Good Things

This week I had a better conversation about Ramona with a six year old than I've had with most adults. 

Her name starts with an M, too, and she's been hanging out our desk talking our ears off.  She always looks thoughtful and constantly asks, "Why?" 

She saw that we were putting stickers on things and wanted to help.  While we were stickering, she told me her brother had died.  It was unclear as to how old he was or other details, I could tell that she loved him very much, though.  After a few minutes of talking she asked if I had any kids.

It's hard for me to know how to talk about Ramona with kids.  Some understand 'died' and take it in stride, others might not understand or become fearful.  It makes me sad, because I don't like to lie and say, "No, I don't have any kids."  It's not true, but what do you do?

At first I told her no.  She said, "My neighbor doesn't either, and she says I'm like her kid." 

I smiled, and thought for a second. 

"Remember when said I don't have any kids?" I asked.  "That's not true.  You know how you told me your brother passed away?  I have a daughter and she passed away, too.  So she doesn't live in my house, but she lives in my heart."

She nodded very seriously and said, "My brother who died talks to me and tells me to do good things.  My other brother doesn't believe me, but it's true.  He tells my head and my heart to do good things."

She made my head and my heart feel good that day.

New

Last week we had our first encounter with a new aspect of grief.  Kyle's best friend told him she is pregnant.

She is a kind person.  A good person.  She was by our side when Ramona died.  She raised over a thousand dollars for our March of Dimes fundraiser.  She sent me a necklace I wear every day, an infinity charm coupled with a letter R charm.  Yet we can't be happy for her right now.

We both feel terrible about it, but there is no joy on our end.  We are just too sad, jealous, and angry at the universe to celebrate a child that is not ours right now.

It just happens that she is pregnant on our timeline with Ramona, too.  Not good.  At all.

The hardest part about dealing with other people's pregnancies is the attitude that there will 'always be pregnancies and babies.'  So that means we should suck it up and deal.   We can't stop people from getting pregnant, so let it go.  I wish it was that simple. 

In the weeks after Ramona died, we watched a lot of TV.  Mostly Seinfeld reruns.  We watched Community again in it's entirety.  There's an episode where one of the characters, Britta, has to be restrained from hooking up with an old boyfriend named Blade.  It's assumed Blade must be amazing in some way, so one of the characters, Jeff, decides he must know the secret to Blade's desirableness.  It turns out Blade is brain-damaged.  He literally has no shame and therefore does not care what anyone thinks about him, that's why women desire him.  Before this is revealed, Jeff grills Blade about his name, and why doesn't he change it, and Blade utters a line that is my new motto:  It won't change how mustard tastes.

Pregnancy, babies, and parenting are part of my everyday life.  I work with kids and parents.  My cousins all have young children.  My friends all had babies within a six month span of losing Ramona.  Yes, I am confronted with this every day, but it doesn't change the way mustard tastes.  Grief is still a bitter taste on my tongue today.  No matter how often I see a baby carrier, no matter how many cute stories people tell me about sons, daughters, grandkids, nieces and nephews, no matter how many pregnancies are announced and how many pregnant bellies are in my face, each instance is still a slap in the face and cause for anxiety because my daughter is dead.  

Pregnancy is a part of life.  Babies will always come.  Friends and family will become parents and never know the pain of losing their own child.  These things are all true, but they don't change the way mustard tastes.   

I will always be thankful to the people who celebrated Ramona with us while I was pregnant.  The people who were excited, who sent gifts, who told us what great parents we'd be.  I can't return the favor, though.  Not right now.  I cannot celebrate another pregnancy.  Mainly because I'm selfish, I'll admit that, but also because pregnancy is not a promise.  Pregnancy does not equal a living child.  Pregnancy is a gamble, a risk, and we know that first hand now.  Before anyone tells me that statistically I'm one of the few, please tell that to every person I have met face to face, the people I cling to online, the countless faces of loss.  I can't celebrate something equivalent to Russian Roulette, not when I've come out on the losing end.  That bullet is lodged in my brain forever.   

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.