Can you imagine?

People searching for loved ones on the internet. Not knowing if they will find them alive or dead.

There are some things worse than the crisis in my life. I'm not sure if that makes me feel better or worse.

Tiredness and loathing in Ohio

This is going to be a rambling mess...much like the compartments in my brain right now...leaking from one to another with no barriers to separate and organize.

I'm running on empty. I don't sleep well. I can't concentrate when I'm awake. I'm irritable and ready to kill someone or something. I tried to find a racquetball club to join so I could smack the snot out of a rubber ball and I couldn't afford the membership fees.

What irritates me and drives me to blog these days? My family can turn a quick trip into Walmart into an hour long ordeal. Why, oh why, does he have to use a different cup every single time he gets another drink? My son has mastered the art of the never-ending three-year-old whine. People want me to be out and about and I just don't feel like it.

All I really want to do is spend the day tucked up in my bed with the covers over me.

But I have to keep going. I have to keep moving. A rolling stone, and all that.

I don't want to pick up my stuff from my mother's house (the stuff that didn't sell at the garage sale). I don't want to go to the library and return the books. I don't want to go to work. I don't want to pretend to watch Thomas the Tank Engine for the four millionth time.

I want to sleep. I used to sleep. I could sleep 12 hour stretches, wake up, and sleep for eight more. Now I'm lucky if I sleep two hours in a row. I'm beginning to think this is some cruel form of punishment. All these sleepless hours when I should be nursing and comforting a new baby...spent awake with no baby. I get the joy of the sleep deprived state of insanity, but none of the joy of love.

And as I sit here in this dark house, I get angrier and angrier. As each hour ticks off the clock toward a new dawn, I want to scream about it. I want to yell until my voice disappears from the strain. It's a wonder I'm able to talk to anyone at all without a stream of profanity passing my lips. This anger and venom keeps filling up my soul and I want so much to find a place to put them where they won't hurt anyone.

How is it possible to be so tired? And not just from lack of sleep. I mean the tiredness that invades the cellular level of the body and makes even breathing feel like it is the equivalent of a climb up Mt. Everest.

I certainly have nothing witty to say tonight. In fact, most of what comes to mind is mean and bitter sounding. It's not that there isn't hope for the future...it's that there is no plan for the future. There was a time when I could make a plan and do whatever it took to make it happen. I knew there was a possibility things wouldn't go as planned, but at least I was invested in the process. Now...who cares? Instead of wasting all that time planning, I should have just enjoyed the moments and hoped for the best. It seems things would have turned out the same...and I'd probably be a much happier person today.

Good God, I'm tired.

I'm too impressionable

I watched an episode of CSI the other night in which they pulled a maggot out of the ear of a corpse. I've been having a creepy crawly feeling in my right ear ever since.

I'm not feeling particularly bloggy lately. I feel like I'm starting to sound like a broken record. And I keep hearing people tell me, "Well, you can't base things on your one bad experience...you're the exception, not the rule." Does being an exception and not the rule make it any less real to me? I mean, it DID happen...didn't it? Maybe this is one of those times I need to ignore what everyone else says/thinks and go with my gut...and blab incessantly about stuff that nobody but me cares about. Hell...everyone else is taking up cyberspace...why not me and my repetitive crap? What would my mother say to that? "If everyone else jumped off a pier, would you do it too?" lol

When I was pregnant with Alex, I could conjure an image of a nice warm, sunny beach somewhere and it would magically stave off the morning sickness. I've got nothing now.

I'm off to clean out my ear with a q-tip for the zillionth time today.

What to feel?

I'm afraid to forget. And yet, I'm afraid to remember. There is no comfortable in-between place where I can survive.

How do I do this? How do I find my way every single day for the rest of my life?

hehehe

Now I'm having fun. I should be working.

Anyone know why something would preview correctly in blogger but not show up when published? When I preview, I have a pretty blue background. When it's published, it's all white. hmmmm...

I guess I'll just go with white for now. I have a headache and I really need to get some work done today.

I'm baaaaa-aaaaaack!

Wireless and all! woo hoo! This is fun! I can now watch the Cubs lose AND post on my blog. I feel like a new woman.

But then I changed back to the blue. I started to have some Internet Explorer issues with the new computer and the new flower template. So, now I feel like the same old me. (sigh)

Memories

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I followed the school bus in on my way to work this morning. We stopped at this house where the whole family was standing outside, seeing little Bobbie off to his first day of school. Not just mom and dad and little sis...but also TWO grandmas and what looked to be two aunts. It was a truly bittersweet moment for mom...you could see it on her face. The joy that her baby had grown and was taking his first really independent steps in the world...and the sadness that her baby had grown and was taking his first really independent steps in the world. She took his picture as he boarded the bus so she could remember this moment on this day forever. While I'm sure he'll be thrilled with that when he's sixteen, there will come a time later in his life when he will understand and he'll look at that picture, smile, and remember all those who loved him standing on the front porch and waving goodbye for the day.
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We found the note. It is nothing special...a quickly penned note on printer paper in standard blue ballpoint. But it holds so much hope, so much happiness, so many dreams, that I needed to hang on to it. It's the note that I wrote and hung on the bathroom mirror for Steve the morning I found out I was pregnant with Alex. It had been lost and feared gone forever, possibly mistakenly thrown in the trash or accidentally used as a three-year-olds doodle page. But it had simply been shuffled in with some papers that were sitting in our never-cleaned desk. We picked up a new desk at a garage sale this weekend and had to clean out the old one and consolidate our junk. And there it was...

It says:
Congratulations! You're going to be a Daddy again. I hope you're ready. I love you. Me

I miss them.

I miss Alex.
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We sold the stroller we used for Sam. We sold the exersaucer we used for Sam. We sold some of Sam's old clothes. Now I understand, "They grow up so fast."

We were getting ready to leave the house yesterday when Sam looks at me and says, "Mommy, I'll be on the porch in case you need me." My breath literally caught in my chest. He's so grown up already.
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The "old" computer (the lightening fried doorstop) has now been replace by a fast moving, well-equipped, slick Gateway laptop. We're even entering the world of wireless computing. It's going to be great. Now I just have to figure out how to get my 3000+ Sam pictures from their Mac-formatted disks.
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Congratulations B!

Hey,

I was just reading your blog and knew exactly what you were going to say about your pet peeves in life before I read them - spelling and grammar! Maybe it should be you and not me beginning to teach High School English this coming week. Those are my pet peeves too-but you were always more meticulous than I was!

How are you all doing? I think about you a lot. More than you would ever guess probably. I have not known how to tell you, or even when to tell you this. I am eighteen weeks pregnant. It seems about the time you lost Baby Alex we were finally able to conceive. I have seen Alex as our Angel too. I cried so hard the day I received your email about the baby, and then when I realized that I was pregnant and the timing I cried again. I have read your Blog every week, reading about what is going on with you. I know that you experienced a great loss, and that even though I had a miscarriage four years ago and I thought I would never be able to have a baby, that I could not even begin to understand your pain.

I understand if you can't talk to me. I did not want to hurt you, but at the same time I did not want to wait until January and possibly hurt you further by not telling you sooner. I pray for all of you and our baby and I hope Alex is looking out for all of us.

Love,
B

CONGRATULATIONS AND BEST WISHES!

I sincerely mean that.

But I hope you don't mind if I go have a good cry and feel sorry for myself for a bit.

Stupid things people say

OK...I'm a nit-picker...I admit it. I have a lot of pet peeves and I can't stand it when people do certain things. It drives me up a wall. Grammar and spelling are generally my two biggies on the internet. But the other is this...do me a favor and just plain make sense, would ya?

Some of the people who read this will know that I was lurking on a message board in order to have seen this. And to those people I will tell you this...this is why I can't be on that message board right now...these are the kinds of reactions I have to the posts there.

I read this post titled, "The carpet was pulled out from under me today." And while I sympathize with the person's dilemma presented in the text of the post, the title has me ready to scream. The carpet?!?! Really?!?! If you're going to use cliches, at least GET THEM RIGHT! It's a rug...not carpet! How exactly would the carpet be pulled out from under you? I have pulled up carpet...and it's a freaking hard job! If your ass is standing on the carpet when someone is trying to pull it up, you need to move and start helping them, instead of just standing there.

See, the cliche goes, "Someone pulled the RUG out from under me." Rugs are easy to pull up. You grab one side and just give a yank. It's possible to be surprised that someone pulls a rug out from under you...but no way would you be surprised if someone overhauled your living room and pulled the carpet out from under you. Get it right!

Lest you think I don't laugh

We were all snuggled up in bed watching Thomas the Tank Engine for the zillionth time on the now lightening-fried-green-and-purple-television. The bedside lamp was the only other light in the house. I had my eyeglasses off and was staring lazily at the green and purple blobs I know to be train engines, chugging around on the screen.

Suddenly, I saw this rather large dark blob flap across the room, diving close to the bed and returning to ceiling level to flit around and come to rest on the window curtain. I said, "What was that?" My dear son, the apple of my eye, whom I adore with everything I have, claps his hands excitedly and bounces up and down while proclaiming, "It's a bat, mommy!" He has recently discovered the joy of bats flying at dusk, both at our house and out from the cracks in the siding at grandma and grandpa's house. It's a wonder of nature that he simply adores. I would too...outside of my bedroom. He obviously had no idea how absolutely freaked out this would make me...he thought it was simply wonderful.

I jumped from the bed, flipped on the overhead light, and squeaked, "A bat?!?!" Keep in mind, that I was only able to see amoebic shapes at this point, as I had not yet found my eyeglasses. (I will sometime have to tell you the stories of the mice and the ladybugs that have traumatized me as to all wildlife in my house.)

My husband snorted and said, "It's not a bat!" What it was...a huge moth type bug with a wingspan of about three or four inches. It's wings were really quite pretty, for being a creature of the night and all.

So, having an obsession with all things that fly, I asked my dear husband (who was approaching with baby wipe in hand, presumably to squash this thing flat on my white curtain sheers...boo hiss) to get a cup and capture this renegade winged creature and return it to the great outdoors. Now this sounds like a simple task. Until you find out that this creepy crawly has some sort of jet-powered engine hidden under its massive wingspan and can flit and flap around at the speed of light.

Poor Steve became increasingly surly as Sam and I laughed and laughed at his antics running around the room, moving furniture, and trying to capture this thing in a cup. (I think it was the whole hunter-gatherer thing in action.) I found my eyeglasses and was able to participate in the hunt with the oh-so-helpful, "It's over there...now it's over there...no...now it's over there." It's a wonder Steve didn't bean me with the cup he was using to try to corral this thing (it was big enough, you probably could have put a small saddle on it). And Sam was additionally helpful in his clapping and laughing and jumping up and down on the bed during the chase. It was such fun to watch him...his pure joy and simple laughter was contagious and made me laugh until I cried.

Then, of course, there were the foiled attempts to capture this thing when it flew into the bedroom overhead light and I was afraid it would burn its wings off on the lightbulbs, so I flipped off the light switch and it went in search of another source of warmth in the bedside light. I headed that direction to save this poor thing with the fragile jet-powered wings, but Steve looked at me with that look that said, "Touch it and die."

The adventure came to an end when mommy finally stopped laughing and took control. The flying creature was captured without incident and a cooperative effort resulted in it being returned to the wilds of northern Ohio.

A bat! I'm surprised I could sleep after that.

Baby Alex has a new neighbor.

Sixteen-year-old Brittany Collier died in a car accident on Sunday, August 14, 2005. As I visited Alex on Tuesday afternoon, I saw her grave, covered with dozens of flower arrangements and thought about who she might have been. I saw on her temporary grave marker that she was a teenager...and I began to think about her family...and all those she must have left behind to mourn her passing.

I wonder how her parents are doing...how her younger brother is doing. I'm incredibly sad for all of them. But I'm particularly sad for Brittany's mother because I know the questions she will ask as she sits in that place, not so far from where I sit.

I hope that she finds peace along her journey of grief.

This sucks

(to borrow a phrase from my brother)

I was all set to have my bologna sandwich on white bread with cheese and Miracle Whip. But I discovered I left the damn jar of Miracle Whip sitting on the counter at home. Now my day is shot...as is the Miracle Whip most likely.

As I folded each piece of baby clothing and laid it out on the table in my parent's well-loved garage, I could see all the moments flash before my eyes.

The shopping trips with my mom, excited to become a grandma for the first time. Her laughing and saying, "You're my best hope for grandchildren."

My baby shower, peeling back the tissue paper to reveal the thoughtfulness of the person who gave the gift.

Washing the baskets of baby clothes, folding each piece, and putting them all away in the wardrobe in anticipation of his arrival.

Dressing my Sam in each one...pajamas, onesies, little socks, tshirts, his Curious George romper, his Mommy's Little Monkey romper...

Frantically scrubbing the vomit or poop stains with Shout.

Watching Sam perform all his "firsts" in each piece. The outfit he came home from the hospital in. The striped Old Navy "prison uniform" that he stood up for the first time in. The plaid preppy romper that he cruised the furniture in. The overall set he had his first portrait taken in.

Family Halloweens and Christmas...costumes and outfits that everyone said were "so adorable."

Packing up each size as Sam outgrew them...0-3 months, 3-6 months, 6-9 months, 12 months, 18 months, 24 months, 2T...often long before he had actually reached the appropriate age mark.

Taking the bags and boxes up from the basement and sorting through them, sure that Alex would "love" certain pieces...sure that he would "look adorable" in others...worried that he was going to have to wear a lot of hand-me-downs.

Adding in the clothes that a loving friend sent for Alex and sorting out some more hand-me-downs that I decided weren't "quite right."

Digging through the boxes, trying to find the perfect thing to bury our Alex in.

Trying to imagine what he would look like in each piece for his first time standing up in...for his first steps...for his first portrait...for each Halloween and Christmas.

Hiding the boxes in the basement so I wouldn't have to look at them.

Trying desperately to remember...was it a snail or a bug on the sleeper I chose to bury Alex in?

Wanting to keep each piece in order to remember every happy moment experienced.

Wanting each piece gone so as not to have to remember what should have been.

Wanting to curl up in a ball and cry. Smiling instead...trying to make it feel right when I know it will never be right again.

Emptiness

I have learned to accept the sadness and I am coping with it. The anger is less intense and I'm coping with that too. I'm working on the jealousy as well...though I still have a way to go, I really feel like I can conquer it (or at least leash train it to sit and stay when I need it to).

I can not seem to get a handle on the emptiness. That feeling that there is something missing...that hole that nothing seems to fill up. Looking backward doesn't do it...looking forward doesn't do it. It's an ache in my chest (my heart?) that is always there. I could learn to live with it, if it didn't paralyze me everytime I feel it. I'm literally unable to function when it grabs hold of me.

There is no way to describe it to someone who hasn't been there. It's just emptiness.

It's like standing on the edge of the Grand Canyon and shouting hello...only to have the sound echo off the walls and eventually fade away. Where does it go? What happens to it? It just ceases to exist and there is nothing left in its place...except emptiness. And there you stand, on the edge of this beautiful place surrounded by that silence and that emptiness.

No, that's not quite what it is.

I just don't have the words.

Ask the pediatrician

I almost forgot! Here's a gem from Friday that I think you'll appreciate...

All the books on grief tell you to ask your pediatrician about how to help your living child deal with the death of a sibling. All the books say to consult with the pediatrician about how to handle the possibility of another pregnancy.

Now let me tell you what you will get from your pediatrician...

A look of horror...an "I'm so sorry to hear that"...and advice to pretend nothing happened or is happening. Yes, you heard me right...pretend like nothing happened or is happening. His advice? Break Sam of the "I want up" habit now, so we won't have to explain why I can't pick him up if I get pregnant again. And THEN, when my belly starts to grow, explain it as little as possible so that if we experience another loss, we won't have to deal with it or worry about it.

OH. MY. GOD.

I just don't even know what to say. I wanted to grab him by the throat, this highly trained medical professional, and shake the living shit out of him. THIS is the advice he is giving people?!?! You have got to freaking be kidding me?!?!?

Yes, my son is sad that Baby Alex didn't come home. But should I have pretended? Should I have glossed over the truth for my son's well-being and mental health? Should I have denied him the opportunity to know his brother for the short time that he had?

My advice...don't bother asking your pediatrician. Ask someone like a grief counselor or someone who has some hope of knowing what they're talking about.

Maybe I've screwed up my Sam for life. Maybe his mental health will never recover. But I feel a lot better about scarring him with the truth and letting him love his brother, than I would if I had lied to him or kept the truth from him in order to protect him. I guess I'll just have to hope that he feels the same way when he is older.

Me...unplugged

I'm feeling a bit twitchy this morning, as I've been a whole 48 hours without internet access. It seems the lightening storm we had Saturday knocked our local server offline...and nobody works out here on the weekends. We called Adelphia to inquire about when service would be restored and they're sending a technician out...next Saturday. In all fairness, he could have come out Wednesday, but I postponed it in order to (1) get "The Bug Guy" out to take care of the nests of yellow jackets in our yard (discovered via foot and lawn tractor traffic...it was NOT pretty); and (2) get myself organized for the big garage sale this coming weekend. Yes, we're having a garage sale. My need to purge has taken over full force and everything must go! It's sitting in my basement and it makes me cranky to look at. So I'm selling whatever I can sell. And there are certain things I just don't need that make me more cranky than others...a double stroller, for example.

So anyway...I've been offline. Let's do the weekend recap thing and see what's been happening in our oh-so-exciting life.

Saturday we spent the day with the Dalmatian rescue group at the Cleveland Museum of Natural History's Dog Days Festival. I'm not sure you can call it a festival, as there were no rides, no carnival games, and no fried foods or cotton candy. Something doesn't qualify as a festival in my book unless you can get greasy french fries with vinegar and salt. But I digress. It was good. We got a couple dollars change in donations and we took in one application to adopt a dog. That qualifies as a success in our business, as we currently have about 35 dogs in foster care and no adoption applications coming in.

So anyway...we left the "festival" about an hour early because there was a bad storm rolling in. It hit just as we turned onto our road...great. We knew we had to feed the horses, so I just pulled the minivan into the barn and we hopped out to take care of them. Just then, there was a loud crash and I saw sparks flying around outside the barn door...the fuse box door flew open...and the lights down the center aisle of the barn went out. I smelled smoke and ran to the other end of the barn. The loud crash was apparently lightening striking one of the trees right next to the barn. There were bits of wood all over the lawn and the tree was missing the left half of its trunk. But luckily there was no fire. I was having visions of us tying the girls to the minivan and driving it out in the storm to get away from a fire...talk about panic.

So now we're going to have to deal with the tree guys again. And they did such a fabulous job last time they were out, I'm really looking forward to seeing them again. [/sarcasm] We have to have "The Bug Guy" out for the bees. The internet folks have to come out for the computer. And the Direct TV guy has to come out for the television (it appears one of our tv's got fried as well...thank goodness the DirectTV equipment is still under warranty). All while we're packing and shuttling for a garage sale. Oh...and we're supposed to meet the new petsitters on Wednesday evening too. I'm just having too much fun this week.

Sunday we cleaned and packed stuff up for the above-mentioned garage sale. The garage sale is going to be at my mom and dad's house since they live on a nice little cul-de-sac and get really good garage sale traffic. Steve and I live on a State Route (and all the houses are out of numerical order...the pizza guy gets lost every time)...so I'm not sure we'd get many visitors at our house. So all the garage sale planning and packing involves a drive forty minutes away. We've successfully made trip #1. Trip #2 is planned for Wednesday. It'll be just Sam and I...please wish me luck. lol

So that's about it. The lightening strike made me contemplate that randomness theory again. I mean, can't I catch a break already?
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Ask and ye shall receive...

The Pet Sitter wants to charge $30 just to come meet us. No thanks. One appointment cancelled. :o)

Randomness or common sense

So I'm all ready to buy into the theory that God doesn't CAUSE bad things to happen to us, but he can't protect us from them either. The idea is that he created order in the randomness, but there are still pockets of randomness out there that we have to deal with. Of course, we don't notice the randomness when things are good, we see it as good luck or good fortune or good choices. When things go wrong, however, we definitely notice it...and that's when we have to start questioning our belief in God, etc.

But today, today I had a day that makes me wonder about all of that. Today, when I had PROMISED my Sam that I would be at his doctor's appointment, I ran into three, count 'em THREE, road construction project delays. Everywhere I turned, there I was, sitting in traffic, getting later and later.

I did eventually arrive at my destination...five minutes late. And I was even more thrilled than Sam. I've never broken a promise to him and, for some reason, I didn't want this to be the first time. It felt...IMPORTANT...for some unknown reason. Maybe because it seemed like the universe was conspiring against us? I don't know.

But I have to wonder about that theory of randomness. What are the odds that randomness would throw three separate obstacles in my path?

Or maybe it's just the summer construction season and I should know better than to expect smooth sailing.

Look at me - Don't look at me - Talk to me - Don't talk to me

Did you ever notice that there are essentially two types of people in the world? There are those who think they are different and don't mind telling you all about how they are different...when really they're pretty average. Then there are those who think they are nothing special and shy away from the spotlight at all costs...when really they are pretty amazing people who deserve far more credit and recognition than they get. Lately, I find myself irritated with both kinds of people. Probably the reason I should stay locked up in my tower and not let my hair down for someone to climb up and rescue me.

The people who tell you (seemingly incessantly) that they are somehow unique, somehow special make me want to scream, "We get it...you're special...good for you!" I mean, are people really so insecure as to have to tell you all about every little insignificant thing that makes them above the rest of us mere mortals? It's a bit perturbing because there is this underlying comment about how their way is better...their life is better...their choices are better. blech!

Then the people who hide and never take credit where credit is due...they make me want to grab them by the shoulders and shake them. Have the "unique" people blathered enough to make you believe that you have nothing special to offer? You are special. You are unique. Every single one of us is different...that's what is so amazing. Stop trying to make yourself nameless and faceless. You deserve better.

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I have stopped reading the loss boards. I think this is a huge step for me, because they were my lifeline when I thought I would drown in the sadness and grief. But I've found myself more and more not able to be sympathetic, not able to understand. I'm not so far removed from that place, but I can't be surrounded all the time by the sheer hopelessness that you find on those boards. Many women who suffer a pregnancy or infant loss seem content to stay put in that place and refuse to acknowledge that life does go on. They are unable or unwilling to learn to cope. I'm not saying they should "get over it," but I'm saying that I can't live the rest of my life crying every day for Alex. Sure, I still cry for him...but I have to find ways to make that the exception and not the rule.

There is also the addition of fresh grief. When a new member joins those boards, I feel the grief wash over me again and again. It's too hard.

Perhaps I'm selfish and I should suck it up and help other women the way that I was helped...but I just don't think I can do it. I guess I'll have to accept being selfish for a while.

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I have both my sons' pictures on my desk now. Who told me that one day I'd be able to look at them both and smile? Whoever it was...you were right. Thank you for giving me hope.

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Tomorrow we're taking Dali the foster dalmatian to the Dog Walk to benefit the Cuyahoga County Animal Shelter. Then we'll probably head up to the Dog Days Festival. I hope she behaves herself and woos someone into wanting to adopt her.

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Our Baby Alex

Thank you Dana.

Random thoughts

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I took Sam on his very first trip to the library yesterday. He loved it not for the wide assortment of books available (in fact, I got in trouble because there were no Arthur books available), but for the puzzles and toys in the kids area and the giant fake tree with a spiral staircase inside that leads up to the kids loft area. He made my heart smile when he put his foot on the first step up, looked at me standing outside the door, and said, "I don't want to go up." I assured him I would be right behind him and he said, "ok...great!"

Of course, by the end of our hour-long visit, he had not picked out a single book (I picked out six books for him) and he was yelling, "I want to go NOW!" So much for the pre-visit "library whisper voice" lesson.

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The force of gravity is too much today. I feel like my shoes are being sucked into the earth with every step I take. Not really like quicksand, more like I have giant magnets on my feet and they are being attracted to giant magnets underground. Some days I feel myself walking on top of the earth...today I feel like I'm trying to break free from it.

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Why is it that a sting from a yellow jacket, a teeny tiny little insect, hurts like I've just got my leg bashed in with a baseball bat?

Yesterday Sam and I decided to mow the lawn. Sam loves riding on the tractor with anyone who will take him. Something told me to watch out for yellow jacket nests and we narrowly missed one up near the house. Thankfully, Sam had decided to go help his Daddy in the barn and wasn't with me when I rode over one further out in our yard.

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There are people in your life who you would assume would be good friends to you as a grieving parent. Then there are people you assume won't give a sh!t about you in your time of pain. And I have discovered that there is absolutely no way to figure out in advance who will be in either category.

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I have not yet mastered html. So I borrowed a freebie design and tweaked it just a bit with my limited abilities. The old blue just seemed so...stuck in one place. The flowers make me smile a little. So I went with flowers. :o)

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