay, I din't do any digging, Lucas did all the dirty work. I maintain the 4 year old that was not as into the tree-planting as I has hoped.
Sam's tree is on a hill next to the lodge amongst many other tree's all in honor of a child or baby that has left this world too soon. Being surrounded by people that know exactly how you feel and how your life has been changed forever is something I have a hard time putting into words. Comfort.
Spending a weekend with mothers, fathers, and siblings that know what it is like to be blind-sided by the most traumatic event is incredible. We had many conversations with parents where we exchanged stories, the feeling you get from these parents is normalcy, comfort, and understanding. Lucas and I were talking and we agreed that we can talk with parents like us and not sit in the uncomfortableness of feeling sorry for us or people staring at you trying to figure out what life must be like in two seconds you allow them to stare you down.
Hope is what Faith's Lodge offers. Hope and Peace.
Here are a few news clips from the event. They were featured on Minneapolis news stations the night of the event. If you look closely on the channel 4 news clip you can see us behind the couple by Sam's tree.
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
Time STILL Doesn't Stand Still.
Can I just say how much 11 months sucks! I was never one to be down and out on the 9th of every month. Yeah, I would think about what he would be doing as he got older but 9 and 11 months has kicked my ass. 9 months, I have no idea why this hit me hard. 11 months, yesterday, has been really hard!
I don't know if it was a culmination of things yesterday or if it was the fact that I can no longer count his absence in months. My friend Rachel just blogged about this a few short days ago. She mentioned the same thing about her little girl, Kayla. Sam will have been gone for more than a year as soon as the clock strikes 12 on May 9th. This hole in my heart seems to be never ending and growing larger in diameter.
11 months also marks some milestones in his life. I can't stop picturing him walking and babbling in conversation with his sister. I find myself trying so hard to fill this gaping hole. 11 months is making me realize this hole is never going to be filled. It is my storm cloud that will follow me for the rest of my life. Until I am able to hold my baby boy again. Nothing will take the place of where my son's memories, hopes, and dreams were supposed to be.
11 months. It's been hard to try to find the balance between honoring my husband and my son's birthday. Both on the 9th. I want to honor my husband, his life, and his own grief. On the other hand, I want to drown myself in my sorrows and honor my son by dedicating my time to him.
It's hard. I have always carried this guilt about Sam being born on my husband's birthday. I feel like I took his son from him on the only day that is to honor him. All he ever wanted was a son, and I gave birth to his dead son on his birthday...Now before any one starts telling me, there's nothing you could have done, I know that. I know that I couldn't control when I went into labor or when Sam died. But there is still guilt. Guilt that I have taken the one thing my husband wanted more than anything. Guilt that I had his son on his birthday only to say goodbye never to say welcome.
11 months. I have been living this life without my son and soon it will be 1 year. I want to so bad get over the first angelversary hill. And yet there is a part of me that wants to stay right here for the rest of my life, never to have to endure the 1 year marker.
11 months. Yeah, my grief has changed. Matured. Tumbled. Evolved. My grief journey has been a path I never thought I would take. 11 months have past in this new life yet I feel so stagnate. I am disappointed that in 11 months I have not better honored Sam's memory, Sam's life. I had/have plans to do so much for this community yet I allow stuff to get in the way. Hold me back. Sam deserve a better mother. 11 months of not doing the boxes for the hospital like I wanted. 11 months that I have not contacted the hospital to do more for moms like me. 11 months that I have not started his non-for-profit, Sam's Promise. 11 months I have not contacted my state government to get them to acknowledge my son's life.
11 months it too long. 1 day is too long. 1 second is too long. I still want my baby boy back.
I don't know if it was a culmination of things yesterday or if it was the fact that I can no longer count his absence in months. My friend Rachel just blogged about this a few short days ago. She mentioned the same thing about her little girl, Kayla. Sam will have been gone for more than a year as soon as the clock strikes 12 on May 9th. This hole in my heart seems to be never ending and growing larger in diameter.
11 months also marks some milestones in his life. I can't stop picturing him walking and babbling in conversation with his sister. I find myself trying so hard to fill this gaping hole. 11 months is making me realize this hole is never going to be filled. It is my storm cloud that will follow me for the rest of my life. Until I am able to hold my baby boy again. Nothing will take the place of where my son's memories, hopes, and dreams were supposed to be.
11 months. It's been hard to try to find the balance between honoring my husband and my son's birthday. Both on the 9th. I want to honor my husband, his life, and his own grief. On the other hand, I want to drown myself in my sorrows and honor my son by dedicating my time to him.
It's hard. I have always carried this guilt about Sam being born on my husband's birthday. I feel like I took his son from him on the only day that is to honor him. All he ever wanted was a son, and I gave birth to his dead son on his birthday...Now before any one starts telling me, there's nothing you could have done, I know that. I know that I couldn't control when I went into labor or when Sam died. But there is still guilt. Guilt that I have taken the one thing my husband wanted more than anything. Guilt that I had his son on his birthday only to say goodbye never to say welcome.
11 months. I have been living this life without my son and soon it will be 1 year. I want to so bad get over the first angelversary hill. And yet there is a part of me that wants to stay right here for the rest of my life, never to have to endure the 1 year marker.
11 months. Yeah, my grief has changed. Matured. Tumbled. Evolved. My grief journey has been a path I never thought I would take. 11 months have past in this new life yet I feel so stagnate. I am disappointed that in 11 months I have not better honored Sam's memory, Sam's life. I had/have plans to do so much for this community yet I allow stuff to get in the way. Hold me back. Sam deserve a better mother. 11 months of not doing the boxes for the hospital like I wanted. 11 months that I have not contacted the hospital to do more for moms like me. 11 months that I have not started his non-for-profit, Sam's Promise. 11 months I have not contacted my state government to get them to acknowledge my son's life.
11 months it too long. 1 day is too long. 1 second is too long. I still want my baby boy back.
Sunday, April 1, 2012
The door
My morning began with Michalina calling out, "Emergency, emergency! Theres an ant in the bathroom."
In an effort to rid my house of the ants that seem to be taking over lately, I vow to myself that I am going to vacuum the whole house today. I was determined to suck up those sons of a bitches!
I finish the downstairs and head upstairs to the second part of the battle. Yep! Ants upstairs too. Upstairs is done, then I came to the last room at the end of the hallway. I was faced with the door that has rarely been opened for the past 11 months. The door that sheltered the shattered dreams and hopes for my little boy.
With vacuum in hand, I placed my hand on the doorknob, took a deep breath and opened it. Immediately, my breath is taken away (literately) by the rush of dreams that were supposed to be. I kept my head down and tried to focus on the carpet and the task at hand. Yeah, that didn't last for long. I quickly was being suffocated by the overwhelming should haves, dreams, and flashbacks. I am sobbing while I vigorously push the demon vacuum back and forth. I continue until my tears are blinding me from what I was in there to do.
I find myself slumping over his crib filled with his clothes that have been scattered about after my husband and I angrily looked for something to bury our only son in. I held a onesie that said "mommies little man" on it and cried. I wanted to see him in that onesie so bad. I wanted him to be in that outfit. I wanted to hold it and smell him. Instead I smell my detergent never tainted by the fragrant smell of a newborn. I shuffled through other clothes that I remember thinking, I can't wait to see him in this.
A onesie that said Handsome just like daddy,
Daddy's little monster...
Clothes filled with dreams and hopes for a future that was never going to be.
I began going through parts of his bedroom. I was ready for him. I was ready for there to be a newborn baby boy entering my family within weeks from when I diligently fixed and prepared the perfect space for him. I couldn't have been more prepared to bring home a baby alive.
I see the bouncy on the floor in the corner that is falling apart. I am swarmed by the memory of trying to put it together with Michalina the week before I gave birth to Sam. I remembered her and I put it together with the certainty that her little brother was going to be in it shortly. I remember how excited she was to help me and how it didn't matter to her that we goofed up and had to tackle it again to make sure we put it together the right way.
And there it sits, still half way put together. Frustration of a very pregnant mother written all over it. Failure, it says, laughing and mocking me.
I have been toy with the idea of opening his door for about a week now. I don't know why, but I have been wanting to go in his room lately. Today I just felt that I had a purpose that was not driven by curiosity of grief and sadness. It found me, still managing to wrestle me to the ground. In tears on the floor of my son's bedroom.
I close the door and whisper, Mommy loves you Sam. I miss you so much. I'm sorry, I wanted to protect you. I love you. I love you.
Sunday, March 4, 2012
Helpless
Really missing my baby boy today. I don't cry everyday, but when I do, I let it out. I am not one that can control the level to which I cry. I don't know if it is because I'm not feeling the greatest today, but man do I miss that little guy. You know when you are sick and you have that feeling of helplessness. Well feeling cruddy just amplifies that for me.
With both of my kids I was never one to take belly pictures while I was pregnant with them. I think with Michalina I have one about a week before I delivered her and that is it. If there was any "belly pics" they were unintentional and a a family gathering. I just never thought I looked very good pregnant. I was large, round, and just unattractive. I am not one that was small to begin with so for me pregnant means house.
So, I was looking back at pictures today from Michalina's 3rd birthday party just days before I had Sam. I came across a photo that was candid while we were opening her gifts. You can see just how large I am. But now, I treasure that picture. I look at the smile on my face and the ignorance written all over my face. I see a girl who was just going through the movements of being a mom to a 3 year old, being pregnant, and working full time. A girl who is trying to balance life with out enjoying the small things. A girl that will, in days, live through the worse thing imaginable. I feel sorry for this girl. I am haunted, although never publicly admitted, by the regrets I have with my little boy.
I regret not soaking up every moment I had with him alive.
I regret not taking belly pics.
I regret taking his life for granted.
I regret not documenting his life while he was alive. Now I am left trying to keep his memory alive.
With both of my kids I was never one to take belly pictures while I was pregnant with them. I think with Michalina I have one about a week before I delivered her and that is it. If there was any "belly pics" they were unintentional and a a family gathering. I just never thought I looked very good pregnant. I was large, round, and just unattractive. I am not one that was small to begin with so for me pregnant means house.
So, I was looking back at pictures today from Michalina's 3rd birthday party just days before I had Sam. I came across a photo that was candid while we were opening her gifts. You can see just how large I am. But now, I treasure that picture. I look at the smile on my face and the ignorance written all over my face. I see a girl who was just going through the movements of being a mom to a 3 year old, being pregnant, and working full time. A girl who is trying to balance life with out enjoying the small things. A girl that will, in days, live through the worse thing imaginable. I feel sorry for this girl. I am haunted, although never publicly admitted, by the regrets I have with my little boy.
I regret not soaking up every moment I had with him alive.
I regret not taking belly pics.
I regret taking his life for granted.
I regret not documenting his life while he was alive. Now I am left trying to keep his memory alive.
Never once did I think of what could have happened. I feel like during my pregnancies I must have taken a invisible teen pill. Remember being a teenager and having that invisible feeling the "it won't happen to me" attitude. I had that. As bad as I want it back I feel sorry for that stupid girl.
I do remember one thing. On that day, the day of her party, I remember having a friend feel Sam pushing what I imagined was his butt towards my belly. I loved that moment. I wished I remembered more moments like that. The moments when Sam was alive. The moments I will never be able to get back.
Stupid girl.
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
Six Months and Three Weeks...
I sit here in awe at myself. I never thought I would make it to six months and three weeks. There is nothing significant about the date, just that it has been over six months since Sam passed away. I am not only in awe at this I am sickened by it at the same time. How could a mother live that long without seeing her baby, caring for her baby. Now I know, I'm not an idiot, I know that I can't do those things. But, seriously, think about it. What mother can do those things and still breathe everyday and wake every morning?
A mother who has buried her child.
I find myself most days so completely numb to the pain of not having Sam physically in my life that I often forget to live it. I currently can say my status is existing and I am not sure I am comfortable with it. I want to live each day for my son proving his existence and honoring his life.
But how?
I have so many ideas that I just don't know where to start. I have dreams of hosting a site where mother's of loss can visit and know that they will find comfort in Sam's Promise to never forget and never be forgotten. I want now more than anything.
What's the hold up...money!
Do you know that it is almost $800 to get a non-for-profit up and moving in IL? Pretty shitty when all you want to do is help.
Dreams of providing an array of information to parents that have just been stricken with the most horrifying news they will ever hear. I want to comfort them and make sure they know they are and never will be alone in this mess.
There will be more after us...
I am numb by the demands of life, to be a mother, wife, daughter, sister, granddaughter, teacher, and friend.
So many shoes to fill. The only one I am comfortable in most of the time is mother.
Mother to an Angel.
Mother to Michalina.
Yuck! Get this costume off of me. Let me talk about my son 24.7. Let me cry when I feel like it. Let me surf the web for hours on end looking and reading about stillbirths and grief. Don't give me responsibilities that I can't and don't want to fulfill.
I can't get enough of everyone's blogs. I would read them all day long. I feed off of the attempt to feel normal or a little less lonely in the abyss of tears.
Then reality sets in...
The earth doesn't stop. I found that out when the cards stopped coming and people stop calling or showing they care. I tried to stop the world when I lost Sam. Nobody cared. The earth does not stand still for anyone! In fact, it doesn't even slow down. I am learning that now with the holiday's. Since I know it won't stop until I can regain my footing, I want to put on my superhero cape and grab hold of the enormous sphere and just slow it the fuck down. But I got no cape and the world still ticks months in advance for the Christmas cheer of spending a boat load of money on shit people don't need. Christmas is at every turn just to stand there and stick it's tongue out and laugh at me in ridicule that it's not slowing down for shit!
With each passing day, I am reminded that I have to still have Christmas with out my adorable 7 month old baby sitting up in his bumbo ready to chew on the wrapping paper that "Santa" picked out special for him. I am forcefully reminded that there are no gifts to be bought for him only mausoleum wall decorations. Christmas and happy families are here and coming at me full force.
Life lesson: The world does not stop when your baby dies and don't think for a second that it's even going to slow down enough for you to take a breath!
A mother who has buried her child.
I find myself most days so completely numb to the pain of not having Sam physically in my life that I often forget to live it. I currently can say my status is existing and I am not sure I am comfortable with it. I want to live each day for my son proving his existence and honoring his life.
But how?
I have so many ideas that I just don't know where to start. I have dreams of hosting a site where mother's of loss can visit and know that they will find comfort in Sam's Promise to never forget and never be forgotten. I want now more than anything.
What's the hold up...money!
Do you know that it is almost $800 to get a non-for-profit up and moving in IL? Pretty shitty when all you want to do is help.
Dreams of providing an array of information to parents that have just been stricken with the most horrifying news they will ever hear. I want to comfort them and make sure they know they are and never will be alone in this mess.
There will be more after us...
I am numb by the demands of life, to be a mother, wife, daughter, sister, granddaughter, teacher, and friend.
So many shoes to fill. The only one I am comfortable in most of the time is mother.
Mother to an Angel.
Mother to Michalina.
Yuck! Get this costume off of me. Let me talk about my son 24.7. Let me cry when I feel like it. Let me surf the web for hours on end looking and reading about stillbirths and grief. Don't give me responsibilities that I can't and don't want to fulfill.
I can't get enough of everyone's blogs. I would read them all day long. I feed off of the attempt to feel normal or a little less lonely in the abyss of tears.
Then reality sets in...
The earth doesn't stop. I found that out when the cards stopped coming and people stop calling or showing they care. I tried to stop the world when I lost Sam. Nobody cared. The earth does not stand still for anyone! In fact, it doesn't even slow down. I am learning that now with the holiday's. Since I know it won't stop until I can regain my footing, I want to put on my superhero cape and grab hold of the enormous sphere and just slow it the fuck down. But I got no cape and the world still ticks months in advance for the Christmas cheer of spending a boat load of money on shit people don't need. Christmas is at every turn just to stand there and stick it's tongue out and laugh at me in ridicule that it's not slowing down for shit!
With each passing day, I am reminded that I have to still have Christmas with out my adorable 7 month old baby sitting up in his bumbo ready to chew on the wrapping paper that "Santa" picked out special for him. I am forcefully reminded that there are no gifts to be bought for him only mausoleum wall decorations. Christmas and happy families are here and coming at me full force.
Life lesson: The world does not stop when your baby dies and don't think for a second that it's even going to slow down enough for you to take a breath!
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