I hate my coworker, KO. She has been pushing me to take the grad class I was supposed to take this semester. I guess she can't realize how close I am to truly falling apart. She came into my classroom after school asking about the class and talking about how I have to start putting my life back together and if I don't take the class now, I may never be able to. I tried to tell her that I was not holding it together very well and couldn't look at the teacher and the pregnant student all semester and that I could not handle the pressure of all the assignments. All stuff she'd heard before. She started talking about when her dad died and how I would see that there was a reason for what had happened. I stopped her and told her I would never believe that.
My baby is dead! What could be a good reason for that? What? Further, her father was old and sick. He was supposed to die. Healthy babies who are half way through gestation and who are loved beyond belief are not supposed to die. I told her that what happened to us was wrong and unnatural and I believe that in the deepest part of my heart and soul.
She mentioned something about God and I told her right out that I wasn't sure I believed in him anymore. She did back off then and said she couldn't understand what I was going through because she hadn't experienced it and that she was just trying to watch out for me as a friend because not taking the class could mean I wouldn't get the the job as a reading teacher that might be open next year and she wanted me to have it because I had so enjoyed that job when I had it.
How dare she or anyone else tell me what my grief over my dead son should look like. Who cares about some dumb class when it takes every ounce of strength I have to get out of bed? I'm not sure I can continue to work with children anyway so what is the point of taking a class to get a reading specialist degree?
I hate people.
Counseling tonight...I blabbered on and on and on crying and talking very fast about what happened with KO, the crazy thoughts going on in my head and Dr. H. RK honed in on the giant hamster wheel going full tilt in my head that never seems to stop. My brain is very busy. Also....trust issues, i.e. Dr. H and the support group leader and people in general.
Afterward, I drove to the University and canceled that effing class.
KO can kiss my grits.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Latajhia, the student who had said her sister's baby died, found a moment to approach me when there was no one else nearby. She asked to see inside my necklace again and asked me what his name had been. I liked hearing her voice say, "Greyson...B---?" Then, she asked what my baby had looked like. I told her how cute and sweet he looked and showed her with my hands about how small he'd been. She smiled and went on her merry way. Later I asked her what had happened to her sister's baby. Turns out it was her aunt's baby and they had told Latajhia it would be a "preeennnie" but that it "got lost". I talked with her a little about it, the whole time thinking about Dollface and wondering if someone was having a similar talk with her. She's mentioned "your baby who died" a couple of times and it's hard for me to talk to her about it.
Monday, January 10, 2011
Sunday, January 9, 2011
Mrs. Elkins
Five weeks ago I delivered a dead baby and had to tell him good bye. It's only been five weeks. I try very hard to remember that when I'm having a hard time which is pretty often. It seems like a very long time ago.
I'm tired of having emotions. I'm worn out.
I still can't believe this has happened. I'll never be able to accept it.
I keep thinking about Mrs. Elkins. Mrs. Elkins lived with her two children, her sister and the sister's son. And she was cracked. Truly off her rocker. Clearly, the sister was the sane one who took care of the family. I knew this family because I had the sister's child, Glen, in my kindergarten class years ago.
Mrs. Elkins was constantly pregnant. Only she really wasn't. She would talk on and on about pregnancy symptoms and tell you she was due over the summer but the next year there was never a baby. Sometimes she was "pregnant" with twins. The next year when we asked to see the "twins" they were always home sleeping. Once she came to school wearing a dirty bubblegum machine ring that had stones missing and said she had her man "right where she wanted him" but that she wouldn't let him touch her because if he did, she always got pregnant. When she went on like this the sister would just roll her eyes. One time I asked Glen if the new baby kept him up at night and he asked me what I was talking about.
We were never unkind to Mrs. Elkins to her face but a lot of fun was had by the teachers at her expense. We would deliberately ask her questions about her pregnancy trying to trip up her story. Then, we'd compare notes about what she'd said and laugh. I'm ashamed of that now.
I can't help but wonder what sent Mrs. Elkins into her own version of reality. If anything could drive a woman there, it would be having to bury a child. I wish I'd been kinder to her.
I understand now what a comfort a pretend world would be. I'm tired of fighting reality and trying to accept it. I wish I could create my own reality where I'm still pregnant and Sweet Pea is still alive. It would be so easy to slip to a cracked place where I'm still happy. It would be such a relief.
I'm tired of having emotions. I'm worn out.
I still can't believe this has happened. I'll never be able to accept it.
I keep thinking about Mrs. Elkins. Mrs. Elkins lived with her two children, her sister and the sister's son. And she was cracked. Truly off her rocker. Clearly, the sister was the sane one who took care of the family. I knew this family because I had the sister's child, Glen, in my kindergarten class years ago.
Mrs. Elkins was constantly pregnant. Only she really wasn't. She would talk on and on about pregnancy symptoms and tell you she was due over the summer but the next year there was never a baby. Sometimes she was "pregnant" with twins. The next year when we asked to see the "twins" they were always home sleeping. Once she came to school wearing a dirty bubblegum machine ring that had stones missing and said she had her man "right where she wanted him" but that she wouldn't let him touch her because if he did, she always got pregnant. When she went on like this the sister would just roll her eyes. One time I asked Glen if the new baby kept him up at night and he asked me what I was talking about.
We were never unkind to Mrs. Elkins to her face but a lot of fun was had by the teachers at her expense. We would deliberately ask her questions about her pregnancy trying to trip up her story. Then, we'd compare notes about what she'd said and laugh. I'm ashamed of that now.
I can't help but wonder what sent Mrs. Elkins into her own version of reality. If anything could drive a woman there, it would be having to bury a child. I wish I'd been kinder to her.
I understand now what a comfort a pretend world would be. I'm tired of fighting reality and trying to accept it. I wish I could create my own reality where I'm still pregnant and Sweet Pea is still alive. It would be so easy to slip to a cracked place where I'm still happy. It would be such a relief.
Saturday, January 8, 2011
Cabinets Installed
Dad and E knocking down the wall between
the kitchen and utility room on December 27 .
After days of drywall work and copious amounts of DUST, today Dad, E, R and I tore out part of the flooring, patched the hole in the subfloor
where the wall was and installed cabinets.
Mom and Dad took Dollface and me to Red Robin
for dinner. And now, Dollface is taking refuge here for the night
while big sis has a slumber party.
Don't ask why we're watching Hocus Pocus.++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
And I guess I can't let a post go by without mentioning pain or grief or my dead baby. I was finally able to watch Sweet Pea's ultrasound DVD last night after I wrote about my painful day. I've been wanting to watch it but it never seemed like the right time.
It made me miss him, of course, but it was mostly a good memory. My baby, on the screen, alive and moving all around. The joy of my life. I could see that his little face in real life had resembled the grey blobface on the screen.
My little boy was very fine looking.
I think he would have been wise too.
Friday, January 7, 2011
Falling Apart
It was a falling apart kind of day, especially the morning. I could barely hold myself together. I spent lunch crying again. I was mean and on edge with the kids. I couldn't stand the adults. I couldn't look at them and really couldn't speak to them except when I had to. I don't like myself this way.
I said something very inappropriate to my class. One of them noticed Greyson's necklace and I had yesterday's comments fresh in my mind. I was very calm and I showed them Greyson's name and said that it was my baby's name. They were surprised I had a baby and asked about him. I just said he wasn't with me anymore. One student asked if he got sick and died. I said yes and that I missed him. One girl said that was like when her sister's baby died. I said that is sad when that happens. Then I went on with reading a book to them. I realize this was not a good thing to do. Even while I was saying it, I realized I shouldn't be talking about this to six year olds. I would freak out if my kid came home saying that the teacher had a dead baby and was talking about it. Probably none of them remember it or will say anything since I was somehow able to remain casual about it and it was light years ago in kid time.
I should have taken more time off. But what good would that do? He'd still be dead. I'd still be in pain.
Normally, there would be a woohoo kind of feeling at the end of a day like today. I made it through the first full week after break. There are two full days off ahead of me and it's payday. But the woohoo feeling never came. After the kids are dismissed, I realized it was missing. I'm not happy or even relieved that it's the weekend. The weekend is just something else to get through.
Every breath is heavy. I do what I have to do, but look forward to nothing. It's all pain and there's just more of it on days like today. I feel like it will never get better, I'll be in pain always and there's no way to make it go away, no relief, no way to forget.
I'm so tired.
I wish I could stay in bed and cry.
But even crying doesn't take the heaviness away.
I visited the cemetery again.
I cryed hard while the snowflakes flew.
Then, walked into the drugstore and pretended I was a normal person.
When I got home, I looked at myself in the mirror.
For the first time since I lost Greyson, I tried to meet my own gaze.
I didn't recognize the eyes looking back at me.
Is this what a nervous breakdown feels like?
I said something very inappropriate to my class. One of them noticed Greyson's necklace and I had yesterday's comments fresh in my mind. I was very calm and I showed them Greyson's name and said that it was my baby's name. They were surprised I had a baby and asked about him. I just said he wasn't with me anymore. One student asked if he got sick and died. I said yes and that I missed him. One girl said that was like when her sister's baby died. I said that is sad when that happens. Then I went on with reading a book to them. I realize this was not a good thing to do. Even while I was saying it, I realized I shouldn't be talking about this to six year olds. I would freak out if my kid came home saying that the teacher had a dead baby and was talking about it. Probably none of them remember it or will say anything since I was somehow able to remain casual about it and it was light years ago in kid time.
I should have taken more time off. But what good would that do? He'd still be dead. I'd still be in pain.
Normally, there would be a woohoo kind of feeling at the end of a day like today. I made it through the first full week after break. There are two full days off ahead of me and it's payday. But the woohoo feeling never came. After the kids are dismissed, I realized it was missing. I'm not happy or even relieved that it's the weekend. The weekend is just something else to get through.
Every breath is heavy. I do what I have to do, but look forward to nothing. It's all pain and there's just more of it on days like today. I feel like it will never get better, I'll be in pain always and there's no way to make it go away, no relief, no way to forget.
I'm so tired.
I wish I could stay in bed and cry.
But even crying doesn't take the heaviness away.
I visited the cemetery again.
I cryed hard while the snowflakes flew.
Then, walked into the drugstore and pretended I was a normal person.
When I got home, I looked at myself in the mirror.
For the first time since I lost Greyson, I tried to meet my own gaze.
I didn't recognize the eyes looking back at me.
Is this what a nervous breakdown feels like?
Thursday, January 6, 2011
I Love Greyson
My coworker, KO, noticed my pretty little necklace today and complimented me on it. I was pleased and showed her Greyson's name inside. I could tell I'd done the wrong thing. It made her uncomfortable and I think she might even have been disgusted. I love Greyson and was proud of him. I still feel very close with him even though he's not with me. Why is it not acceptable to talk about that?
Every night I ask Aunt Alys to bring Greyson to visit me in my dreams. I want and need so badly to see him again and know he's happy. She hasn't brought him yet. I'm hopeful because my grandma came frequently to visit my mother right after she died. So far the only person showing up is Dr. H and I know he's not visiting from heaven.
I haven't gotten any pennies from heaven since I lost Greyson. I guess Aunt Alys is pretty busy these days.
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Nice Nieces
Too tired to write anything of substance. Just in from dinner at E's house. I think it's hysterical how people think I'm going to waste away though all of this. I have a little a lot of extra padding to work with here so people shouldn't worry. I was so tired but in the spirit of being "ok" I went and I'm glad I did. I played with both of the girls and they both seemed rather more affectionate than usual. Stretch wanted to show me her juggling and guitar hero skills. Dollface wanted to play "makeover" and littlest pet shop. They hid my shoes when it was time for me to go home so I would stay longer. I only choked up once while I was there. Now I'm sitting here with the fingernails on one hand painted hot pink and the fingernails on the other one painted purple and wondering how I got so lucky to be the auntie to such a great family.
But... I wanted a great family too.
Guess my luck ran out.
Maybe I really will spontaneously combust tomorrow.
But... I wanted a great family too.
Guess my luck ran out.
Maybe I really will spontaneously combust tomorrow.
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
Releasing Crap
I guess it was an ok day....as ok as they get these days. School was fine except for DRA reading test where each child reads to me individually. The scores are so low, so low. I think it's been about 6 weeks since I've taught small group reading between vacation, snow days, other junk going on at school and the obvious. Not fair to the kids. I just hope it's not too late for me to dig in and make up for lost time. And I hope I'm able to do it.
I went to my dentist, who is friends with me on FB because we went to high school together, not because we're actually friends. The same dentist I dreamt about here. It seems every single thing I do is tied to some pregnancy memory. He didn't mention anything about my loss although I did post something about it on FB. But he DID shove pictures of his four children in my face, including the twins and the recent adopted baby. I'm thinking they had infertility trouble. Who knows? I'm thinking of changing dentists.
On the topic of being honest:
Writing here is not me being honest or gracious. It has become something I just HAVE to do. There is something to be said for releasing crap into the "universe". And writing here is my life line to sanity or the attempt at sanity. YOU are my life line to sanity. I reread your comments over and over sometimes. Some of your comments are so beautiful and deep. So loving. Sometimes it's just the common sense I need at that moment. Sometimes it's just what I need to hear while I'm emotionally writhing and in such pain. The things you write to me DO make a dent in the guilt, and obsessive self doubt. At times, I wonder if there will ever be another happy thing on this blog. I know what I've written since it happened has been so harsh and ugly. Hard to write so I'm sure hard to read too. Thank you for staying with me during this crapfest and I apologize for not being able to comment on most of your blogs.
More released crap:
You may be wondering how my Clara Dog is doing. Very well. Still limping but she's getting more and more difficult to keep "quiet". Much improvement on that first week, when she was in such distress that I wondered if I made the right decision or should have followed Dad's advice to put her down. I take a couple of her staples out everyday with a surgical staple remover Dad had with his vet equipment and the incision looks good. I hope the inside is healing just as well. AND she finally pooped (released crap) on Sunday. If you're keeping track that's 12 days after surgery! I'm estimating that about 10 pounds of crap came out of my 60 pound dog. The vet had said she might not poop for 3-5 days but my Clara B is definitely an overachiever on holding crap in. I can't imagine how uncomfortable she was. 2 weeks of "recovery" down and 2 to go. Then rehabilitation starts.
Too honest?
I went to my dentist, who is friends with me on FB because we went to high school together, not because we're actually friends. The same dentist I dreamt about here. It seems every single thing I do is tied to some pregnancy memory. He didn't mention anything about my loss although I did post something about it on FB. But he DID shove pictures of his four children in my face, including the twins and the recent adopted baby. I'm thinking they had infertility trouble. Who knows? I'm thinking of changing dentists.
On the topic of being honest:
Writing here is not me being honest or gracious. It has become something I just HAVE to do. There is something to be said for releasing crap into the "universe". And writing here is my life line to sanity or the attempt at sanity. YOU are my life line to sanity. I reread your comments over and over sometimes. Some of your comments are so beautiful and deep. So loving. Sometimes it's just the common sense I need at that moment. Sometimes it's just what I need to hear while I'm emotionally writhing and in such pain. The things you write to me DO make a dent in the guilt, and obsessive self doubt. At times, I wonder if there will ever be another happy thing on this blog. I know what I've written since it happened has been so harsh and ugly. Hard to write so I'm sure hard to read too. Thank you for staying with me during this crapfest and I apologize for not being able to comment on most of your blogs.
More released crap:
You may be wondering how my Clara Dog is doing. Very well. Still limping but she's getting more and more difficult to keep "quiet". Much improvement on that first week, when she was in such distress that I wondered if I made the right decision or should have followed Dad's advice to put her down. I take a couple of her staples out everyday with a surgical staple remover Dad had with his vet equipment and the incision looks good. I hope the inside is healing just as well. AND she finally pooped (released crap) on Sunday. If you're keeping track that's 12 days after surgery! I'm estimating that about 10 pounds of crap came out of my 60 pound dog. The vet had said she might not poop for 3-5 days but my Clara B is definitely an overachiever on holding crap in. I can't imagine how uncomfortable she was. 2 weeks of "recovery" down and 2 to go. Then rehabilitation starts.
Too honest?
Monday, January 3, 2011
Fractured Thoughts
First day back to school after vacation. Brutal. I wasn't 30 minutes in the door before someone else announced their pregnancy. I spent lunch crying in my classroom. All the people wishing me happy new year and asking how my break was. Acting surprised when I just say that I survived it. They've already forgotten.
I visited the grave site on the way home. It's the first time I've been there since the Yas took me the day after the funeral. The fresh turned ground over his grave was sunken into the hole. It didn't really look like that much dirt was covering him. I had the thought that I should dig him up and take him home so he could be where he belongs. With me.
I glad he's buried with my grandparents but I really regret having him buried there now. It's so difficult to get there on that steep hill. I nearly fell on the way down there. I know the logistics will keep me from going there as often as I want to or need to. And I'm having trouble with the drive to and from work. My usual route takes me right past the cemetery. So if I take my usual route, I want to stop and visit or get upset if I drive past, if I take an alternate route, I can only think about why I'm going a different way. Plus, I'm not sure where I'll be buried and I should be with Greyson after I die. I wish I'd been capable of thinking about these things when I had to make this choice.
Now the drywall finishing guy is here and will be until 9 or 10. So I can't really go to bed and cry.
I HATE MY LIFE.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Aunt L, who is a nurse, came by last night and read through all the autopsy and pathology reports with me and listened while I talked on and on about the doctor, the support group leader and what happened. She was very loving about it and I know she told me the truth. She said that the 6cm clot formed after the placenta tore away. It was my body's way of trying to heal from the tearing. The clot was not on the ultrasound because it formed after the abruption.
I did not tell her the secret I've been keeping. I know what caused the abruption and my baby to die. It is something I did. I wish I hadn't done it.
She was mad that the busybody support group leader said all that about Dr. H. She works in a pediatrician's office and said they get alot of Dr. H's babies and she's never heard a complaint about him and that she's never heard of a doctor spending an hour with a patient like that. My mind is my worst enemy. After she left, I thought, of course they haven't heard a complaint at the pediatrician's office, those people have living children.
Mom told me that she and Aunt L talked today and spoke of how well I'm doing and how much I've accomplished since the stillbirth. I don't know. Sometimes I do think I'm functioning ok and getting over it awfully quickly. Shouldn't I still be crying heart wrenching sobs like I did for most of the first week? My baby boy is dead! How can I get over that or even act like I am? Sometimes I start to cry and then stop myself, thinking oh well, it's in the past, nothing I can do can change it now. Sometimes when I cry I realize it's not about the baby but about me and feeling sorry for myself and wondering what's going to become of me. Sometimes I have a thought about trying again, and I think, your baby is barely cold in the ground, stop thinking about that.
I've experienced this before on a much less traumatic scale. Getting over bad breakups, thinking I'm over them fairly quickly and then later it hits me full force and as a result it actually takes me much longer to move on. It's like I fool myself into believing I'm ok and everything is fine.
I'm not really fine.
I'm not really strong.
On the topic of strength:
I'm NOT strong, or brave, or courageous. People have their opinion, of course, but I sort of wish they'd stop saying that. My body wasn't strong enough to keep my baby safe and I'm still not sure my soul can survive life without him. Strong people don't have crazy thoughts about digging up their dead babies or obsess the way I do about what happened. The only reason I'm still physically alive is because I'm half dead on the inside not because of any type of bravery.
Really fractured....am I getting over it too quickly or not strong enough to survive. I wish I could turn my brain off.
I visited the grave site on the way home. It's the first time I've been there since the Yas took me the day after the funeral. The fresh turned ground over his grave was sunken into the hole. It didn't really look like that much dirt was covering him. I had the thought that I should dig him up and take him home so he could be where he belongs. With me.
I glad he's buried with my grandparents but I really regret having him buried there now. It's so difficult to get there on that steep hill. I nearly fell on the way down there. I know the logistics will keep me from going there as often as I want to or need to. And I'm having trouble with the drive to and from work. My usual route takes me right past the cemetery. So if I take my usual route, I want to stop and visit or get upset if I drive past, if I take an alternate route, I can only think about why I'm going a different way. Plus, I'm not sure where I'll be buried and I should be with Greyson after I die. I wish I'd been capable of thinking about these things when I had to make this choice.
Now the drywall finishing guy is here and will be until 9 or 10. So I can't really go to bed and cry.
I HATE MY LIFE.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Aunt L, who is a nurse, came by last night and read through all the autopsy and pathology reports with me and listened while I talked on and on about the doctor, the support group leader and what happened. She was very loving about it and I know she told me the truth. She said that the 6cm clot formed after the placenta tore away. It was my body's way of trying to heal from the tearing. The clot was not on the ultrasound because it formed after the abruption.
I did not tell her the secret I've been keeping. I know what caused the abruption and my baby to die. It is something I did. I wish I hadn't done it.
She was mad that the busybody support group leader said all that about Dr. H. She works in a pediatrician's office and said they get alot of Dr. H's babies and she's never heard a complaint about him and that she's never heard of a doctor spending an hour with a patient like that. My mind is my worst enemy. After she left, I thought, of course they haven't heard a complaint at the pediatrician's office, those people have living children.
Mom told me that she and Aunt L talked today and spoke of how well I'm doing and how much I've accomplished since the stillbirth. I don't know. Sometimes I do think I'm functioning ok and getting over it awfully quickly. Shouldn't I still be crying heart wrenching sobs like I did for most of the first week? My baby boy is dead! How can I get over that or even act like I am? Sometimes I start to cry and then stop myself, thinking oh well, it's in the past, nothing I can do can change it now. Sometimes when I cry I realize it's not about the baby but about me and feeling sorry for myself and wondering what's going to become of me. Sometimes I have a thought about trying again, and I think, your baby is barely cold in the ground, stop thinking about that.
I've experienced this before on a much less traumatic scale. Getting over bad breakups, thinking I'm over them fairly quickly and then later it hits me full force and as a result it actually takes me much longer to move on. It's like I fool myself into believing I'm ok and everything is fine.
I'm not really fine.
I'm not really strong.
On the topic of strength:
I'm NOT strong, or brave, or courageous. People have their opinion, of course, but I sort of wish they'd stop saying that. My body wasn't strong enough to keep my baby safe and I'm still not sure my soul can survive life without him. Strong people don't have crazy thoughts about digging up their dead babies or obsess the way I do about what happened. The only reason I'm still physically alive is because I'm half dead on the inside not because of any type of bravery.
Really fractured....am I getting over it too quickly or not strong enough to survive. I wish I could turn my brain off.
Sunday, January 2, 2011
Tired
Tired, so tired. I wanted so badly to stay in bed today. But Dad and E were over here most of the day putting drywall up where the wall and soffit were in the kitchen. I can't very well just lounge around while they are here working so hard. The finishing guy (C's brother in law, or would be if her sister ever stops having babies and marries this guy) is coming over tonight and I still won't be able to just... be.
I'm debating on dropping the grad class I'm supposed to take this semester. It's taught by
the same teacher who made me write a final a week after my baby died. Also, there is a woman who I know will be in the class who is due 3 days before I was due. I'm not sure I can look at the two of them all semester long. It just sounds like undue pain to me. And who really cares about classes when all I can think about is what happened to my baby and keeping my sanity. On the other hand, I'm pretty sure that if I don't continue with classes, I won't ever go back.
Back to school tomorrow. I know I'll survive it but I really don't want to go. It all seems so soul suckingly exhausting.
I'm debating on dropping the grad class I'm supposed to take this semester. It's taught by
the same teacher who made me write a final a week after my baby died. Also, there is a woman who I know will be in the class who is due 3 days before I was due. I'm not sure I can look at the two of them all semester long. It just sounds like undue pain to me. And who really cares about classes when all I can think about is what happened to my baby and keeping my sanity. On the other hand, I'm pretty sure that if I don't continue with classes, I won't ever go back.
Back to school tomorrow. I know I'll survive it but I really don't want to go. It all seems so soul suckingly exhausting.
Saturday, January 1, 2011
Shrunken Boobs
The first thing I did in this new year was notice that my boobs have shrunk. I didn't think they had grown much while I was pregnant but now it's clear that they did. I really miss my pregnant body. I couldn't wait to get that really pregnant baby belly and was worried I wouldn't since I'm so fat to begin with. What a stupid worry to have.
I spent most of the day in bed but did rouse myself to go to my parents for the annual New Year's clam chowder. Not sure how we Midwesterners started this particular tradition but mom makes it every year. Fun joking with E about our weird cousin who had talked to me really inappropriately about his girlfriend the day before. I think the dude got aroused while we were talking...eww. And sweet Dollface took me to help her gather the eggs and then made it her job to wash them all and put them away. I couldn't help but recall my childhood when that was my daily chore.
On the topic of enjoying life:
I do not. But if I ever do enjoy life again, I don't think I will feel guilty. Enjoying things and experiences could never take Greyson further from me or make me forget him. But who knows, the darndest emotions come out of me at the darndest times and I can't predict or control them. The few things I have enjoyed, I felt good about, like I was healing. I'm sure that makes me a weirdo but I know Greyson would not want me to wallow or feel badly about laughing or enjoying life. I try to think about what I would want, if I were him. If I died, I would not want my mother to feel badly about learning to feel good again.
On the topic of trying again:
I have either 4 or 6 frozen embryos and I probably will try to get pregnant again. It's just such a big idea and so far away and seems so terrifying. I can barely think about it. My soul is too shattered and I can't imagine gathering enough of the pieces together for another try. I don't have a vision of what trying again would look or feel like. I'm not brave enough. I barely lived through losing Greyson and I'm pretty sure I could never survive another loss like this one.
Also, there is a prevailing feeling that this was my one good chance at becoming a mother and it got wrecked, just like every other chance I've had at true happiness. My instincts tell me that if I try again, it won't take or it will be an early loss. Not sure why I feel this way, but that's why they call it an instinct, I guess. I'm pretty sure I'll have to face the biggest fear of my life by the end of 2011. Never becoming a mother.
Maybe my instincts are crap though. At one point during my two week wait, I was really really sure I was not pregnant. And after the anatomy scan ultrasound, I was really sure I would have a healthy baby. Who the hell knows....
I spent most of the day in bed but did rouse myself to go to my parents for the annual New Year's clam chowder. Not sure how we Midwesterners started this particular tradition but mom makes it every year. Fun joking with E about our weird cousin who had talked to me really inappropriately about his girlfriend the day before. I think the dude got aroused while we were talking...eww. And sweet Dollface took me to help her gather the eggs and then made it her job to wash them all and put them away. I couldn't help but recall my childhood when that was my daily chore.
On the topic of enjoying life:
I do not. But if I ever do enjoy life again, I don't think I will feel guilty. Enjoying things and experiences could never take Greyson further from me or make me forget him. But who knows, the darndest emotions come out of me at the darndest times and I can't predict or control them. The few things I have enjoyed, I felt good about, like I was healing. I'm sure that makes me a weirdo but I know Greyson would not want me to wallow or feel badly about laughing or enjoying life. I try to think about what I would want, if I were him. If I died, I would not want my mother to feel badly about learning to feel good again.
On the topic of trying again:
I have either 4 or 6 frozen embryos and I probably will try to get pregnant again. It's just such a big idea and so far away and seems so terrifying. I can barely think about it. My soul is too shattered and I can't imagine gathering enough of the pieces together for another try. I don't have a vision of what trying again would look or feel like. I'm not brave enough. I barely lived through losing Greyson and I'm pretty sure I could never survive another loss like this one.
Also, there is a prevailing feeling that this was my one good chance at becoming a mother and it got wrecked, just like every other chance I've had at true happiness. My instincts tell me that if I try again, it won't take or it will be an early loss. Not sure why I feel this way, but that's why they call it an instinct, I guess. I'm pretty sure I'll have to face the biggest fear of my life by the end of 2011. Never becoming a mother.
Maybe my instincts are crap though. At one point during my two week wait, I was really really sure I was not pregnant. And after the anatomy scan ultrasound, I was really sure I would have a healthy baby. Who the hell knows....
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