1. I love my dear husband, whom I will call DH for (dear husband). I am so grateful for his love and his strength, and the fact that we have an awesomely strong marriage. He is an amazing dad and my best cheerleader lately.
2. I love my two beautiful children, DS (dear son) and DD (dear daughter). I am grateful they are healthy and happy children.
3. I am grateful for my parents, for being great parents, and for being supportive, and that they, too, are currently in good health.
4. I am grateful for my in-laws, DH's parents, for their support and for their current good health. I am happy to say that I feel I have a great relationship with my in-laws. Not all DILs can say that!
5. I am grateful for my good job; I have job security. It provides me health insurance. I get paid a nice living . . . I have a wonderful home that DH and I feel comfortable in, that we fill with nice things. I get to shop in more upscale and "trendy" stores for gadgets and clothes and things that I like and want; my kids lack for nothing. We take nice vacations; we have a sizable nest egg in the bank. I love my car.
I go through this mantra nearly daily as I say my prayers at mass in the mornings. I've taken up attending the morning mass, nearly every day. I offer this gratitude list up to G-d before I start making my petitions to Him. I feel like I should say "thanks" before I offer up my lamentations and complaints. It's only fair, right?
So today was a Very Bad Day.
I was filled with grief today. It has been nearly a month since we said goodbye to Michael, our son who never got to be born. I live with grief every day now, but today it hurt more than it has been.
Here's why:
I went in to work today. I had some loose ends to wrap up upon the end of the school year (I'm in the education field). As soon as I received our poor prenatal diagnosis a little over a month ago, I took off work. At first, it was just a week, until we got more news about the extent of of our poor diagnosis -- just how bad was it?? -- and then when it became clear that it was really bad, and what our choice needed to be, I decided to take off at least until the end of May. Physically, I'd be able to return to work by then (and it might be good for me to keep my mind off the devastation at hand), telling others we'd simply "lost" the baby, but emotionally, who knew? I might feel "up to it" or, as it turned out, maybe I wouldn't. So I said "fuck it" to those last two weeks after Memorial Day and I've been off healing emotionally . . . but the world still keeps going and work matters beckoned. My co-workers -- JM, JP, LH, and KC -- have been amazingly helpful taking care of what they could at work for me, but ultimately, there's some things I just needed to do. So I came in to do them.
The problem was that a another coworker of mine there, too, and she'd just had a baby in March. And she had her baby with her. He's a little over two months old now. I held it together while I was doing what I needed to be doing . . . and I did smile at him and say "hello" to her, but it killed me. All I could do was look at him and think about how I was supposed to have a son, too, in a few months' time. And he was perfect and cute and beginning to make smiles for people other than his mom and soothing himself as he sat in her arms . . . I couldn't take my eyes off of him, but I couldn't bear to see him either.
And then people started coming up to me, who haven't seen me in the past month, and who know what has happened, that we "lost" the baby, and who come up to me with these looks on their faces -- with a sort of pity on their visage -- who say, "How are you?"
How the hell do you think I am? Do you WANT me to tell you how I really am? Really? Are you prepared for the emotion that's going to come out of my gut and my eyes and my mouth? Can you handle it?
("How are you?" is such a loaded question, and I know that now more than ever. It is this fake cordiality that people ask without even really caring about the answer.)
And I start crying. Because the baby is there and I'm still focused on what I want and what I'm not going to get and then there is this question looming there and their pitying eyes. I have various answers . . . "It depends on the day," or "Better than some, not as good as some," or sometimes I can even say how I am, I just shake my head. And then there was one who didn't know I "lost" the baby, and I had to tell her. I thought everyone knew, that it had been spread quietly through hushed word-of-mouth through our ranks.
I couldn't get out of there fast enough. I know she feels bad that she had her baby there and I was there and she knew I lost mine, and I tried not to start crying in front of her, but I did.
I cried all the way home. I cried for the next two hours. And then I calmed myself a bit. I read other women's blogs. I visited my online support site for moms and dads and families who had to make the same heartbreaking choice DH and I did. I got the courage to start this blog and actually start writing about this new life of mine.
(I thought about a blog before, that this could be a way for me to process my grief. Part of me didn't want to write about it, because through writing about it, I would have to face it and all my feelings. I didn't think I could go there because the feelings are just too much. But what the hell . . . they're swimming around in my head constantly. At least this way I could write them down, get them out, and move on to the next that pop in my head.)
DH came home and I was able to get a bit of time with him while DS and DD were playing to be honest with him and let him know that today was Not a Good Day, and I got to let him hug me while I weeped and tell me things are going to be okay.
Because, ultimately, that's all I want. I just want to know that everything is going to be okay. Because I don't believe that myself yet. That the grief won't go away, but it will deaden and it will be bearable.
So as I was reading other blogs, we got a call. DH's dear uncle is in the hospital, waiting for Extreme Unction, commonly known (for non-Catholics) as last rites. DH raced to the hospital to be with his parents, siblings and cousins -- many of them, remember we're Catholic -- only to call me but a half an hour later telling me he couldn't stay there in the hospital. It was just too painful to be in such a medical setting with our own loss so recent. He was on his way home, crying as he spoke . . . it was my time to be the cheerleader and to be the strong one. So much crying, on his part and mine . . . I have really begun to loathe crying. I hated it before, but now . . . we both really hate it. What can I say?
So here we are, both of us drinking a beer. Alcohol helps; I'm not a drinker, and I'm worried that I have had a beer (or if we are at a restaurant, something appropriately full of alcohol and fruity tasting) nearly every night with, or after dinner, for the past week and a half. But it just relaxes me. Even though I've been at home with nothing to do but laundry and cleaning, reading and watching TV, surfing blogs and other internet sites . . . so I should already BE relaxed . . . I don't know, the beer just takes the edge off. It is that fuzzy, buzzed "ahhhhhhh" feeling that I'm just liking. I stop feeling the grief so badly for the hour that it takes for the alcohol to process through my system, I guess. And that's comforting. Tonight, also, will be (probably) a sleeping pill night because I'm still reeling from crying so much and I know I won't sleep well. My OB prescribed it for me about two days after we got the poor prenatal diagnosis because I was going crazy with anxiety and panic and was sleeping but two hours a night. I haven't felt the need to take one more than a few times since our loss, but tonight is one of those nights. I don't have problems falling asleep, but at least this will help me to stay asleep instead of fitfully toss, which is my normal modus operandi, and which I can, most other nights, deal with.
DH is playing a computer game which helps him get out of his grief and distracts him. It is his way of coping.
I should take up gaming. I have Sims and Guitar Hero.
Will go for now . . . DS and DD are wanting their nightly treats and then it is time to get ready for bed. And for me, at least, sleep will bring a few hours of blissful unconsciousness. Tomorrow is another day, as Scarlett says, and I deal with it tomorrow.
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