Rebuilding Myself

Generally I keep my “babylossness” separated from the rest of my life … carefully tucked away, only revealed to those willing to see it for what it is.  I feel as though there is a chasm, and a deep one at that, in between everything to do with Avery, Sophie, and Bug and everything else.

But every once in awhile something jars me into recognizing that even though I keep it separated, it is my life … not just a part of it. 

Today was one of those days.  In an interview for my new job, we got to a segment on mental health (and yes, it is necessary for the field I am in).  As soon as I saw the section, my heart sank.  I really wasn’t ready to bring up the girls.

And yet, questions like “name the most stressful, life-changing experience you have had and explain how you dealt with it” and “have you ever been medicated for a mental illness?” tend to bring  them up. 

Not sure how I feel about that … processing out loud I guess.  As much as I think I want them to be an active part of my life, when times like today arise, I am not entirely sure that I really am ready for it.

We have been getting many Christmas letters from friends and family the past couple weeks.  Yesterday, as I read yet another (as a reference, I do love getting them)  I started composing our letter in my head.  It sounded something like the following … no wonder we didn’t send one out 🙂

Dear Friends and Family,

I hope that this Christmas finds you well, and that yours is happier than ours!  We are struggling to find happiness in a season now fraught with memories and the should have beens of lost little ones.

The past year has been an interesting one for us.  After losing our precious girls in mid-November 2007, January 2008 had us reeling. To top it off, DH got a new job.  As wonderful as this was, it meant six months apart … with him 3 hours away by plane.  He left on January 13.

The next six months were hellish, as he worked through his training, and I attempted to keep working, pay our bills, and survive until July. Apparently I didn’t do a great job as I was diagnosed with PPD in April.  My best birthday present?  Pills, wonderful pills … ones that made me feel normal again.

July brought with it a move to a new town.  Excited to move, we still had to work through the adjustment of a new place, new home, new people, and new jobs … in addition to working through remembering what it was like to live together.  The rest of the summer was a whirlwind of visitors and getting our house set up.

We were thrilled to find out we were pregnant in August – although it felt too good to be true.  Sure enough, it was … and in mid-September I faced a D&C.  Since then we have been back on the “trying” wagon, although without success. 

The fall has been filled with me trying to get my health back, trying to deal with the memories of Avery and Sophie, and prepping for another Christmas we aren’t keen on celebrating.  We continue to look forward to 2009 – hoping that maybe it will be our year, finally one better than the last two.

Love from Rebuilding Myself and DH.

No wonder we didn’t send one out, hey?  Made me chuckle to compose it in my head none-the-less.

That said, I am wishing all your baby-lost mamas out there the best Christmas possible.  That you will be able to enjoy the little things that make you smile and that your memories of your little ones are more sweet than bitter.

Irony: an outcome of events contrary to what was, or might have been, expected.

On my other blog (my family/friends in real life one) I was tagged for one of those picture tags – “choose the fifth picture from the fifth folder”.  Usually I skim over tags, but after enjoying seeing pictures on other blogs, I decided to play along.

Intended as a fun look back, I found it terribly ironic that this was the picture for me … I am eight weeks pregnant with Avery and Sophie in this picture.  It was the one we used to share the news with my parents.

Eight Weeks Pregnant

After some hesitation, I chose to still use it.  It so aptly describes our life – the girls are always on our minds, always there, always missed.  Even in the most innocent, fun things we notice that they are missing.

One of the most frustrating things about losing both our pregnancies it the loss of the experience. 

Last night we were out with friends – one of whom has two kids, while the other (a new acquaintance) is newly pregnant – 8 weeks along.  She was asking questions about pregnancy, specifically ones about morning sickness – when it can kick in, when it disappears, etc. 

I had lots to share, but I stayed silent.  When I ventured into the conversation it was with general “people say …” and “some people have experienced” kind of statements.  I just couldn’t expose her to my unhappy endings, not in that way. 

I felt cheated, I honestly did.  I HAVE experience with that, but I just couldn’t share.  How do you break the news to blissfully ignorant, first time pregnant woman that the story may have a nightmarish ending?

I mourn the loss of the ability to speak openly about my pregnancies in all circumstances.  I didn’t only lose babies, it seems I lost my pregnancies as well.

Sometimes it is easy to forget about the men – the husbands, partners, boyfriends – that experience the loss of a child.  I am generalizing here, but for most, after the initial loss, their feelings are bottled up and put away.  It just isn’t as acceptable for them to express continued grief and to talk about unfulfilled desires to have children.

I didn’t really think about how real this is until this past week.  After I got upset at his cynical joking, DH and I actually had the first real conversation about children and our losses in months.  We have mentioned it, I have talked about it, but WE haven’t.  As the “man’s man” of all manly men (seriously … he totally fits that description) he has bottled up a lot, and there just aren’t the opportunities for him to share.

The conversation was hard, the loss of Bug hit him a lot harder than it did me, and he is questioning continuing down the path we are on.  And as much as I don’t like it, I can understand.  We haven’t reached any conclusions, but the conversation was a stark reminder to me to remember the men … they really are the forgotten ones in all of this.

First trip complete.

We made it through – all 4 babies worth.  This was the trip I was most worried about, so I am breathing a sigh of relief.  We go back next weekend again, but there will be less visits with those with babies the same age as our girls would have been.

I even managed to muster up a bit of Christmas spirit … and no break downs while holding babies.  Definitely feeling quite proud.

With our trip coming tomorrow, today was just the kind of day I needed.

When we moved to our little town this summer, one of the things I immediately missed (and have not gotten over) was the lack of Starbucks.  I really love their coffees, and as shallow as it sounds, they are one of the things I miss the most!

Today, Starbucks officially opened their first store in town.  To top it off, the day was sunny and actually above freezing (warmer than usual).  After getting a warm drink, I took the dog for a long walk along the river … enjoying the sun, snow, and quiet.

It was exactly what I needed before heading into this trip – a time to recharge, focus, and remind myself of all the reasons this trip will be good. 

And with that, off I go.  Wish me luck!

I hate what losing babies has done to me.

The countdown has started … in fact, it is almost over.  In two days we head to our hometown for our first of two trips in December to celebrate Christmas.

And I am dreading it.

I used to love this holiday, used to love seeing everyone, sharing time with family, heading to church for advent and Christmas Eve.

Now all I am thinking about it making it through visits with two friends with girls the same age that Avery and Sophie would have been, one visit with family members with a baby I haven’t yet met, and all the endless pretending to be enjoying the holiday when it feels so empty.

I wish I could magically make the calendar turn to 2009 – maybe, just maybe it will be better than the last two calendar years have been.

Can’t you see that this holiday will not be easy for me?

My house doesn’t look well-decorated to me, it looks too put together. 

This shouldn’t just be your baby’s first Christmas, it should be the first for three.

I will struggle to see the people sitting around the table, it’s hard to drag my eyes away from the two spots that should be.

I should be seeing Christmas through the eyes of my babies, not through this tired set of mine.

I’m not lucky to have my Christmas shopping complete … it’s only a product of too much time.  I wish that like you my hands were full, my nerves were frazzled, and I was struggling to find the time to shop.

It doesn’t matter that it’s our second Christmas without them, this would still be their first.

Can’t you please see how difficult this is going to be?

I don’t consider myself strong.  After losing the girls, I no longer have delusions of my super-human powers or ability to let things roll off on me – leaving me unscathed and unscarred. That said, many things that didn’t used to faze me are now quite daunting, knowing that many strange and unusual things can throw me over the edge into a weeping ball of woman.

Last night, I surpised myself.  I realized that slowly I am becoming stronger again, able to face things I couldn’t have a year ago, six months ago, heck even a couple months ago.

It sounds small, but our printer has been broken for several days.  This really affects me as I work from home.  Last night I got up the courage to use the online help chat and after 1 1/2 hours, my printer was agin working.

Simple? Yes.  But it is exactly these sorts of things that used to do me in. A kink in the schedule, something I couldn’t fix on my own … for over a year things like this would be the end of me.

Slowly I am becoming stronger again.  Changed forever? Most definitely.  Quicker to cry, feel sorrow, and retreat to a safe place?  For sure.  But also, finally, getting to the place where I can stand up to minor adversity without falling over.  Thank goodness.