Familiar Territory

A’s birthday is nearly here. As in years past, I start to get weepy and emotional as soon as the weather changes and it begins to feel like fall. Then, October arrives and I withdraw into myself. 

Right now, things are very similar to the weeks right after A died. I am lethargic, unmotivated, grumpy and very fragile. I feel utterly drained. Today, I literally laid on the couch while Dragon brought toys and books over to me; climbing atop and over me. I just didn’t have the energy to play. Poor girl. What will she think of this annual unraveling?

We put her to bed and I crash onto the couch watching mindless television until we head to bed ourselves. (This was our tactic in the early weeks to distract our minds from the stinging reality.) But, as it always is, I cannot fall asleep. Instead, my brain plays flashbacks of A’s days over and over. I berate myself for not having kissed him more, for ever having laid him back in the isolette; why didn’t I hold him the entire fucking time?! 

I have learned from past years and so this year I took offof work the entire birthday week. I am incapacitated. I’m barely functioning and facing my son’s third birthday makes most other things completely insignificant. There is no way I’m able to focus on work. Plus, the breakdowns are coming more frequently. You know how it is, puttering along washing dishes or something and then you just can’t suppress it. The tears come, you collapse, body shuddering with sobs. Eventually, you pull yourself together, gather the pile of wet tissues and try to get on with the day.

Also as in the early days, I’m avoiding going out in public. It is so incredibly uncomfortable and downright frightening. It isn’t just that I’m extra fragile right now and could have a meltdown at any moment. But it is more clear this time of year that I do not belong; that I am very broken. I do not know how to navigate social situations anymore and attempting to do so is very taxing to my already low energy stores. If it weren’t for Dragon, I’d stay in the house the entire week. Well, there is an exception. This year I planned ahead and scheduled some self-care by way of a massage. Though it gave me anxiety to go out in public and put my vulnerable self up on the table, it was totally worth it. Like all the chocolate I’ve been eating, it didn’t relieve my pain and sorrow, but I did feel more grounded afterward and definitely more relaxed.

New this year was the stay-super-busy-so-you-don’t-have-time-to-think strategy. It started subconsciously but I quickly realized what was going on. I packed my days full of chores, projects and the like. Much more so than the usual crazy multitasking that goes on around here. At the end of a ridiculously busy (and productive) day, I was beat and fell into bed only to get on the hamster wheel again in the morning. If there wasn’t any down time then my mind couldn’t register the anguish within, couldn’t notice that it was nearly October, couldn’t redirect my attention to the heartwrenching reality that we live in. This technique, of course, is only effective temporarily because inevitably all of those things do creep in. And, as noted above, eventually the grief becomes crippling and despite those lingering to-do lists, I am, essentially, in a catatonic state.

E, per usual, has stepped up as I have fallen apart. He picks up the slack around the house and tends to Dragon. He is extra supportive and always asks what I need. I find that I avoid making eye contact with him; the second I do, I devolve into tears; because he is my rock, because he is hurting just as badly as I am, because we are in this together and it is so fucking intense.

In the coming days I am trying to set aside time to let the tears flow and the rage run. I will sit down and go through A’s album again and again. I will go through his box of stuff. I will read the sympathy cards I saved from three years ago. I will cradle, kiss and talk to his miniature urn. I will carefully remove his hair from the envelope that houses it and roll the downy softness between my fingers; sniffing it in hopes of catching a whiff of my baby boy, before meticulously putting it away. I will read his little sister the book, Someone Came Before You which chokes me up every time and we only read on special occasions and holidays. I will curl up on the ground and bawl and howl. I will write to A. I will do all of these things because this is how I know to grieve and although the day-to-day functioning is easier than it was three years ago, the pain, agony and longing are as intense as they ever were.

Little Boys

It’s been a couple years since I attended my company’s annual summer picnic. In 2012 I opted out because I was still a mess over A’s death. Last year I had planned on going but fortuitously Dragon got sick that week. This year Dragon and I went. Fortunately I had the nap excuse; by the time she woke up and we got there, there was only an hour or so of obligatory niceties left.

The picnic is a time for the families of the all the staff to gather. I have to admit it’s insightful to meet my coworkers’ and bosses’ spouses, children and significant others. There were some “big kids” [read: school aged] and Dragon was entertained by their running and wrestling antics. But she naturally migrated toward the only other toddler-sized person at the picnic – my coworker’s son who was born 5 months after A. She pursued this little boy until his shyness abated and they happily played together tossing a ball back and forth. He was very sweet to her. Toward the end of the picnic all of the coolers had been emptied and Dragon made a beeline to the giant piles of dumped ice cubes and water. The next thing I know she’s got a dirt-covered ice cube in her mouth and the little boy comes running up saying, “No! Don’t eat that. Yucky! No!” and swats it out of her hand.

For the most part I was able to swallow the lump in my throat and make small talk with the little boy’s mom and dad. But that ice cube encounter was a dagger to my soul. It was such a kind, brotherly gesture that I just about lost it right then and there.

Our neighbors and good friends also have a son who is roughly A’s age (he was born 4 months before A). We see them often and while his behavior toward Dragon can be doting, he is, for the most part, pretty mean to her. He hates to share, snatches things away from her, hoards toys and has pushed her more times than I can count. Hopefully this is just a phase that he’ll outgrow as he learns better social skills, but I also recognize it as natural 3-year-old behavior.

I try to avoid children who are A’s age (he’d be three in October) and I try even harder to avoid situations where children who are A’s age get to play with Dragon. It is a mirror to the life we ought to have. It is a glimpse into what it might be like to watch my two children interact, both the good and the bad. I am not deluded to think that if A were alive our lives would be rosy and my kids would get along 100% of the time Flanders style. When I fantasize about how things would be with a living A, I can clearly see a possessive older brother and a tantruming little sister; a big brother who takes advantage of his age and size to trick her out of snacks or other coveted things.

It also makes me wonder how different Dragon would be with the influence of her elder sibling instead of the attention-filled daydream of her current existence. My friend Julie sums it up well when she recently wrote, “Bode’s personality is in part shaped by being the only living child in our home, by our grief and paranoia about his safety, by our desperate love.  He would certainly not be the same boy if his older brother, 17 months his senior, was growing up alongside of him.” Click here to see her entire post.

Ever since she could register facial expressions, it’s been obvious that Dragon loves to be around other children. She especially loves to be with ‘big kids’ and will watch, enthralled, as they ride scooters, play ball, jump waves or simply run amok. I’ll never know what the dynamic between my two children would have been, but I know that they’re both cheated by not having each other.

Oof!

I finally feel like I’ve got it together (most days); juggling work, baby, home, husband and other life responsibilities. It is exhausting and consuming, but as of late, I’ve felt that I have a handle on it (most days). There are times I am so engrossed in the day-to-day necessities I forget I even reside in Griefland. And then, while traipsing along, focused on keeping all of my juggling balls in the air – WHAM - I am knocked flat on my back.

Saturday morning I walked outside into the bright, warm sunshine and inhaled the crisp, cool autumn air. It was a picture perfect fall day and it brought me to my knees. 

I went out running errands. As I drove, I admired the day and breathed in the season; my eyes welled. I pulled it together to run into my first stop. Fifteen minutes later, back in the car alone, I spot a small tree already changed color; my eyes well again. I park at the grocery store and blink hard on my way in. I manage to do all the shopping without a break down. In the car on the ride home I cannot deny it any longer. It feels like the wind got knocked out of me. It feels like there is a cinder block on my chest. I sob.

This gorgeous autumn day left me trampled.

I miss him. I want so desperately to know him.

Resurfacing

Hello out there. I realize it has been some time since I last posted. There is a negative portrayal of dead baby mamas who cease blogging after their Rainbow is born. While I can see the appeal and distraction of a new live baby, it isn’t the whole story of what’s been going on in Griefland.

After baby Dragon’s unexpected and traumatic birth, we had the usual no-sleep, constant baby-tending couple months. She then settled herself into a nice predictable routine. And then, the wheels came off. She was fussy and needy. She wouldn’t nap unless someone was holding her. She was crying while nursing and bucking at the breast. Her nighttime sleep actually worsened. I was at my wit’s end trying to understand my child and what she needed because clearly I was not guessing correctly. Meanwhile I was back to work part-time.

Fast forward another 6-8 weeks and after the pediatrician erroneously diagnosed her bloody stools as an anal fissure the G.I. specialist suggested Dragon had an allergy to the dairy in my diet. Since I have been dairy free our daughter is a happier, easier baby. AND THEN she started waking up every 45-60 minutes at night, all night long. WTF kid?! I thought we just fixed your tummy troubles. I was no longer functional – not mentally, not emotionally, not even physically (I was bumping into things, stubbing my toes…).

I’ll save you the drama of sleep training but we are making progress and finally all of us are getting some sleep.  All of that to say, I’ve been absent because I’ve been struggling to meet the bare essentials. I haven’t had the time or brain power to blog. I hope I don’t come off as complaining, I adore my daughter and am thankful for every minute we have together; I just want to explain that these first 6-months have been far more challenging and exhausting than I ever could have imagined and only now am I starting to get back to “normal” - like brushing my teeth twice a day!

Sometimes I wonder if we were “chosen” to have such a high-needs baby. If she had been our first, we’d probably be quite resentful and completely out of patience. But having lost A, our gratefulness at having Dragon keeps the rest of it in balance.

Obviously, if all my time and energy has been devoted to caring for her, I haven’t had much time to spend with A. And the chronic sleep deprivation has eroded the walls that compartmentalize my grief so when I’m laying in bed or admiring my daughter, my eyes well up and I’m flooded with memories of my sweet missing son. I really need to set aside some time to sit and be with him, to be with all the emotions. I miss him.

Most of energy still goes to treading water but now, at least, my head is above the surface. Lately I am struggling to survive but it is a different kind of survival from the grief stricken days. 

Holiday Wishes & Terror

This post is negative, whiney and rather pessimistic. You may want to skip over this one.

The holiday greetings conundrum is an exaggerated version of the usual dead-baby-conversation icebreaker all babylost parents face. When a friend, neighbor or colleague asks how my holiday was I have a choice. I can throw out a customary answer, “Busy; you know how it goes.” Or I can answer honestly, “It’s really difficult. Our son would be at a very fun age this holiday season.” The former discredits my daily experience but allows the social interaction to occur and end without the opposite party feeling uncomfortable. The latter often leaves the other person’s brow furrowed with disconcertment. Usually the other person says something they believe to be sympathetic and sensitive. Usually what they say is actually insensitive and makes me feel worse. 

I would out-and-out regret being honest at all in the first place, but part of me feels as though I am crusading for all bereaved people. That by using the opening in conversation to push my ongoing grief into the spotlight momentarily, I force the unscathed to remember my tragedy and to recognize, even briefly, the agony I continue to live with. Sure I walk away feeling worse because of their ineptitude and insensitivity, but maybe they’ll be more aware with the next bereaved person they confront.

If one more person wishes me a Merry Christmas or Happy Holidays I am going to punch them in the face. The random strangers bother me less. It’s the people in my life who ought to know better. Passing in the hall at the office this week a coworker says to me, “Did you have a good Christmas?” “No,” I replied flatly and kept walking. She stopped dead in her tracks, jaw slightly agape. “What?!” “No. It’s really shitty without my 14-month-old son.”

I had similar exchanges with three staff members at the perinatologist’s office the day before. And in all of these brief conversations the other party, lacking any substantive reply always, always responds with a reference to Baby Dragon – “Well you’ll have this little one next Christmas!” This is infuriating. Surely if they took a minute to think first, they wouldn’t say something so stupid. But social pressure insists we wrap up our chat neatly and on a positive note.

We are at 37-weeks. If this kid doesn’t come on it’s own we’ll induce at 39-weeks which means one way or the other we’ll be having a baby in the next couple weeks. And yet the hospital bag is not packed. The car seat is not installed. The baby laundry is not done. Is it denial? Probably a little bit. Part of me is still hesitant to truly believe we are having a baby and that this baby will actually be coming home with us.

I sometimes feel like Charlie Brown. Like I’ll come charging up to kick the football and at the very last second, it is whisked away and I end up flat on my back, hurting with the breath knocked out of me.

I am petrified. We’re at the finish line of this pregnancy and this baby could die any minute. Just -- like -- last -- time. My naivety has been obliterated. I know now, that I cannot protect this baby any more than I could protect A.

Maybe the fear is feeding the denial. If I don’t think about the approaching due date then it isn’t real, right? All of a sudden I am deflated of any self-confidence. I am scared of the pain of labor (even though I dreamed and prayed for it back in the spring when we were trying to get pregnant). I am terrified but I can’t put my finger on exactly what I’m terrified of. I do know that this terror is preventing me from spiritually and emotionally welcoming this child to the outside world. Said emotional and spiritual clamping up is probably affecting my body and preventing labor from starting on its own. I am too scared to welcome this birth with unabated enthusiasm.

The fear is paralyzing. I sit and stare at the to-do-before-Dragon-arrives-list but don’t actually do the things listed. In fact I’ve found it harder and harder to get out of bed each morning – a classic avoidance technique I honed in college. You know the sleep for hours and hours tactic?

And yet as in the darkest days of my grief, time ticks on which means birth is inevitable regardless of my acknowledgement or readiness. 

Stay safe baby Dragon; stay safe.

An Anniversary

This past week was the anniversary of our due date with A. As you know, I’ve had an increasingly difficult time as his first birthday approaches, but I hadn’t expected the due date anniversary to be so harrowing.

I went to work like normal but immediately I found myself fighting back tears. All morning my mind kept revisiting that day last year – how coworkers who had bet on my delivering that day in the Baby Pool ribbed me during the day, how after work E accompanied me to our regularly scheduled weekly appointment, how everything checked out perfectly, how we sat just the two (three) of us while doing the non-stress test, how E was intrigued by the monitor and printout, how the paper in the printer ran out but the office didn’t have any more of the special paper in stock, how the midwife looked at the abbreviated printout and explained the graph and how it depicted the desired number of fetal heart accelerations and recoveries, how we discussed with her our desire to wait until labor started naturally emphasizing our faith in my body and the baby to know when the time was right, how I was a little disappointed I didn’t have the energy to go out for dinner that night – I wanted to have a due-date date.

How on that very day exactly one year ago we heard our son’s heart beating for the very last time.

Blinking back tears I tried to focus on my computer screen and work assignments. It was futile. My brain (and whole being) was too dialed-in to my child and my maternal responsibility. Like a repeating movie reel it played the events of the due date and the following day then the next when we finally went out for what we believed was our final nice meal out for a long time, then the following morning when we sat through a long Happiest Baby on the Block class where I felt him moving around inside me, how I was starving and thus cranky by the time the class ended, how we drove to the store to pick up special swaddling blankets, how the next morning I didn’t feel his usual pre-dawn activity but shrugged it off and got busy with final baby preparations, how we took a belly picture which I emailed to family and friends along with photos of the finished nursery, hours later I remarked to E that I hadn’t felt the baby as much as usual and then all that happened next…

By noon my chest was tight, my head hurt and I couldn’t focus on work at all. I tried releasing some tears first in the bathroom stall and then in a back abandoned office, but it wasn’t enough to ease the tension. I toyed with the idea of leaving and going home because that’s all I wanted; I just wanted the security and privacy of my home to cry at will.

Ironically, or perhaps not, I am feeling very similar to how I did last fall shortly after A was born. That familiar atmosphere where I don’t want to leave the house, I don’t want to cook, I don’t want to do anything but distract myself enough to get through the day until I can go back to bed and tick off another day on the calendar. Last year at this time I had the world’s permission as a newly bereaved mother to shutter myself in. I had 6-weeks of maternity leave to hibernate. Now I do not have that luxury but it is exactly what I am craving.

A’s actual birthday is in a few days and I have been bracing for that. But the due date really caught me off guard. You’d think after 12 full months of living in Griefland I would learn to expect the unexpected. 

Freak Out

I think I mentioned it earlier this year, a coworker of mine had a healthy son in March; born just 5 months after A. Any baby born near A’s birthday stings, but when they’re little boys it hurts even more. Ever since I returned to work 6-weeks postpartum, this particular male coworker has been saccharinely nice to me. Still I avoid him in the office because just the sight of him roils jealously and anger within. Not anger directed at him, just anger over the fact that my child is not here as he should be – you know that little thing that never ceases to piss me off.

Anyway, Tuesday afternoon a half-hour before quitting time, I bid farewell to two clients in the waiting area then turn to head back to my desk and there, in the hallway, smack dab in front of me is that coworker, his wife and their blonde spiky-haired infant son with a gaggle of middle-aged female colleagues swarmed around. I smile and quickly walk past to my desk.

I sit down and can feel my cheeks flush. I’m feeling hot all over like I need to strip off my sweater. I can hear the ladies oohing and ahhing over the baby. I frantically untangle my headphones and turn up the volume. My heart is POUNDING inside my chest. It’s difficult to breath.

I try to distract myself by continuing with work tasks. I am blinking back tears, fighting the inevitable. Check the clock, 15-minutes to go. God, can I hold it together that long? I feel like the need to flee. I just want to get out of here! Perhaps I can talk a walk around the block. But the wife and baby are probably leaving soon too and I could not handle being stuck on the elevator with them. Shit.

I could call my good friend. But where to make that call? I am surely going to burst into tears any second now. The conference room? The floor below? The stairwell? Except the happy family is making their rounds through the office visiting and proudly showing off son. I can’t bear to bump into them again. I am fighting back tears now.

I tug off the headphones and make a beeline for the ladies’ room. My office neighbor is talking with another colleague about how she can’t believe he’s 6-months old. He’s so small!

I muffle my sobs while sitting in the stall. Luckily no one comes in. I grab my cell phone and plan to call my friend from the floor below thinking it will be a bit more private. As soon as I open the bathroom door I can hear coworker’s and wife’s voice in the reception area – they are blocking the stairwell and elevators!

I am legitimately sweating now; heart still pounding; eyes red from crying in the bathroom. Naturally I head in the opposite direction and pop into a deserted office. I crumble to the ground and cry as quietly as I can. I call my friend. She doesn’t answer and I don’t leave a voicemail. I text E and ask if he can pick me up, I can’t face public transportation or a prolonged commute.

I feel trapped. I wish one of my sympathetic colleagues would come tell me when the coast is clear. Kneeling on the floor I continue to cry by myself. Why didn’t I grab more tissues?

Finally the clock strikes five and the suffocating need to escape trumps the possibility of seeing them again so I mop up the best I can the makeup dripping down my face and cautiously head back to my desk.

I see a couple people on the way but avert my still-stinging eyes. Swiftly, I shut down my computer, snatch my stuff and speed walk out of the building to my awaiting knight in shining armor dusty station wagon. I don’t think I’ve ever had a panic attack before and I’m not self-diagnosing, but whatever that shit was, it sucked.

Not one person came to check on me or see how I was doing with the baby visit. Maybe I didn’t really want anyone stopping by because surely I would have devolved into tears but even an email? Some form of acknowledgement? Nothing. Perhaps they were all too enamored with that spiky-haired kid. Maybe it is that I intentionally keep work friends at an arm’s length. Regardless I was a little hurt that not one single person connected two and two – his living son and my dead son; his life busy with growth and development and my life fantasizing about A’s milestones; him parading his adorable son around and me with A's photos tucked away in an envelope at my desk, desperate for someone to ask to see them again, too considerate to frame one.

That right there might be the gist of it. I don't necessarily want outright support from my colleagues (or any non-babylost folks) but I need acknowledgement. Don't try to say the right thing, don't try to make me feel better, don't tell me everything is going to work out. Just acknowledge that my son was here, that his sudden death is god awful and that my life is wrecked. That's all I'm asking.

Double Agent

I am a double agent leading two different lives. Just as I did not willingly move to Griefland, I did not knowingly become a double agent. It was all quite surreptitious, as these sorts of things tend to be.

To most of the world I am a young woman newly set in the adult responsibilities of marriage and home ownership. They see me perform necessary daily tasks without flagging. I purchase and haul groceries. I make small talk with the neighbors. I weed the garden. I ride my bicycle to the office. I chit chat with co-workers and volunteer to bring a dish to the potluck. For all intents and purposes, not much has changed in their eyes.

My alternate life is stormy and sullen. I struggle to accomplish simple activities like laundry or watering the houseplants. Nerves wracked, I teeter on the edge of meltdown constantly. Treacherous mood swings wear me down. I cry easily and feel hollow inside.

In the outside world my son is rarely mentioned. There are those who do not know he ever existed. There are those who know of him but still do not bring him up. In my dark, cloaked life, I commune with other babylost families. We speak of our children frequently and swap stories about traversing the impossible terrain of grief. I see a few of them at support group or in my community but most live in the supernatural world of the internet. Here we gather like pagans in the woods on all Hallows’ Eve to perform our rituals, memorialize our children and remember, always remember. Here, I am free to be open and honest. Here I do not need to put out niceties or think twice before I answer the question, "How are you doing?"

Obsessively, I check and read babyloss blogs, starved for the connection to others surviving this horrible nightmare. I seek the reassurance and validation that what I am experiencing is not insanity. I seek the camaraderie and companionship of those knowing souls. But wait, the phone rings. I stifle my sniffles and put on my real world face. Pull it together quickly and answer the telephone pulled immediately back to the world where I am supposedly "fine."

This double agent business is exhausting.

Together

We are fortunate to live close to both of our jobs. When the weather is nice, I ride my bike to work. Last year, A and I rode all summer long. Autumn was mild so I rode my bike to and from work up until 36-weeks gestation (at that point it became too difficult to swing my leg up and over the bar on my bike; it’s a dude bike). A good friend suggested taking a photo of big ole pregnant me on my bicycle. E snapped one picture around that 36-week mark as I pulled up to our house. I love that photo.

I hadn’t thought much about this until Monday evening when I checked the forecast and decided to ride to work the following morning for the first time this year. Poor E. We were relaxing on the couch and I casually mentioned I would be biking to work in the morning and then let out a yelp and started bawling.

It hit me that the last time I was on my bike, A and I were together. I considered how much time we spent together on the bicycle. Going to and from work, to and from prenatal appointments, riding with E too to hear outdoor music or go to the market. Some people thought I was out of my mind for commuting this way while pregnant but I knew we were safe and it kind of gave me a sense of pride. I anticipated parenting my baby my own way, even in the face of criticism from others; this was just an early example of that.

I did ride my bike to and from work the rest of this past week and I did not have another meltdown about it. Biking each day was a special activity that A and I shared, communing with each other and it’s just another reminder of how sorely I miss his presence. I look forward to riding together again someday with my precious son.

Away

The bereavement literature recommends taking a vacation after the loss of a baby, perhaps 3 or 4 months out. E and I have discussed taking a trip and agreed that it was a good idea. Except, and if you’re a bereaved parent you’ll understand, neither of us is very capable of making decisions these days.

Honestly, I hardly have the capacity to take care of my day-to-day living like showering, meals, dishes and bills, let alone deciding where to go on vacation and then planning all of the details. So for months we’ve talked about it and taken little action.

Then I was notified by work that I would need to travel out of state for a few days. It is very unusual that I would have to travel for my job, but this particular client lives in another state and cannot travel up to our office so I must go to her.

Perfect. The decision was made for us. I will go down for work and a few days later when my job obligations are finished, E will meet me there. We’ll spend another 4 days together.

The other gift of this trip is that the city where I must be is of moderate size and has never piqued our interest as a destination, so there’s no pressure. If we were going to a locale we’ve always dreamed of visiting, I’d feel the need to see the sites and have the full experience. But this normal/mundane city offers a few sites if we feel up to it and also access to nearby mountains if we feel like taking a drive. That’s the beauty of this particular trip and destination. We aren’t making any plans. We will simply awake each day and decide what to do based on our moods. Perhaps we will do nothing but stroll the neighborhood and sit at a park.

That may be what we’re doing this very second! If all goes well, you are reading this while I am resting out of town. (I wrote this post prior to departing and it is scheduled to post Sunday while I am away.)

This mini-vacation gives me a break from my surroundings, but not from Griefland and its unpredictability. No guarantees that I will return rejuvenated, but I am looking forward to getting away. I am looking forward to the freedom from daily life and its demands that only vacation and offer.

March Baby Madness

My co-worker’s son was born this week. I knew he and his wife were expecting; I knew they were due in March; I knew it was a boy. Every Monday morning I’d arrive at the office anticipating the news of a weekend delivery.

Wednesday afternoon, he texted the big boss to share the news that the baby was born including a snapshot of little Ethan swaddled in a hospital blanket. The big boss passed this photo on to the entire staff via email. My initial reaction was nausea. I literally felt sick to my stomach.

What an awful response to the news of a child’s birth? I am not a wicked person. On the contrary, I understand the lack of guarantees when it comes to bearing children and the joy that comes once that baby is safely in your arms. But hearing of his arrival and seeing his photo made my gut flip-flop.

Naturally I cried and then put my headphones on to drown out any discussion around me of the cute new baby and tried my damnedest to make it to 5 o’clock. Though I ended up crying a couple more times at office.

Of course the kindhearted folks I work with stopped by my cube to see how I was doing and offer support. They're so wonderful. But they also say the stupidest things that are not supportive at all. "Your day will come." "You'll be a mom someday." "Someday it will all be ok." I wholeheartedly believe all of these things. But guess what? Knowing those things does not make me feel any better. It does not make me miss my son any less. It does not make the day any easier to survive!

March was rough. Between family, friends, neighbors, coworkers and acquaintances there were 6 babies born. Perhaps it’s our age, but every time I log onto Facebook, it seems every single Friend has photos of their children or are expecting. It makes me glum and angry. I avoid FB for the most part because of this. And after one particularly teary, rageful evening E said to me “No more Facebook on Sunday nights, ok?” *sigh*

Knowing that someday we'll have living children and I'll be a mom does not make it any easier to watch hugely pregnant peers go into the hospital and a couple days later bring a baby home HOW IT'S SUPPOSED TO BE. Why does everyone else get to keep their baby?!

Photos

I finally worked up the courage and energy to bring some of A’s photos into work. The small company I work for was enthusiastic and supportive throughout my pregnancy and continues to be so in this unthinkable aftermath. But I was still hesitant to share his photos. I felt protective not only of my son, but of E and my family. Some of the pictures are very intimate. Also, I was concerned about how others would react; as evidenced by the public “controversy” of the Duggar’s recent loss and Rick Santorum acknowledging details of his son’s death after living only 2-hours.

As a solution, I selected only 6 photos to bring to work. This way folks didn’t feel obligated to thumb through the entire album and I could still feel like I was protecting the privacy of my family.

There’s a group of friends at work who had been asking to see A’s photos they were a given, but I didn’t want everyone to feel pressured to look at them if they weren’t comfortable. So I went around to those who had requested but did not approach coworkers I was unsure about. What I quickly learned was that many people were waiting for me to reach out. They were trying to be respectful toward me and here I was avoiding them in trying to prevent them from feeling uncomfortable! I had to be the one to initiate it; many colleagues were not going to come seeking me out, asking to see A's pictures.

After that realization sunk in, I ran around nearly the entire office and spread the sunshine of my effing adorable son. Many people cried, some smiled the entire time; I received lots of hugs. Only one person was befuddled when I mentioned I had photos of A and would he like to see them. He didn’t realize we would have pictures; but he looked them over just the same and even asked questions!

I feel as though the experience of sharing A’s photos has really opened up the minds of some of my coworkers. My big-boss, the guy whose name is on the business, hasn’t come over to view them yet, but he did share the story of his first child who died around 4 ½ months gestation. Hopefully, he’ll stop by my desk in the near future.

Overall it was a positive experience. I was quite happy and definitely proud to show off my little guy. Given the reactions I received, I'm more apt to consider sharing his photos with others again. 

On a side note, the last couple weeks have been really dark for me. Prior to then, I had been feeling relatively well; having many okay days. But lately it’s like I’ve regressed back to those early days. Just yesterday I sobbed into E’s shoulder that I don’t want to do this anymore. This was a common refrain for me in the immediate weeks following A’s death. I don’t want this life without A, I don’t want to struggle each day, I don’t want to have unpredictable mood swings, I don’t want to be broken, I don’t want to be a bereaved parent, I don’t want any of this!

I wish I could hit the ESC button and end this alternate reality in Griefland like a computer game. Abort! Abandon ship! I quit! Or if some higher power could reach down into Griefland Dr. Suess-style-Horton-Hears-a-Who-style and pluck me up and out of here. *sigh*