Another October

It's over. October. Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness month.

Granted societal permission to air the thoughts I'm supposed to keep to myself for the other eleven months of the year.

I can't do it. I won't do it. I'm not interested.

I remember the first day I cried so hard I thought I wouldn't survive. Do you?

I cried so many times like that... the my the my bed...on the kitchen floor.

Where were you then?

I remember the last day I cried like that...when I finally thought, "This is it...I cannot grieve anymore like this."

It was in October...and I was alone.

So you'll forgive me if I'm not going to crack wide open for you during this...or any other...month that you deem acceptable.

You'll have to understand if I'm not interested in your pretty graphic logos and inspirational messages.

I won't be walking with other "parents who understand."

November 1st doesn't hold any magica…


So here's the thing that happened after my father-in-law, my babies, and my dad all died suddenly (without any explanation)...


I cannot outrun it (I'm not kidding...I've actually started walking/running).

I am terrified I am going to die suddenly (with or without an explanation).

Every little ache or pain is now a harbinger of death (and Dr. Google is not helping).

It's irrational...but I can't NOT think about it.

So I'm starting projects again.

Fake it till ya make it, right?

Not sure this blog will be one of those projects...but I think there is something cathartic about writing out all the garbage that's floating around in my brain.

In the meantime, I just hope I don't die.


Yesterday, the pink walls of my sisters old bedroom whispered to me about the life we had...about what we have...and I was overwhelmed.
Friday night records played on the stereo Dad built himself from a kit.
Mom in the kitchen making hamburgers and fried potatoes.
Roller skating around the pool table.
Dad going golfing every Saturday morning.
Scuffing slippers on the carpet in order to build up static and zap each other.
Sundays with Dad lying on the living room floor watching football or baseball or basketball (and usually falling asleep and snoring).
The long gone swing set put together by Dad and Grandpa, with it's barbershop pole color scheme...white and metallic blue and metallic red.
The purple of the guest bedroom...changed from cheerful yellow after my sister moved into her pink bedroom the basement.
Dad pulling out his guitar and playing a song or two. I only know the refrain of Delta Dawn.
Staying home with a babysitter while Mom and Dad went to bowling league.
The met…

My Dad died

Thanksgiving was lovely. And then my Dad died.  It still doesn't seem maybe that's why I keep hearing my own voice in my head saying, "My Dad died." It's not my mom's voice telling what actually happened. It's my own voice...repeating. My Dad died. It's like I need to remind myself that things have changed. That he's not here anymore. My Dad died. It's so different from losing the babies. It's definitely filled with more regret, anger, and...I don't know...unresolved feelings. I mean, my dad has always been there. He wasn't my most vocal cheerleader. He wasn't anyone's cheerleader. He didn't really use supportive words much. He wasn't warm and cuddly. In fact, I can count on one hand the number of times I can remember him saying "I love you." He wasn't open with his stories or life experiences. In fact, I think he subscribed to the belief that children should be seen and not heard…

Not who I used to be

Today, for the first time in a long time, I cooked something. We've been eating out or my husband has been cooking...for a pretty long time now.

Today I was asked, "Did you send that email?" and I had to respond with, "I forgot."

Today I took a phone call from a client who was following up on an issue he brought to my attention last Tuesday. I haven't had a chance to do the necessary research and I could hear his disappointment in his voice.

It's little things like this that make me feel again all that has changed. I used to be so capable. I used to be able to multi-task. While I never "enjoyed" my work, the challenge it presented was rewarding.

It's been eleven years since Alex...ten since Travis...six since the unnamed baby...and I still can't come to grips with who I am now. I just now realized I don't want to stuff who I am now into the life of who I used to be. I've been trying and it is NOT working. That me is gone...and …

First born

You think I'd be good at this for all the saying goodbye and letting go I've had to do. But I read this and was reduced to sappy sentimental tears. I miss my son. My living, breathing, 14-year-old, full of opinions, addicted to video games, first born who used to share everything with me. The Wiggles. Thomas the Tank Engine. Pok√©mon. Hating reading. School. Loving reading. His love of comfort over fashion. His inherited tendency to expect too much from everyone and everything. Ways to cope with his perceived shortcomings. His unshakeable faith in me. His growing belief that he knows everything. Adolescence has now taken hold and he has become much less inclined to share. Given enough time, asking the right questions, I can usually wheedle information out of him. Tell me one thing you learned today. Tell me one thing interesting that happened today. How are your friends doing? What did you have for lunch? What happened in band today? Is there anything you need for school? He…

May redux

I made it through May! and June! and I thought I was in the clear for another year! and then we had to put Rory to sleep. He couldn't stand, was incontinent, filled with tumors all over his bony body, and he stopped eating and it was definitely time. But at the vet's office, he still tried to wag his tail. The vet tech said that's what they do...they try to stay with us as long as they can...even when their bodies fail them. I wanted to take comfort in that...but it just started my mind turning. He WANTED to stay...but his body wouldn't let him. Anyone else hear that old familiar song playing in the background? I know...I know...the frailty of the human existence and all that. It's tragic and beautiful all at the same time. There are forces that no amount of love can defeat. That's just life. And death. From the moment Sam came home from the hospital, he was Rory's boy. Sam's 14 now...and Rory is gone. Life moves on...without regard to …