Who I still am

I used to love those questionnaires on Myspace back in the day.   Back when my life was so easy and  wasn't all sadness and anger and jealousy.

These days I can't stand when people ask me how I am or what my summer plans are.  I'm terrible and nothing, thanks for asking.  And yes, they mean well.  I know.

I know I am more than grief, and that the pain will ease eventually, but it's hard being someone other than Baby Loss Mom.  Sometimes I don't want to be known as anyone besides Ramona's Mom.  It's the most important thing about me, I feel.  There is more, though.

So here's 10 things about me (grief aside):

If you could have dinner with anyone in the world, who would it be?
Groucho Marx.  I used to dress up as Groucho for Halloween every year.  I think he is amazing.

What are you reading right now?
I have a stack of five books on my desk right now.  It's hard to narrow them down when you're surrounded by books all day.  I think the one I'll focus on is the fourth book of the Jacky Faber series.  I love badass sailor chicks.

What is your favourite colour?
Purple.  When my husband were getting to know each other I found out his favorite color is purple too.  Meant to be.

Your favourite book?
A Tree Grows in Brooklyn. It's weird being able to relate to Sissy, though.  I used to feel terrible for her, and now I know how she feels, even if she is a fictional character. 

What are you passionate about?
I am passionate about reading.  I'm a children's librarian and I think children and adults alike should take time to read something every day.  Reading is the foundation of all knowledge.  I could never understand people who claimed they hadn't read a book in years.  Pick one up, dummies.
 
Favourite movie?
I find this harder to answer than my favorite book for some reason, and I love reading more than I love watching movies.  Three I can watch anytime are L.A. Confidential, Master and Commander, and Cold Comfort Farm.  OH, and the A&E Pride and Prejudice.  I will watch that every damn day.

Hobbies?
I'm a big crafter.  I'll try anything once, knitting, felting, beading, whatever.  I'm also into fitness.  I love yoga, biking, weights.  I don't really have an awesome body to show for it, but it did wonders for labor. 

Any bad habbits?
I'm an unrepentant nail biter.  I've made my peace with it.  My nails are ugly anyway.

What have you been procrastinating on?
My best friend and I are making prayer flags for the Day of Hope and we haven't bought any supplies yet.  We really want to do it, but it's hard to get motivated to do anything lately.  Sigh.

What is your perfect idea of a night in?
We rarely go out, so a night in is our thing.  I would have to say take-out sushi, wine, and a good tv series.  Right now we're watching Twin Peaks.  I've never watched it before and it is cracking me up.


I am still standing in memory of Ramona.

It would be nice

It would be nice if Target didn't constantly post baby shit to their 'pins you love' board. And if my friends and family didn't post baby shit on pinterest.  It would be nice if no one got pregnant ever again. It would be nice if I could figure out what to do about our infant car seat recall.

Difficult week.

At least

Ramona would be five months old this Saturday, and apparently that's the time when people start saying weird shit.  I had my first 'at least' comment this weekend, followed up with 'everything happens for a reason.'  I've heard about them, but had yet to hear someone use that phrase.  I need to get a speech ready, because it seems people think it's a comfort.  It is not.  Definitely not.

I'm surprised that people think using phrases like 'at least' and 'everything happens for a reason' are helpful or comforting.  There is no 'at least' when it comes to your child dying, and whatever the reason is will never be good enough for us.  Our baby died and you mean to tell me you think there was a good reason for her death?  Fuck that.

What I find hardest is the people who say these things are always the nice ones.  They want to comfort us, they want to help us.  I can't help but be offended and hurt, but I know they mean well.  The Well Meaning.  Good band name, bad commiserators.  My husband tells me over and over again to ignore the worst of the comments, to understand that people care and sometimes can't express it well.  I understand this, I do.  I don't want to sit quietly as people question my motherhood or the validity of my child or whether or not it's better that she died before we got to know her anymore, though.  I will not do it. 

What I wanted to ask this woman, this sweet woman, was what 'at least' would she be willing to accept if one of her children died tomorrow?  What level of comfort would she receive from 'at least?'  What satisfactory reason could be given to explain away the death of her child?  Or if I was feeling particularly harsh and honest, ask her to think about her child and think about him dead.  That's what we have to live with for the rest of our lives.  A life, however long, lived without our child. 

There is no 'at least you didn't have to get to know her and then lose her.'  That's exactly why the grief is so consuming.  We hoped for, dreamed about, imagined a life with our baby girl.  Our whole life was stripped bare like a skinned rabbit in a matter of seconds.  'At least' doesn't cut it.  'At least' can kiss my ass. 

So for the general public, the well meaning, if you ask how we are and we answer with less enthusiasm than you expected, please refrain from reasoning with us.  It doesn't work, it doesn't help, and it doesn't make a difference.  There is no reason that will make us accept the death of our daughter.  None.

Today

Today someone asked me if I'd had my baby.  It was someone who might not have totally understood my full answer, so I didn't feel like it was worth elaborating on.

So I just said yes.

I had my baby. 

It's the first time I've said that without adding, "...but she died." 

It felt good.  It didn't stop the tears in the bathroom afterwards, and it didn't put a cork in the jealousy and anguish I feel daily, but it still felt good to only have to say 'yes.'

I had my baby.

Team Ramona & Savannah

My best friend Jessica and I are blogging about our daughters and our experience through baby loss over at Team Ramona & Savannah .

There are so many amazing people writing about their children and loss that I wondered if what we have to say and share is even relevant,  but I've noticed the further out people are with their grief, the less they focus entirely on it like they did in the early days.  If we can reach a handful of people who are new to this crazy world of baby loss,  we're doing a good thing.  The best thing about blogs for me has been watching the progression of grief and life in general.  It's good to know that eventually the pain will lessen.  We won't ever forget,  but we won't always hurt so much.

We also want to help family and friends learn how to support these moms and dads in the best way possible.  We know firsthand people don't know what to say or how to react to the death of a baby.  Hopefully we can help break the silence and make this experience less painful for everyone.  First instinct for many people is to avoid the subject for fear of 'reminding' the grieved of their loss, but I can promise you, we are never not thinking of our babies. We want to share resources that help not only mom's and dads, but the people close to them.

Kindness of strangers

Yesterday I had an encounter with someone who didn't know what happened to Ramona.  I explained, the woman was sad and shocked, but for some reason it set me off.  I ended up at a Coney Island crying my eyes out.

She wasn't rude, but she didn't ask what her name was and I was left just kind of standing there while she talked nervously.  She tried her best, but it was so hard to stand there and make small talk. 

All I've been thinking lately is WHY?  Why my daughter, why me, why my husband, why our family?  While I was pregnant I knew eight other pregnant women.  Two of us have lost our children, one gave birth to a healthy baby boy, and the other six are waiting.  I know they must be scared by what happened to my child and my friend's child, but I also get a feeling there is an air of certainty around them.  That since this happened to me, to Jessica, to Ramona and Savannah, that they should be in the clear.  And I hate them for it. 

These women are friends, one a best friend, and right now in this moment I hate them with every ounce of my being.  I don't WANT them to go through what we're going through, but WHY?  They will most likely bring their children home.  Two of those children will be girls.  I don't know if I will ever be able to look at them without hating them.  In an irrational way, I blame them.  I blame them for taking the place of my Ramona.  I know it's crazy.  I don't care. 

I ended up at the Coney Island after the gym and all this came pouring out of me.  When the waitress came to take my order instead of telling her I wanted two eggs over medium I started crying and choked out, "I'm having a really bad day, I'm sorry."  This woman I've never met before in my life grabbed me and hugged me.  She didn't know what I was going through, but she hugged me and showed me a smiley face on her receipt pad.  "You keep thinking about this right here," she said.

I'm trying.  I'm trying to move forward, I'm trying to push through the anger and the hate.  I'm trying to be a good person, but it is damn hard.  It is damn hard to live without your child when so many others don't have to.

Pre-

There's an unopened email in my inbox.  It's from my mother, sent Christmas Eve morning.  She didn't know we'd been in the hospital overnight.  I didn't have the heart to call her after we got the news.  I wanted our family to have one last night free of grief. 

I haven't had the guts to open or delete it.  Thanks to gmail I know what it says.  She just wanted to know if I was awake and to call her if I was.  As far as my mother knew we'd be over that afternoon, preparing our Christmas smorgasbord and celebrating together.  Or she'd be with me in the hospital, which is what we'd been expecting the night before.  Instead she would get a phone call that her first and only grandchild had died. 

It's my last, small connection to my old life.  I remember about a week earlier thinking how happy and lucky I was.  Pre-emptiness, pre-sorrow.  My life before feels like fiction, like a sitcom that occasionally touches on a serious subject in a humorous light.  I look at pictures of myself from when I was pregnant and I try conjure those feelings of joy and anticipation, because I know I'll never have them again.  That part of my life is over.