For Mary on her 6 month birthday

This is the farthest I've ever been
from that moment in time when I held you

And now here I am
On the opposite side of the sun

I look at it and think
If only I could walk through

That nuclear fire and bring you back
safe, happy and whole

I would
But I can't

I'd only burn to atoms
In the process

So I stay on this
godforsaken rock

And wait
While it

Moves me ever closer and farther
from that moment in space

And spirals ever away
from that moment in time

I only hope
That there is a Forever

Where you will finally
be in my arms for good

my diagnosis

My diagnosis. My specific diagnosis is: adjustment disorder with anxiety and depression. Doesn't exactly roll of the tongue does it?

I saw a therapist for the first time ever today. I think I like her. I almost posted this link on facebook but I'm pretty sure mental health stuff is supposed to be kept private. I don't know why. If someone is going to hold it against me that I'm messed up because my baby died...that person has more issues than I do.

I'll probably regret this from a financial standpoint but I've decided to make an end run around my MD and go straight to a psychiatrist to manage my new meds. (unless they decide I don't need them but I'm pretty certain I qualify) I'm nervous to start mood-altering drugs and I really want someone who knows what they're doing in charge.

Oh yes, this means that I'll be under the care of both a psychologist AND a psychiatrist. (at least I think my therapist is a psychologist, she has a PhD anyway) How special am I?

Baby girl should be 2 weeks old today. I wasn't so busy thinking about myself today that I forgot.

if

Mary would be one week old today if she had been healthy and born on her due date. That's a hell of an "if" isn't it?

Some people have seemed dismayed that I'm still struggling. I understand. They never knew Mary as an individual. I lost a baby. To most of the world I lost a pregnancy. But you know, I didn't just lose a baby. I lost a baby, a toddler, a middle-schooler, a teen and an adult child. She will always be missing. If, by the grace of God, we get pregnant again and are blessed with a healthy child, she will still be missing. If we have 12 healthy children, guess what...she will still be missing. That's not to say that I won't become more skilled at dealing with it. But I will never get over it. That's as it should be.

I dropped a tear in the ocean, and whenever they find it I’ll stop loving you, only then. ~Unknown

Job

I sigh when food is put before me, and my groans pour out like water. For the thing I feared has overtaken me, and what I dreaded has happened to me. I cannot relax or be still; I have no rest, for trouble comes. Job 3:24-26

I don't know why I didn't think of good old Job earlier. I was going for Psalms (which also has some excellent complaints) when I stumbled across my old buddy. I remember when we studied this book in class. Even then I found myself nodding along with Job and rolling my eyes at his "helpful" friends. Back before I knew what real grief was.

I've been lucky enough not to come across too many people like Job's friends. They can't believe that Job would be left destitute if not for some sin. He must have done something wrong. There has to be an explanation for what happened to him. Sound familiar?

What I love about Job is that he doesn't just sit there in silence before his friends' accusations. He argues back long and loud, "No, I didn't do anything to deserve this! It's not fair, it hurts and I hate it!!!" And in the end God Himself rebukes the friends for their judgment of Job. Sometimes we just have to accept that we can't know the 'Why'.

Job is a guy who knows grief. Sometimes I need to go to blogs to remind myself that I'm not alone. But the Bible also has plenty of examples of people crying out to God from their misery. It's good to know that I need not suffer in silence before God.

With A Stillborn Baby, There's No Past To Be Mourned

http://www.irishtimes.com/newspaper/health/2011/0607/1224298494116.html

Later, I learn what it means to be family, what it means to have friends. I learn about what to ask from each during my long, slow return. I learn, too, there is no tidy timetable to grieving, no milestones that can be marked off neatly with a tick: been there, done that. It is a process, one that ebbs and flows, that cuts the ground from underneath your feet one day, supports and soothes you the next.

Where I Am: Two Months and Four Days

Now, it's your turn. Where are you in your grief? Emotionally. Physically. Psychically. Title your post, "Right Where I Am:(Time since your child's death)". then come back here and link your blog post on the Mr. Linky. Click other participants and read about right where they are. Comment if you can. Just a thank you for telling me about right where you are. If you don't want to write a full post, why not just comment here and tell me the time since your loss(es) and anything else you want to share. Spread the word around the community by linking back to this post, so people can find out what grief is like on all stops on the road. Thanks to Angie for this prompt.

I hurt. As Chris noted the other day, I'm not getting better. I'm getting worse. Oh I'm functional. I'm incredibly functional. I not only get out of bed, shower, dress myself, take care of the pets and go to work/weekend stuff every day but last weekend I planned and executed a great weekend getaway for myself and my husband. And it was a lot of fun. I hoped that would get me through my 2nd 30th (what is that called, it's not a year so it can't be anniversary) and then I'd be back on more solid ground until the double whammy next month of the third 30th followed closely by Mary's due date on July 4th. It seemed to be working, but this week the pain in my heart started back up and has built until it's almost back to crazy-making levels again today.

So I'm probably going to start counseling soon. I don't expect anyone to be able to make the pain go away, but I need better tools to deal with it. I'm actually doing pretty well at work, but school is suffering. I'm almost done and I can't quit now. But my focus is shot, and I need to get back on track. I'm also kind of hoping to enlist a professional to tell Chris that it's ok that I'm not ok. He'd never accuse me out loud, but I know he thinks I'm wallowing. He likes to talk about moving on. I know that it's possible to hold Mary's memory with joy instead of pain. I even do it occasionally. I'd like it to be that way all the time, but I just don't know how. Maybe the therapist will have some helpful ideas.

alternate reality

Yesterday the moment came that I had been preparing for. I was looking at a house while Chris was at work. The realtor casually asked that ubiquitous question, "Do you have any children?" In my head I responded just as I'd rehearsed. A calm, matter of fact, "No living children." No hysterics, no drama just a simple acknowledgment of my daughter's existence. What actually came out was a cheery, "Not yet!"

Maybe it was better that way. Certainly more comfortable for her. Less comfortable for me though. My poor baby girl, not only did you not survive, now I'm pretending like you were never here. All for the comfort of strangers.

I'm going to have to learn to live with the alternate reality I'm now in. Everyone who doesn't know sees Chris and I as a childless couple, which I guess we are. But I know that I have/had a daughter. That she was real and opinionated and very much her own little self. I carried her. I gave birth to her. I'm her mother. I'm a mother with no child to show for it. This puts me in a strange, cruel place.

Rabbit Hole

Against my better judgment I watched the movie "The Rabbit Hole" last week. If you're not familiar with it, the story revolves around a couple whose 4 year old was killed after he darted into traffic 8 months prior. I thought it was well done.

The scene that really captured my attention took place between the bereaved mother and the teenager who was driving the car that hit her son. The teenage boy is "confessing" that he may have been speeding when the accident happened. He's not sure, but the speed limit was 30mph and he might have been going 31 or 32. At that moment I identified with both of them, the mother whose child had died and the person who is/isn't responsible. You can tell that she knows that 1 or 2 miles per hour wouldn't have made any difference, she doesn't blame him. And he probably knows it too, but he's still struggling with the 'if only'. One lousy mile per hour. Most likely it wouldn't have mattered, but then again what if it did? She's come to terms with it just being an accident. One of those things that happens.

I was getting a bit annoyed with my OB. For every "but what if I..." she countered with "it wouldn't have mattered." It's just one of those things that happens. An accident of nature. I think it's supposed to be freeing, the idea that I didn't do anything wrong. But sometimes it drives me crazy. My brain keeps searching for something, anything that I should have done differently. Because if that 1 or 2 miles an hour did matter then I can drive 30 for the rest of my life and my next baby will be ok.

buckle up

I woke up this morning to find that I'm ok. Not, you know, great. But fine. I guess that's why they call this grief thing a roller coaster.

bad day :o(

I went to bed aching physically and emotionally last night. The rest and medicine did wonders for the soreness but I was still heartsick when I woke up this morning. I'm so glad to be working half-days this week. I wish that could go on for a bit more but pug's gotta eat so it's back to full time next week.

I got through work somehow. When I came home I was in such bad shape that Chris threatened to call someone to sit with me while he went to work. If there's anything worse than being a sobbing mess, it's being a sobbing mess while someone's staring at you. So I pulled myself together and sent him off to work while I went to church.

I do feel better for having had a good cry. Now I'm just a bit sad and tired. Hoping tomorrow is a better day.

trying to blog again?

I'll admit, I'm bad at this blogging thing. I've tried it before. My poor blogs always end up abandoned after a few haphazard entries.

I'm not going to say that this one's going to be different. Maybe this will be the last entry I ever make. Or maybe I'll garner hundreds of followers and end up with a book deal a la Monica of Knocked Up, Knocked Down fame. (Highly recommended if you're not easily offended)

Mostly I'm writing here because I sometimes feel the need to write and I'm trying to keep most of this stuff off of my facebook page. No one wants to be the one who causes people to roll their eyes and sigh 'not again!' Besides after a while it looks like you're just angling for attention. That's why I like blogging better. It's supposed to be all about me! It's easy to find if you just have to have your Christy fix and easy to avoid if you want.

pity vs sympathy

I'm scared to go back to work. There, I said it. I'm frightened by the anticipation of sad eyes and awkward silences. I actually feel a sick sense of anticipation for all the terribly wrong things people will say. I've had a couple of these experiences already and I'm hoarding them. My favorite is a classmate who tried to explain to me why God killed my baby. I (very gently by the way) explained my point of view. He wasn't interested and continued to argue his point. That was a good one. I can't wait until I collect one to top it. Maybe I'll write a book someday. I think things like that don't bother me so much because I understand what people are trying to say. Mostly it's, "I'm sorry. I want you to be ok." Even if the actual words end up being a 12 car pile-up.

How do I want people to react? Good question. I wish I knew. Hugs are good, sympathy is nice. Please don't go overboard and put me in the position to comfort you. Right now I don't have the reserves to give of myself to anybody.

Sometimes I'm going to be totally fine. Sometimes I'm probably going to start crying for no apparent reason. I'd like to be ignored if/when that happens. I'm doing my best to hold it together in front of other people.

I can't decide if I want to talk about Mary or not. Well, I do want to talk about her. I love her and miss her. But if we do talk about her, I'm almost guaranteed to cry. Not exactly encouraged in a professional setting. I could not talk about her and try not to think about her in order to get through the day. But that doesn't feel right either. You see, I can't feed her, burp her or change her diapers. Now that the funeral's done and her headstone has been chosen, about all I can do for my girl is to make sure that she is remembered as a real person, worthy of being loved and grieved.

The following is from Julia, posted on Glow In The Woods:

http://www.glowinthewoods.com/home/2009/5/29/balancing-act.html

And so here's my new hypothesis. I think we try to act like we have it together because we need to be seen as sane. Because in-sane people are easy to dismiss.

She's just insane with grief, can you imagine?

You can pity the insane and walk on by. It's totally allowed. You can even judge them. They are the other, not you, not one of the normals. You don't have to try her grief on in your mind. She's clearly lost it, and you would never let yourself fall apart like that. I mean, sad things happen all the time, but it's been months now. You'd think she'd be better by now, you know?

Sane people, on the other hand, need to be taken seriously. We interact with them. We're supposed to listen to what they say. Pay attention.

And so I think that some part of our need to be seen as sane is not about us. Not about our pride being hurt if we are pitied. Not about being infuriated because we are patronized with idiotic advice on how to make it all better. I think that some part of this is about the need to have our children, these little people we are grieving, be seen as profoundly cherished. Grieved by crazy people, they are invisible. Grieved by articulate sane people who are still hurting, they are suddenly important. Worthy.

I think we hold it together so that when we choose to talk about it, we are not dismissed. I think one of the things we most want others to understand is that our grief is not an overreaction, that our love for the person who died warrants the grief, that it's messy as all get out, but that the mess too is normal. Not an overreaction. Not an overreaction. NOT an overreaction.

One of the hardest things for me comprehend is just how normal life is for everyone else. My baby died inside of me. And then I gave birth to her. And the world just keeps turning, birds chirp outside, plants are reviving, spring is, well, springing. People are going to work and gassing up their cars and paying their taxes like everything is ok. How can that be?

The best expression I've found of this disconnect is Without You from the musical Rent. It's the song that resonates with me best when I'm feeling my worst.

MIMI
Without You
The Ground Thaws
The Rain Falls
The Grass Grows

Without You
The Seeds Root
The Flowers Bloom
The Children Play

The Stars Gleam
The Eagles Fly
Without You

The Earth Turns
The Sun Burns
But I Die
Without You

Without You
The Breeze Warms
The Girls Smile
The Cloud Moves

Without You
The Tides Change
The Oceans Crash

The Crowd Roars
The Days Soar
The Babies Cry
Without You

The Moon Glows
The River Flows
But I Die
Without You

ROGER
The World Revives

MIMI
Colors Renew

BOTH
But I Know Blue
Only Blue
Lonely Blue
Within Me, Blue
Without You

MIMI
Without You
The Hand Gropes
The Ear Hears
The Pulse Beats

ROGER
Without You
The Eyes Gaze
The Legs Walk
The Lungs Breathe

BOTH
The Mind Churns
The Heart Yearns
The Tears Dry
Without You

Life Goes On
But I'm Gone
Cause I Die

ROGER
Without You

MIMI
Without You

ROGER
Without You

BOTH
Without You