I struggle with how or when to tell Jackson that he has a little brother. He never knew I was pregnant, never knew Benjamin was born or that he died. He sees his pictures on the side table. He sees me crying a lot. I know he understands that something sad happened. He visited me in the hospital.
I don't remember what I was doing the other day but I was at my computer and a photo of Benjamin came up unexpectedly. Jackson was sitting on my lap and I told him that the picture was of Benjamin. I told him that he was his little brother. I told him that Mommy misses him very much and that was why mommy cries a lot. And of course I started crying. He was concerned and said Mama about 20 times. I tried to pull it together but it's hard sometimes. I hate crying in front of him. I hate that he gets concerned. I hate that he doesn't know why I'm crying and sometimes takes it personally. I hate telling him that 'Mommy is sad'. But some days I am sad. Some days I just need to cry. Some days I can't hold it in until he is napping.
I want him to know all about Benjamin. I want him to know that he has a little brother. A little brother that didn't get a chance to live outside of me. But I don't want it to scare him. He's too little to know death that well. He's too little to be scared that another baby will die. I've got that covered enough for the both of us. I want him to be innocent and naive. I want him to know that I am pregnant now and to believe that in October he will have a little baby to fawn over.
But I am scared. I'm scared to tell him I'm pregnant. I'm scared to explain to him that I will be having a baby. I'm scared that if I tell him all of that and the worst happens again then I will have to tell him that horrid news. I am glad that he never knew I was pregnant with Benjamin. I'm glad I didn't have to look at his sweet face and tell him that his baby that he was so excited about was not going to come home with us. I'm glad that I didn't have to see him sad about it. My heart could not have taken that.
So now I just don't know what to do. I don't know when to tell Jackson that I am pregnant. I don't know when to tell him all about Benjamin. I don't know what is appropriate to tell a 2 year old and what is best left until they are older. I don't want to keep anything from him, but I don't want to unnecessarily burden him with sadness.
Eventually he'll know I'm pregnant. Hopefully that happens when he comes to visit me in the hospital with a screaming kicking baby in my arms.
And eventually he'll know all about Benjamin. When the time is right. Whenever that may be.
Monday, April 27, 2009
Friday, April 24, 2009
Enough already!
I am annoyed. I am fed up and annoyed. I am sick of doctors changing their damn minds about what happened with Benjamin. I am beyond frustrated with thinking we have the answer and a game plan for this pregnancy and then finding out a few weeks later that what we thought was true is not true. I am sick of it all!
I mean, he died five and a half months ago! What new information could possible still come up to change the cause of death?? They found something new? No, he's been cremated. I just don't get it. I don't get it at all and I am fed up with it.
First we were told that it was an unknown reason. That we probably would never know the reason that his heart stopped.
Then we were told that his left lung had completely clotted off. That that was the cause of his death.
Then we were told that he had blood clots in his umbilical cord and at least one traveled to his lung and that was the cause of death. The doctors went a bet further and said that Benjamin's blood was thicker than it should have been and when he was compressing his cord (which all babies do) the blood pooled up behind the compression and clotted.
I was sent for a gazillion vials of blood to be taken to test for blood clotting disorders. We were told that I might have a blood clotting disorder that got passed to Benjamin. I was also told that it might have just been a fluke. That his blood might have just been thicker because of some sort of gene mutation.
All my blood work came back normal. I don't have any kind of disorder. So in my follow up appointment with the high risk doctor I was told that Benjamin's death was just a fluke. That his blood was not thicker than it should have been. That it just clotted because he was compressing the cord. So now his cause of death is beeing deemed a 'cord accident'.
I have a problem with this. "Cord accident" is what they say when they don't know why the baby died. It's a catch-all to explain any unexplained stillbirth. We know why Benjamin died. We know he had blood clots. They said his blood was thicker. Now they are saying it wasn't. How the hell do they know this? There is no way, at all, for them to know if it was thicker or not. When they told me it was thicker I assumed they were speaking factually, based on the autopsy findings. Apparently it was all a theory. A theory that I put a lot of weight into. It gave me something to believe. Something to calm and reassure me that this baby would be okay. I'm on a daily dose of aspirin to keep this baby's blood thin. I thought that was the magic answer. Apparently that might not be true.
Just so sick of this. You would think that your baby dies, you get an autopsy done, you get genetic testing done, you should have some answers. It should not keep changing every couple weeks. How the hell can it keep changing? Do they even know what the heck they are talking about?
At this point it wouldn't surprise me if they came back and said he didn't have blood clots, that they were looking at the wrong charts and he actually died from something totally different.
But really, whatever the reason for his death doesn't change much. He still died. I'm still pregnant again and scared shitless at times. I will still be demanding more care, more thorough checkups, closer monitoring, more hand holding. I don't think that's too much to ask.
I mean, he died five and a half months ago! What new information could possible still come up to change the cause of death?? They found something new? No, he's been cremated. I just don't get it. I don't get it at all and I am fed up with it.
First we were told that it was an unknown reason. That we probably would never know the reason that his heart stopped.
Then we were told that his left lung had completely clotted off. That that was the cause of his death.
Then we were told that he had blood clots in his umbilical cord and at least one traveled to his lung and that was the cause of death. The doctors went a bet further and said that Benjamin's blood was thicker than it should have been and when he was compressing his cord (which all babies do) the blood pooled up behind the compression and clotted.
I was sent for a gazillion vials of blood to be taken to test for blood clotting disorders. We were told that I might have a blood clotting disorder that got passed to Benjamin. I was also told that it might have just been a fluke. That his blood might have just been thicker because of some sort of gene mutation.
All my blood work came back normal. I don't have any kind of disorder. So in my follow up appointment with the high risk doctor I was told that Benjamin's death was just a fluke. That his blood was not thicker than it should have been. That it just clotted because he was compressing the cord. So now his cause of death is beeing deemed a 'cord accident'.
I have a problem with this. "Cord accident" is what they say when they don't know why the baby died. It's a catch-all to explain any unexplained stillbirth. We know why Benjamin died. We know he had blood clots. They said his blood was thicker. Now they are saying it wasn't. How the hell do they know this? There is no way, at all, for them to know if it was thicker or not. When they told me it was thicker I assumed they were speaking factually, based on the autopsy findings. Apparently it was all a theory. A theory that I put a lot of weight into. It gave me something to believe. Something to calm and reassure me that this baby would be okay. I'm on a daily dose of aspirin to keep this baby's blood thin. I thought that was the magic answer. Apparently that might not be true.
Just so sick of this. You would think that your baby dies, you get an autopsy done, you get genetic testing done, you should have some answers. It should not keep changing every couple weeks. How the hell can it keep changing? Do they even know what the heck they are talking about?
At this point it wouldn't surprise me if they came back and said he didn't have blood clots, that they were looking at the wrong charts and he actually died from something totally different.
But really, whatever the reason for his death doesn't change much. He still died. I'm still pregnant again and scared shitless at times. I will still be demanding more care, more thorough checkups, closer monitoring, more hand holding. I don't think that's too much to ask.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Random thoughts and an announcement
For the past 5 months there have been so many random thoughts, random reminders, random sucker punches. It's amazing how many things that seem so innocent and unimportant suddenly become so ridiculously apparent once you have lost someone.
For instance we watched that Benjamin Button movie the other day. Y'know the one where the person is born old and 'ages' younger? It was an odd, yet good, movie. The main character's name was Benjamin. I still cannot hear that name without getting a little choked up. But the clincher? The other main character's name was Daisy. Odd, right?
Another 'coincidence' was at Christmas when we bought one of those village houses that you can collect at Christmas. I opened the box and inside was a brochure for joining the collecting club. You have to pay for the membership and you get a 'free' collector's edition house. This year's house was "Benjamin's Watches". Of course it was. It took a lot for me not to join the stupid collector's club just so I could get that house. It seemed like some odd sign that I had to believe in.
Or anther time when Brian was moving some boxes for work. He had them all in the back of the van and when he opened the back door the box that was right at eye level was labeled 'Benjamin'. These were not our boxes and had absolutely no reason to be labeled that way.
And what is with all the people having stillbirths lately?? I know that I am hyperaware of them now, but it seems excessive. It seems like every week I hear of someone that has recently had a stillbirth, or their friend just had a stillbirth. It just happens way too often. Before I had Benjamin I never seemed to hear of it. I'm sure that was because it didn't affect me like it does now and so I just never paid as much attention then. That makes me sad. Sad to think that just because I never had a baby die, another mother's pain didn't mean as much to me. Like it wasn't important then. Now though, every time I hear a story of a mother losing a child it just cuts straight to my heart. I can vividly feel the pain they are going through, I can understand the turmoil they are in and the desperate wishing they are doing. I'm glad I can feel this now. I wish I could still be blissfully ignorant about it, but I am thankful that I can feel such empathy for others. I know they need it; need someone to understand and care. I know I needed it. Hell, I know I still need it.
We were visiting one of Brian's cousins this weekend. Stayed with them for the long weekend. It was a great trip. They didn't know very much about Benjamin. They knew he was stillborn, but that was basically all. I got to talk about him a lot this weekend. I need times like that. I need to be able to talk about him, tell more people about him. Keep his memory alive. It's all we've got of him.
As for the big announcement. Most of you already know, but I'll say it again. And then I'll obsess about it. I'm pregnant. Again. 14 weeks to be exact. I'm excited but I'm also scared shitless at times. I cannot wrap my head around the fact that there is no reason to believe that this baby will not be born alive. I had no doubt in my mind that Benjamin would be born alive in December and sitting on my lap Christmas day. I had the whole image worked out. Brian and Jackson would be sitting under the tree opening presents while I sat with the baby on the couch nursing him/her. We were going to be a happy little family of four. That hurt so much to not have happen. Christmas morning was tough because the image I so desperately wanted to play out never did. Instead we were both sitting at the tree with Jackson. It was still nice, but part of me just felt so empty.
So now I am supposed to be expecting to have another little baby come home with us in October. I'm due October 9th, but probably will be induced around 37 weeks, which would be around September 18th. I cannot bring myself to think in terms of 'when' but more in terms of 'if'. I know that is common among women who have gone through what I have. I wish I could go back to the blissfully ignorant days of my first pregnancy. Where I just thought everything would work out. No questions about it. I had the freaking nursery done at 25 weeks because I knew that the chances of the baby surviving at that gestational age were good! 25 weeks! As if the baby would be coming home to the nursery any time soon after the birth! So naive. So blissfully naive.
I am happy tho. We wanted to get pregnant as soon as possible. So far this pregnancy has gone smoothly. I have felt fine, so fine that it freaks me out because I don't feel pregnant. I am being monitored closely by my maternity doctor and a high risk OB. Everything is going as it should. Even the anxiety. It's hard to just 'relax and take it easy' when you have no point that you can just relax at. It's not like I have a magic week that I just have to make it past and then I can breath easier. I carried Benjamin to almost full term. By the time I make it to 34/36 weeks I'll be almost ready to deliver this baby. Where is the breathing easier there?
I just have to find a way to believe, honestly believe, that this baby is going to be fine and be born screaming bloody murder in another 23-26 weeks. I know all the stats, all the facts and all the logical reasons to think this baby will not be stillborn. I know all of that. Doesn't mean I know it in my heart tho.
For instance we watched that Benjamin Button movie the other day. Y'know the one where the person is born old and 'ages' younger? It was an odd, yet good, movie. The main character's name was Benjamin. I still cannot hear that name without getting a little choked up. But the clincher? The other main character's name was Daisy. Odd, right?
Another 'coincidence' was at Christmas when we bought one of those village houses that you can collect at Christmas. I opened the box and inside was a brochure for joining the collecting club. You have to pay for the membership and you get a 'free' collector's edition house. This year's house was "Benjamin's Watches". Of course it was. It took a lot for me not to join the stupid collector's club just so I could get that house. It seemed like some odd sign that I had to believe in.
Or anther time when Brian was moving some boxes for work. He had them all in the back of the van and when he opened the back door the box that was right at eye level was labeled 'Benjamin'. These were not our boxes and had absolutely no reason to be labeled that way.
And what is with all the people having stillbirths lately?? I know that I am hyperaware of them now, but it seems excessive. It seems like every week I hear of someone that has recently had a stillbirth, or their friend just had a stillbirth. It just happens way too often. Before I had Benjamin I never seemed to hear of it. I'm sure that was because it didn't affect me like it does now and so I just never paid as much attention then. That makes me sad. Sad to think that just because I never had a baby die, another mother's pain didn't mean as much to me. Like it wasn't important then. Now though, every time I hear a story of a mother losing a child it just cuts straight to my heart. I can vividly feel the pain they are going through, I can understand the turmoil they are in and the desperate wishing they are doing. I'm glad I can feel this now. I wish I could still be blissfully ignorant about it, but I am thankful that I can feel such empathy for others. I know they need it; need someone to understand and care. I know I needed it. Hell, I know I still need it.
We were visiting one of Brian's cousins this weekend. Stayed with them for the long weekend. It was a great trip. They didn't know very much about Benjamin. They knew he was stillborn, but that was basically all. I got to talk about him a lot this weekend. I need times like that. I need to be able to talk about him, tell more people about him. Keep his memory alive. It's all we've got of him.
As for the big announcement. Most of you already know, but I'll say it again. And then I'll obsess about it. I'm pregnant. Again. 14 weeks to be exact. I'm excited but I'm also scared shitless at times. I cannot wrap my head around the fact that there is no reason to believe that this baby will not be born alive. I had no doubt in my mind that Benjamin would be born alive in December and sitting on my lap Christmas day. I had the whole image worked out. Brian and Jackson would be sitting under the tree opening presents while I sat with the baby on the couch nursing him/her. We were going to be a happy little family of four. That hurt so much to not have happen. Christmas morning was tough because the image I so desperately wanted to play out never did. Instead we were both sitting at the tree with Jackson. It was still nice, but part of me just felt so empty.
So now I am supposed to be expecting to have another little baby come home with us in October. I'm due October 9th, but probably will be induced around 37 weeks, which would be around September 18th. I cannot bring myself to think in terms of 'when' but more in terms of 'if'. I know that is common among women who have gone through what I have. I wish I could go back to the blissfully ignorant days of my first pregnancy. Where I just thought everything would work out. No questions about it. I had the freaking nursery done at 25 weeks because I knew that the chances of the baby surviving at that gestational age were good! 25 weeks! As if the baby would be coming home to the nursery any time soon after the birth! So naive. So blissfully naive.
I am happy tho. We wanted to get pregnant as soon as possible. So far this pregnancy has gone smoothly. I have felt fine, so fine that it freaks me out because I don't feel pregnant. I am being monitored closely by my maternity doctor and a high risk OB. Everything is going as it should. Even the anxiety. It's hard to just 'relax and take it easy' when you have no point that you can just relax at. It's not like I have a magic week that I just have to make it past and then I can breath easier. I carried Benjamin to almost full term. By the time I make it to 34/36 weeks I'll be almost ready to deliver this baby. Where is the breathing easier there?
I just have to find a way to believe, honestly believe, that this baby is going to be fine and be born screaming bloody murder in another 23-26 weeks. I know all the stats, all the facts and all the logical reasons to think this baby will not be stillborn. I know all of that. Doesn't mean I know it in my heart tho.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Sadness
A friend of mine is having her baby girl today. She is only 18 weeks pregnant. I am so heartbroken for her. Sad for what I know is ahead of her. Sad for the loss of the future she was so excited about, and sad for her as she faces this devastating new reality. I will be there for her in any way I can. As a mom who has gone through this hurt I feel the overwhelming urge to somehow make it easier for her. If I can provide some comfort, some compassion, some understanding, then it makes my loss a little more bearable. If losing my sweet baby Benjamin helps her find a way to cope with losing her sweet baby girl then I have done right by him.
I was at the store yesterday picking up some Easter chocolate for Jackson. I decided to look for a card for my friend. As I stood in the generic sympathy and thinking of you section I was disappointed with the selection. All the 'loss' cards talked about the happy memories you can hold onto, the years they spent touching our lives. What kind of card do you buy for a mom that is delivering her baby that will not create memories of their own? Where is the card for that? All the thinking of you cards were inadequate and trivial. Then I came across the card. The card that summed up this whole nightmare perfectly. The card that had me bawling in the aisles. Here is the poem in the card.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
We are all creatures
of this great earth -
interconnected in ways
beyond understanding.
Take elephants.
So big.
So strong.
And yet,
when a member
of the herd passes,
even elephants mourn.
They gather around.
extend their trunks,
and gently touch
the tusks
of their fallen friend.
It's their ritual.
It's how they heal.
And it's sad.
And it's beautiful.
So maybe
what we're trying to say
is that the world
doesn't expect you
to be fine with this.
Be how you need to be.
Mourn how you need to mourn.
And know that
you're thought of
with love.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
And you are thought of with love today. As you face this nightmare that no mother should ever have to face. I am thinking about you all day, as I have for the past week and a half. Know that you are not alone. There are so many people that love you and that want to help you and be here for you, as you mourn. However you need to mourn.
I was at the store yesterday picking up some Easter chocolate for Jackson. I decided to look for a card for my friend. As I stood in the generic sympathy and thinking of you section I was disappointed with the selection. All the 'loss' cards talked about the happy memories you can hold onto, the years they spent touching our lives. What kind of card do you buy for a mom that is delivering her baby that will not create memories of their own? Where is the card for that? All the thinking of you cards were inadequate and trivial. Then I came across the card. The card that summed up this whole nightmare perfectly. The card that had me bawling in the aisles. Here is the poem in the card.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
We are all creatures
of this great earth -
interconnected in ways
beyond understanding.
Take elephants.
So big.
So strong.
And yet,
when a member
of the herd passes,
even elephants mourn.
They gather around.
extend their trunks,
and gently touch
the tusks
of their fallen friend.
It's their ritual.
It's how they heal.
And it's sad.
And it's beautiful.
So maybe
what we're trying to say
is that the world
doesn't expect you
to be fine with this.
Be how you need to be.
Mourn how you need to mourn.
And know that
you're thought of
with love.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
And you are thought of with love today. As you face this nightmare that no mother should ever have to face. I am thinking about you all day, as I have for the past week and a half. Know that you are not alone. There are so many people that love you and that want to help you and be here for you, as you mourn. However you need to mourn.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
17 weeks
Can you all believe that 17 weeks ago was the worst time of my life? Doesn't that seem like forever ago? And yet just the other day? 17 weeks ago right now I was waiting in my room for them to bring Benjamin back to me for the first time. 17 weeks ago right now Heather was waiting to take the photos that I will cherish forever. 17 weeks ago my life changed dramatically. 17 weeks ago my faith in the future and all things good changed. 17 weeks ago I lost any innocence I had. 17 weeks ago I knew firsthand what true heartache felt like. 17 weeks ago I felt my heart and soul crumple into a little ball. 17 weeks ago I was wishing so hard that I was in a nightmare and not a new reality. 17 weeks ago I knew that I had changed forever.
BUT 17 weeks ago I got to meet and hold my precious sweet baby boy. 17 weeks ago we became two bodies instead of one. 17 weeks ago I got to meet this little being who had been growing inside of me. 17 weeks ago I got to feel like a new mommy all over again. 17 weeks ago I learned the greatest pain any mom can know. But 17 weeks ago I learned the greatest love any mom can know too. 17 weeks ago I had to say goodbye to my baby, my hopes, my plans for the future I had dreamed of. 17 weeks ago I got to kiss his sweet head, caress his soft hair, and hold his precious little hands. 17 weeks ago I got to physically be his mom.
But for the last 17 weeks I have got to carry him in my heart. For 17 weeks I have got to look at his sweet photos and remember his gorgeous physical body. For 17 weeks I have been able to close my eyes and remember the feel of his hair, the feel of his skin. For 17 weeks I have been able to feel the consuming love for him in my heart. For 17 weeks I have been his mommy. He may not physically be here with me, but he will always be in my heart. For the past 17 weeks and for every week I have left in my life.
I love you Benjamin.
BUT 17 weeks ago I got to meet and hold my precious sweet baby boy. 17 weeks ago we became two bodies instead of one. 17 weeks ago I got to meet this little being who had been growing inside of me. 17 weeks ago I got to feel like a new mommy all over again. 17 weeks ago I learned the greatest pain any mom can know. But 17 weeks ago I learned the greatest love any mom can know too. 17 weeks ago I had to say goodbye to my baby, my hopes, my plans for the future I had dreamed of. 17 weeks ago I got to kiss his sweet head, caress his soft hair, and hold his precious little hands. 17 weeks ago I got to physically be his mom.
But for the last 17 weeks I have got to carry him in my heart. For 17 weeks I have got to look at his sweet photos and remember his gorgeous physical body. For 17 weeks I have been able to close my eyes and remember the feel of his hair, the feel of his skin. For 17 weeks I have been able to feel the consuming love for him in my heart. For 17 weeks I have been his mommy. He may not physically be here with me, but he will always be in my heart. For the past 17 weeks and for every week I have left in my life.
I love you Benjamin.
The true list
I came across this list on a message board I go on. It left me a sobbing mess but hit home with how true it is.
1. I wish you would not be afraid to mention my babies. The truth is just because you never saw my babies doesn't mean they don't deserve your recognition.
2. I wish that if we did talk about my babies and I cried you didn't think it was because you have hurt me by mentioning my babies. The truth is I need to cry and talk about my babies with you. Crying and emotional outbursts help me heal.
3. I wish that you could talk about my babies more than once. The truth is if you do, it reassures me that you haven't forgotten and that you do care and understand.
4. I wish you wouldn't think that I don't want to talk about my babies. The truth is I love my babies and need to talk about them.
5. I wish you could tell me you are sorry my babies died and that you are thinking of me. The truth is that it tells me you care.
6. I wish you wouldn't think what has happened is one big bad memory for me. The truth is the memory of my babies, the love I feel for my babies, the dreams I had and the memories I have created for my babies are all loving memories. Yes there are bad memories too but please understand that it's not all like that.
7. I wish you wouldn't pretend that my babies never existed. The truth is we both know I had babies growing inside me.
8. I wish you wouldn't judge me because I am not acting the way you think I should be. The truth is grief is a very personal thing and we are all different people who deal with things differently.
9. I wish you wouldn't think if I have a good day I'm "over it" or if I have a bad day I am being unreasonable because you think I should be over it. The truth is there is no "normal" way for me to act.
10. I wish you wouldn't stay away from me. The truth is losing my babies doesn't mean I'm contagious. By staying away you make me feel isolated, confused and like it is my fault.
11. I wish you wouldn't expect my grief to be "over and done with" in a few weeks, months, or years for that matter. The truth is it may get easier with time but I will never be "over" this.
12. I wish you wouldn't think that my babies weren't really babies and they were blood and tissue or a fetus. The truth is my babies were human lives. My babies had a soul, heart, body, legs, arms and a face. I have seen my babies' body and face. My babies were real people - and they were alive.
13. My babies due date, Mothers Day, celebration times, the day my babies were born and the days I lost my babies are all important and sad days for me. The truth is I wish you could tell me by words or by letter you are thinking of me on these days.
14. I wish you understood that losing my babies has changed me. The truth is I am not the same person I was before and will never be that person again. If you keep waiting for me to get back to "normal" you will stay frustrated. I am a new person with new thoughts, dreams, beliefs, and values. Please try to get to know the real me-maybe you'll still like me.
15. I wish you wouldn't tell me I could have another baby. The truth is I want the babies I lost and no other baby can replace them. Babies aren't interchangeable. Besides, you do not know whether we have fertility problems too.
16. I wish you wouldn't feel awkward or uncomfortable talking about my babies or being near me. When you do, I can see it. The truth is it's not fair to make me feel uncomfortable just because you are.
17. I wish you wouldn't think that you'll keep away because all my friends and family will be there for me. The truth is, everyone thinks the same thing and I am often left with no one.
18. I wish you would understand that being around pregnant women is uncomfortable for me. The truth is I feel jealous.
19. I wish you wouldn't say that it's natures way of telling me something was wrong with my babies. The truth is my babies were perfect to me no matter what you think nature is saying.
20. I wish you would understand what you are really saying when you say "next time things will be okay". The truth is how do you know? What will you say if it happens to me again?
Going Home
So after The Pretty Nurse left the room with Benjamin I stood there glued to the spot for a moment. I felt okay with her taking him. I didn't have any desire to cling to her leg and cry for her not to take him. I was okay. I had said all I wanted to say, done all I could do. I was still heartbroken, of course, but I knew this was the way it had to be. I knew I should get my room packed up, have a shower, and leave the hospital. Go home to Jackson. Part of me felt like I *should* get back in bed and cry for a while. Like I should still be mourning out loud. But I couldn't. I didn't feel I needed to. I would find in the coming days I experienced this a lot. This feeling that I *should* be feeling a certain way, but actually not feeling that way. It was as if I had read all about the 'proper' grieving timeline and I wasn't following it. It made me feel like I wasn't mourning my baby the right way, or not enough. But I can't, and shouldn't, force myself to cry if I didn't feel the need. There would be plenty of times that I would feel the need.
So I had a shower. As I stood in the cramped hospital shower I let the water pelt my face and wondered why I wasn't crying. Why did my heart not physically ache as much? Why were the tears not flowing? Why was I not doing the gut wrenching sobs? Was there something wrong with me? Did I not love him enough? Did I not miss him enough? Had I not wanted him enough? Deep down I knew this was stupid. I knew how much I loved, wanted and missed him. I knew that it was okay to have moments of okay, even moments of happiness. But it still bothered me. I always imagined that I would never get over the loss of a child; never be able to function normally again. And here I was, moments from handing my baby over to a nurse, never to see him again. And I was showering. And not crying.
After I got dressed and had my room all packed up Brian and his mom came back to get me. During my hospital stay we had received three bouquets of flowers. We had to carry these out of the hospital. The flowers were all beautiful arrangements. Colourful and large. Needless to say, we got compliments on them in the elevator and the hallway. People would comment on them in a happy tone; as if we had received them for a joyous occasion. It pissed me off. I had appreciated getting the flowers, don't get me wrong. But to carry these beautiful flowers out of the hospital instead of my baby; to get comments on how gorgeous the flowers were, instead of how gorgeous my baby was. This is what pissed me off. These well-meaning strangers had no idea of the hell I was in at that moment; had no idea what their comments were doing to me. I just had to get out of there. I was dreading leaving the hospital without Benjamin and this was not helping. I practically ran out of the elevator and out the front door. I could not get into the privacy of our car fast enough.
As I sat in the car, with a bouquet of white and green gerbera daisies on my lap, I cried. I did not want to be leaving the hospital without my baby. I remembered back to May 2007 when we left the hospital with Jackson for the first time. I remembered the joy and utter panic. I couldn't believe they were actually letting us take this baby home. That we were now solely responsible for him. Didn't they understand that we had no clue what we were doing? As we drove home that day so long ago we looked forward to the future. Our new life with our little boy.
This drive home was so much different. Brian and his mom sat in the front; me in the back. I cried the entire way home. It wasn't the gut-wrenching sobs or the painful lump in the throat kind of cry. It was the constant tears streaming down my face kind. Where it was just happening. My heart ached. Physically ached. I couldn't believe this was happening. I had imagined it so many times in the last few months. The drive home with my baby for the first time. Taking him home to our new life. This was not the scenario I had imagined. And it sucked.
Just a few days ago Brian's mom told me that on this drive home she saw a deer standing on the side of the road. There are a lot of deer around here but we are always in awe when we see them. It seems so surreal to just see them on the side of the road, we are used to Ontario where you only see them way out in the country, not on the side of a main road. Barbara said that neither Brian nor I saw it, and she didn't want to point it out. It was a big Buck and was just standing there proudly on the side of the road. I don't know what to do with this information. For some reason it feels important to me, in a symbolic sort of way. Usually I do not read into stuff like this, meaning like that is usually lost on me. Maybe that's why I don't know what to do with this information. It made me smile when she told me tho.
When we got back to our house my parents were there with Jackson. Jackson was very happy to see us and let me snuggle with him for a few minutes. I needed that. The first day home was so hard. I just kept looking beside my bed and thinking that the bassinet should be there. I was glad that we hadn't put the nursery together and hadn't pulled the bassinet out of storage. It was easier to deal with being home without all those physical reminders staring me in the face.
In the book I read, 'An Exact Figment of my Imagination', the author (Elizabeth McCracken) says "After most deaths, I imagine, the awfulness lies in how everything's changed: you no longer recognize the form of your days. There's a hole. It's person-shaped and it follows you everywhere, to bed, to the dinner table, in the car. For us what was killing was how nothing had changed. We'd been waiting to be transformed, and now here we were, back in our old life." This sums it up perfectly. When I read this it gave how I felt words, gave it meaning. That was exactly what the problem was. Here we were, back in our old life. Nothing had changed. We still were the parents of an amazing little boy, but only one amazing little boy. I had been pregnant and now I wasn't but all around us life was going on just as it was. There was no nursery to set up or put away. That room was still just Jackson's playroom. There was no extra laundry, no sleepless nights, no baby cries to be heard throughout the house. Everything was the same. There was no transformation from a family of 3 to a family of 4. And that hurt.
Over the next few days we came to terms with it. For the first couple days I had weird physical symptoms of grief. My chest hurt. I felt like there was always a weight on my chest, like I couldn't get a deep enough breath. My heart hurt too. It's weird how your heart can physically hurt from such a loss. I'd always thought that was just an expression, someone trying to make more out of a situation, be dramatic with their words. But it's true. My heart ached. It would stop me dead in my tracks on occasion. One day Brian, Barbara and I were talking about making quilts. She was asking if I would make her a queen size quilt for her bed. I told her that I only make lap quilts. Brian quipped in 'or baby quilts'. I started bawling. Such a random conversation and yet it caused immediate grief to me. (and yes, Brian felt horrible for his comment, even though it was completely innocent, lol).
Over the next week Barbara went home, then my mom went home, then my dad went home. The flowers stopped being delivered. The emails stopped coming. The phone calls slowed down. People were getting on with their lives. Still thinking about us, I'm sure, but they were continuing on with their normal day-to-day activities. We were happy for that. We are not the type of people that like being in the spotlight, the constant 'how are you doing?' and the constant attention was starting to make us uncomfortable. We appreciated it immensely, but we were ready to try to figure out our new life. We felt we had to.
These days we talk about Benjamin a bit less. Not because we don't think about him or because we are trying to 'forget' him. Just because we have to. What else is there to say about him? We love him, we miss him, we wish this had never happened, but there is nothing new to say. We've said all of that a million times. It's not going to change. I went looking for a photo album the other day for all of his photos. That was surprisingly hard. We have about 70 photos of him; ones Heather took, ones we took, my pregnancy photo, the ultrasound pictures. As I stood in the album aisle of the store I had to fight back the tears. I wanted an album that I could put every single picture in, whether the photo was a good one or not. I wanted every picture we had of him treasured. Some of the albums were too small. They would only hold 30 photos. Then other ones were too big, they were meant for many more photos than we had. I did not want blank pages in my album of Benjamin. There would never be new photos. I could never add to the album. This made me so sad. His entire existence was going to be in this album and most of them were too long. His life was just too short.
Jackson looks at Benjamin's photos all the time. I have a little collage of them by my computer. Jackson will come up to it and point at the photo and say 'baby'. I am teaching him to say 'Ben'. We do not, and probably will not, call him Ben. But 'Benjamin' is too hard and too long for Jackson to be able to say. So he can call his little brother Ben. He is the only one tho. That is his special name for his baby brother. His sweet little baby brother that he will never get to meet. At least not in the physical. Benjamin will always live on in his heart tho. He will know the story of Benjamin. He will know he has a sweet baby brother. And he will know of the love. You cannot know any of the story of Benjamin without knowing of the love. Because that is the most important part.
And I do love you, Benjamin. More than you could have ever known. It's not fair and it sucks. What I would give to have you in my arms right now. But that's not the way it is and I have come to terms with that. For the most part.
So I had a shower. As I stood in the cramped hospital shower I let the water pelt my face and wondered why I wasn't crying. Why did my heart not physically ache as much? Why were the tears not flowing? Why was I not doing the gut wrenching sobs? Was there something wrong with me? Did I not love him enough? Did I not miss him enough? Had I not wanted him enough? Deep down I knew this was stupid. I knew how much I loved, wanted and missed him. I knew that it was okay to have moments of okay, even moments of happiness. But it still bothered me. I always imagined that I would never get over the loss of a child; never be able to function normally again. And here I was, moments from handing my baby over to a nurse, never to see him again. And I was showering. And not crying.
After I got dressed and had my room all packed up Brian and his mom came back to get me. During my hospital stay we had received three bouquets of flowers. We had to carry these out of the hospital. The flowers were all beautiful arrangements. Colourful and large. Needless to say, we got compliments on them in the elevator and the hallway. People would comment on them in a happy tone; as if we had received them for a joyous occasion. It pissed me off. I had appreciated getting the flowers, don't get me wrong. But to carry these beautiful flowers out of the hospital instead of my baby; to get comments on how gorgeous the flowers were, instead of how gorgeous my baby was. This is what pissed me off. These well-meaning strangers had no idea of the hell I was in at that moment; had no idea what their comments were doing to me. I just had to get out of there. I was dreading leaving the hospital without Benjamin and this was not helping. I practically ran out of the elevator and out the front door. I could not get into the privacy of our car fast enough.
As I sat in the car, with a bouquet of white and green gerbera daisies on my lap, I cried. I did not want to be leaving the hospital without my baby. I remembered back to May 2007 when we left the hospital with Jackson for the first time. I remembered the joy and utter panic. I couldn't believe they were actually letting us take this baby home. That we were now solely responsible for him. Didn't they understand that we had no clue what we were doing? As we drove home that day so long ago we looked forward to the future. Our new life with our little boy.
This drive home was so much different. Brian and his mom sat in the front; me in the back. I cried the entire way home. It wasn't the gut-wrenching sobs or the painful lump in the throat kind of cry. It was the constant tears streaming down my face kind. Where it was just happening. My heart ached. Physically ached. I couldn't believe this was happening. I had imagined it so many times in the last few months. The drive home with my baby for the first time. Taking him home to our new life. This was not the scenario I had imagined. And it sucked.
Just a few days ago Brian's mom told me that on this drive home she saw a deer standing on the side of the road. There are a lot of deer around here but we are always in awe when we see them. It seems so surreal to just see them on the side of the road, we are used to Ontario where you only see them way out in the country, not on the side of a main road. Barbara said that neither Brian nor I saw it, and she didn't want to point it out. It was a big Buck and was just standing there proudly on the side of the road. I don't know what to do with this information. For some reason it feels important to me, in a symbolic sort of way. Usually I do not read into stuff like this, meaning like that is usually lost on me. Maybe that's why I don't know what to do with this information. It made me smile when she told me tho.
When we got back to our house my parents were there with Jackson. Jackson was very happy to see us and let me snuggle with him for a few minutes. I needed that. The first day home was so hard. I just kept looking beside my bed and thinking that the bassinet should be there. I was glad that we hadn't put the nursery together and hadn't pulled the bassinet out of storage. It was easier to deal with being home without all those physical reminders staring me in the face.
In the book I read, 'An Exact Figment of my Imagination', the author (Elizabeth McCracken) says "After most deaths, I imagine, the awfulness lies in how everything's changed: you no longer recognize the form of your days. There's a hole. It's person-shaped and it follows you everywhere, to bed, to the dinner table, in the car. For us what was killing was how nothing had changed. We'd been waiting to be transformed, and now here we were, back in our old life." This sums it up perfectly. When I read this it gave how I felt words, gave it meaning. That was exactly what the problem was. Here we were, back in our old life. Nothing had changed. We still were the parents of an amazing little boy, but only one amazing little boy. I had been pregnant and now I wasn't but all around us life was going on just as it was. There was no nursery to set up or put away. That room was still just Jackson's playroom. There was no extra laundry, no sleepless nights, no baby cries to be heard throughout the house. Everything was the same. There was no transformation from a family of 3 to a family of 4. And that hurt.
Over the next few days we came to terms with it. For the first couple days I had weird physical symptoms of grief. My chest hurt. I felt like there was always a weight on my chest, like I couldn't get a deep enough breath. My heart hurt too. It's weird how your heart can physically hurt from such a loss. I'd always thought that was just an expression, someone trying to make more out of a situation, be dramatic with their words. But it's true. My heart ached. It would stop me dead in my tracks on occasion. One day Brian, Barbara and I were talking about making quilts. She was asking if I would make her a queen size quilt for her bed. I told her that I only make lap quilts. Brian quipped in 'or baby quilts'. I started bawling. Such a random conversation and yet it caused immediate grief to me. (and yes, Brian felt horrible for his comment, even though it was completely innocent, lol).
Over the next week Barbara went home, then my mom went home, then my dad went home. The flowers stopped being delivered. The emails stopped coming. The phone calls slowed down. People were getting on with their lives. Still thinking about us, I'm sure, but they were continuing on with their normal day-to-day activities. We were happy for that. We are not the type of people that like being in the spotlight, the constant 'how are you doing?' and the constant attention was starting to make us uncomfortable. We appreciated it immensely, but we were ready to try to figure out our new life. We felt we had to.
These days we talk about Benjamin a bit less. Not because we don't think about him or because we are trying to 'forget' him. Just because we have to. What else is there to say about him? We love him, we miss him, we wish this had never happened, but there is nothing new to say. We've said all of that a million times. It's not going to change. I went looking for a photo album the other day for all of his photos. That was surprisingly hard. We have about 70 photos of him; ones Heather took, ones we took, my pregnancy photo, the ultrasound pictures. As I stood in the album aisle of the store I had to fight back the tears. I wanted an album that I could put every single picture in, whether the photo was a good one or not. I wanted every picture we had of him treasured. Some of the albums were too small. They would only hold 30 photos. Then other ones were too big, they were meant for many more photos than we had. I did not want blank pages in my album of Benjamin. There would never be new photos. I could never add to the album. This made me so sad. His entire existence was going to be in this album and most of them were too long. His life was just too short.
Jackson looks at Benjamin's photos all the time. I have a little collage of them by my computer. Jackson will come up to it and point at the photo and say 'baby'. I am teaching him to say 'Ben'. We do not, and probably will not, call him Ben. But 'Benjamin' is too hard and too long for Jackson to be able to say. So he can call his little brother Ben. He is the only one tho. That is his special name for his baby brother. His sweet little baby brother that he will never get to meet. At least not in the physical. Benjamin will always live on in his heart tho. He will know the story of Benjamin. He will know he has a sweet baby brother. And he will know of the love. You cannot know any of the story of Benjamin without knowing of the love. Because that is the most important part.
And I do love you, Benjamin. More than you could have ever known. It's not fair and it sucks. What I would give to have you in my arms right now. But that's not the way it is and I have come to terms with that. For the most part.
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