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.