IRL

I was talking this weekend with some friends "from the computer" (that one's for Shanna's dad). Truth is, these particular friends...this group of women...saved my life. I don't say that to be melodramatic. I say it because it is the truth. When I felt like I couldn't take one more step, they were there with the words I needed to hear..."It WILL get better. I don't know when or how...but it WILL get better." 

During our conversation, however, I made a mistake. And today, as I was processing it all, I remembered. I remembered how I first came to know this amazing world of the blog people. 

The day I came home from the hospital, I scoured the internet and searched for an answer. Why did this happen to us? to our Baby Alex? And then I found this post. 

"Orson was born in room 15 of MacDonald Women's Hospital, Second floor. Zelda was born in 16. And Calvin in 17. A trifecta." Just a few days after Alex was stillborn in room 17 at MacDonald Women's Hospital...and just four years after Calvin was stillborn in room 17 at MacDonald Women's Hospital...this stranger was welcoming a living son to the world. I greedily soaked up his words and followed the links of the people who commented on his posts. 

I fell down the rabbit hole. 

I was crazed and unkempt...and I didn't care. 

The people I encountered as a result of my rabid googling could have turned me away. But they didn't. 

And once a year, round about this time, I feel like I should thank them for that...thank YOU for everything. 

So...

Thank you to all the people who have come out of my computer and made such a difference in my life. I love you and I can never ever ever repay you for all that you have done for me.

Well, that was a fun few days.

It's "easier" than it used to be. But it ain't easy. There are moments when I literally wish April 8 - May 11 could simply be erased from the calendar.

Come on summertime! I am SO ready!

I couldn't even come up with a title for this post because I don't even know how to mark these entries anymore. Verbal diarrhea post #967572?

I took a pinwheel to the other two at the cemetery. I hadn't been for a long time before my friend lost her baby. Now I want to go every day. But I know it's not good for me.

I wandered over to her baby's grave. Rainwater beaded on the outside of a pack of baseball cards left for him. Indians Opening Day saw the longest game in opening day history. Seemingly appropriate for a dad missing his baby boy...his toddler...his big boy...his elementary schooler...his teenager...

I still have a brick filled with baby ashes sitting on a shelf.

Nobody else remembered April 8th...

...except me.

But, hey, at least it's "easier" now.

Little Bug - 3

Springtime voices

I'm revisiting this place because a good friend lost her baby. I'm revisiting this place because it is spring and I feel the oncoming freight train of the might-have-been's and what-actually-happened's headed straight for me. I'm revisiting this place because I read this entry by Bon and this entry by Julia and I realized I need to revisit this place to sort it all out.

For a while, I felt like I needed to be quiet...to sort things out in my head. But the truth is, it's not getting sorted out in my head. Babies die. Loved, wanted, precious babies. And friends speak the words you yourself spoke a million years ago. And all I can do is cry and shake my head yes...YES...THAT IS EXACTLY IT!

There has always been power here. Almost a magic. Found in not being alone. In speaking out loud all those things that run through my mind when I am alone (or standing in the middle of a crowd and simply FEELING alone). 

WHY?!?! 

I remember sitting there in the springtime sunshine yelling up at the bluest of skies. So many times I visited that place and asked...begged...

WHY?!?!

At first I strained to hear some message of love...some kindness passed through the universe to soothe my broken heart. And then I was there a year later and "F*** you...you don't get an answer," was what I heard in the silence. 

But these other voices came to me. These voices from amazing women who didn't know me...but recognized the pain. They didn't answer why. They showed me that it didn't really matter why. That I had strength in me I had no idea I had. That there is beauty in the pain. And that friendship can grow in the midst of the worst pain imaginable.

So now I will go to that place again for another funeral service for another loved baby boy named John Edmund. And I will mourn for all my friend has lost...and all that she doesn't yet realize she has lost. I will remember that raw pain and hold her up like you all did for me when I was too weak to hold myself up. I will offer my voice in the silence and hope that it soothes and strengthens. 

Because I know she will ask why.

And I know she won't get an answer.

Catching up

Happy Halloween!Happy Thanksgiving!
Merry Christmas!
Happy Hanukkah!
Happy New Year!

Oh my goodness...LOTS to catch up on!

And lots to look forward to!

In fifteen days I will be FORTY YEARS OLD!

I could wax poetic about my thirties...a decade of the highest highs and lowest lows I have experienced in my life so far. But...well...I am not interested in rehashing all that junk.

A photographer I follow (stalk) on facebook posted this the other day..."A year from now you will have wished you started today. What goals are you pursuing today?" So that's what I'm doing. Instead of focusing on all the things that could possibly stand in my way, I am doing anything and everything I can to just make life work. I can't control it all...but that doesn't mean I can't use my energy to try to make things happen...to squeeze out some bit of happiness from the here and now.

Uh Oh...I think I'm waxing poetic...

I'm really excited to be taking positive steps toward becoming a real-life photographer. I've been researching and reading and looking all around for inspiration. And now I'm actually doing it. I have clients...who want ME. It is truly exciting. And I am loving every minute of it.

Christmas is...

My dad has this album on vinyl. I remember every year we would play that thing on his turntable, the scratches and bumps coming through the stereo speakers along with Frank and Tony. It wasn't Christmas until that album was played.

But I wonder...

Putting up OUR tree is a nightmare of spilled ornament hooks, insane cats climbing the tree, and me yelling, "I just want ONE NORMAL PICTURE," as my two boys wrestle each other in the glow of the tree lights. Nobody listens and the music we turned-on-in-order-to-be-festive gets turned off because I can not deal with ANYMORE NOISE. Definitely not the warm and cozy holiday memories of my childhood.

Was I delusional? Have I supplanted real memories with invented ones I've seen/heard somewhere else (most likely television)? (Is supplant even the right word?)

Sure, we have our moments. We snuggle as a family and watch How the Grinch Stole Christmas...until Myles decides he NEEDS to whack his brother in the face with his dirty underwear.

Steve and I laugh at their silliness as they shovel the quarter inch of snow (that lasted one day before melting in what seems to be the never-ending rain of 2011)...until they start to use their shovels as light sabers and we have to take them away.

Christmas cards don't get sent out on time (New Year's cards, anyone?).

Fresh baked cookies come courtesy of the Pillsbury Dough Boy and last about ten seconds.

And the stockings...will be hung probably just in time for Santa to fill them on Christmas Eve.

Myles asked me why the Grinch was mean in the beginning. I have no idea. I have clearly missed a step somewhere in this whole Christmas thing.

Christmas is...different from how I remember it.

But that doesn't mean it is bad.

It's a simple rule

Don't tell someone how they SHOULD feel.

Making a difference

I struggle with what to say here when so many people I know are facing serious life issues. All at once, the belly-button gazing that was at one time so fun (and then became therapeutic) all seems silly now.

Cancer, mental illness, death, divorce, grief...if you're lucky only one of these will grab you by the hair and throw you down on the ground and stomp all over you at a time. And, if you're really unlucky, more than one (or the same one multiple times) will gang up and beat the living snot out of you until you have no choice but to surrender and ride it out until whatever happens...happens.

So what can I talk about that makes a bit of difference? Nothing. Today I wrote a shopping list that includes candy corn, light bulbs and paper towels. And it seems that's about all the "important" writing I will do today.

So I will instead encourage my foster dog to be sweet and snuggle...or crochet caps for cancer patients...or make memorial bracelets for deadbabymamas. Something to make me feel like I am making a difference to someone. Something to compensate for the navel gazing done here.

Later, I will eat macaroni and cheese and decorate pumpkins with my children. And hope (however unrealistically) that the bad stuff stays away from them forever.

New Blogger and me

OK...so I wrote a couple posts and thought I had posted them. But I guess Blogger has moved things around and I never actually hit PUBLISH...only SAVE. oops.

I fully intend to write more. I do. I have all these things I want to say that aren't about dead babies. Like how I discovered Sally Hansen nail polish and I LOVE it. Or how local stores no longer carry Jane cosmetics and I can't buy my blush anymore (and how old it makes me feel to realize the last time I bought blush I also bought a pregnancy test). Or how the "feral" foster dog got loose the other day and I thought he'd run away...but he didn't. Or how I'm brainstorming ways to grow a little photography business but I don't have the slightest idea where or how to start. Or how my mom wants to have Thanksgiving at her house...which is great because then I don't have to clean my house...but is bad because then I won't have a reason to clean my house so I probably WON'T clean my house.

Yeah...bet you wish I hadn't figured out that PUBLISH button issue.

Today, tomorrow, and yesterday

Today, my son gave himself a slight concussion in gym class. The school called and I jumped into crisis mode and picked him up and took him to the ER to be checked out. He's fine. He'll probably have a headache for a few days.

Me? I'm usually on a pretty even keel. I haven't been one to fall apart or obsessive protective instincts. I can roll with the punches for the most part.

But I told someone about my dead babies on Friday...someone who didn't know. So maybe that's why today seemed...I don't know...more.

We had to drive past the cemetery on the way to the ER. How's that for a fun train of thought to jump on?

And then I used the restroom in the ER...and washed my hands. And now they smell like that soap. That smell takes me back to May 2006.

I could lose them. I know that intellectually. But today the past collided with the present and future in a VERY sensory way that I am not so sure I'm prepared to cope with.

And now he is downstairs explaining to his little brother how he wound up in the hospital today.

This brother, that brother, all the brothers...

I need to go wash my hands now. Time to put the past back where it belongs and find my balance again.

Somebody pass the wine.

It's not you, it's me

I am hard on people. Too critical. Too demanding. Too negative...no matter how hard I try not to be. This often leads me into uncomfortable situations where my expectations do not match up with someone else's perspective, opinion, or abilities. I fully recognize that I do this. And as I have gotten older I have tried very hard to stop, take a breath, and manage my expectations in order to maintain relationships. My husband will tell you that I'm still not very good at this and I am still WAY too demanding (but that's a whole OTHER story).

I know who I got it from. I know why and how I became this way.This isn't about blame...because in the end, it's like everything else...it's all about how I choose to be.

I recently left the Ashtabula County Animal Protective League, where I was a member of the Board of Directors for 2 1/2 years. I didn't leave because I didn't care about the cause or because there was a lack of work that needed doing (for the love of all that is holy, people, spay/neuter your pets!). I left because of the people...because they didn't respect or like me (and yes, I recognize how absolutely juvenile that sounds).

Oh, they appreciated what I could do FOR them...but there was no feeling for ME as a person. I didn't expect thank you's or awards or anything like that. I only expected that the relationships I had built entitled me to a certain level of respect and kindness. I was apparently very wrong. In the end, I found that those relationships weren't what I thought they were.

So I quit.

I can't tell you how much it pains me to say those two simple words. I quit. I am NOT a quitter. When the going gets rough, I work harder, longer, stronger. I don't quit.

Except this time, I quit.

With a couple months distance, however, I realize that maybe I was deluding myself the entire 2 1/2 years. I was forcing people into roles (in my messed-up brain) that they were never actually in. My participation in the group coincided with much larger events in my life and I think I was trying to find some kind of salve to heal the wounds I was nursing. And if they weren't willing to participate...well...there must be something wrong with THEM...because I am charming and smart and motivate...there couldn't possibly be something wrong with ME.

Are you surprised that I never really had a LARGE circle of friends? I've never had a "best" friend...the kind you call up and talk to for hours about anything and everything...or go out for margaritas with just because you've had a long day and need to laugh and be silly. That's not to say I don't have ANY friends. I have friends that you don't see for years and years...but when you are together it's like you never missed a minute. I have friends in the computer...friends who live all around the world and share this space filled with word and thought as if they are sitting at my kitchen table sharing a cup of coffee.

For a long time I thought I was missing out on the friendship thing. And then I had a family...and then I was swallowed up by a LOT of grief...and my circle got smaller and smaller. To be honest, I much prefer hanging out with my boys talking about Pokemon and ninjas and which is better, McDonalds or Wendys. It's not that I wouldn't enjoy friends, it's just that I don't feel like I NEED them all that much. And even if I did, I don't really have time for them. That's not entirely true...I could make time...I'm just too tired to do it. Let's face it, friends take a lot of work.

And so that's where I failed. That's why I quit. Because ultimately, it felt like too much work to evaluate my relationships and determine which ones were worth trying to salvage and which were beyond repair. It was easier to walk away completely and shrink my circle of friends, yet again, to a comfortable level.

I did, to some extent, secretly hope, "My real friends won't let me walk away." Like some kind of teenager with an irrational crush, I thought, "My real friends will knock on my door or pick up the phone and tell me they love me and ask me what we could do to fix things." And like a teenager with an irrational crush...that just didn't happen. My stupid test of those relationships failed because I wasn't realistic, then or now, about who I am and who my friends are (or should be).

I wonder if I've made a mistake. I HATE being a quitter. But then I feel such relief when someone asks me an APL-related question and I can say, "I'm sorry, I'm not involved with them anymore." And that relief reassures me that I've made a good decision for now.

I clearly need some time to decide who I am...to choose who I want to be and who I want to be friends with. Friendship can't be forced. But it must be nurtured. I suspect there was nothing there to nurture in the first place. But I will always wonder if I was just too hard on them...if I expected too much.

I suppose it doesn't really matter. The end result is the same.

Onward and upward.

The size of your next step doesn't matter as much as the direction.

All kinds of lost

Monday, September 26, 2011

I FINALLY have a use for the phrase, "I lost my child." Because I did...I lost my nine-year-old son. As I stood in my living room quietly freaking out and wondering how to call the school and politely inquire as to whether my child got himself on the bus and got to school, it occurred to me that I can finally say I lost my child...and mean it. HA!

You see, last weekend I injured my foot pretty badly while photographing a wedding. So I was off my foot all last week due to the excruciating pain (not broken, just a bad sprain according to the Urgent Care doc I saw on Wednesday) and Sam rode the school bus. Ah yes, the school bus. Let me digress and tell you about the school bus...

Sam has never ridden the school bus to/from school. We live ten minutes from school and it is on my way to work. The bus ride used to be about 45 minutes. We just decided that it would be better if I drove him and picked him up.

But this year is fourth grade and he wanted to give it a try. Part of it was that some friends of his were going to be transferring from another school in the district to our school. But Sam found out the night before that they weren't, in fact, going to transfer. I was so proud of him for not having a fit...I thought this would be a breeze.

So the first day of school I sent him off on the bus. He changed his mind two or three times waiting for the bus to arrive...before settling on going through with it. I took the obligatory "boarding the bus" photo...and then I followed it (not because I'm crazy, but because, like I said, it is on the way to work). About halfway there, I realized Sam got on the bus without his lunch! oop! So I turned around and hightailed it home so I could catch him and give him his lunch before he de-bussed and went into the school.

I walked up to the side of the bus, looking in the windows for my boy. And when I spotted him, my heart broke into a thousand tiny little pieces. There he was...crying. And not just a little tear down the cheek kind of crying. We're talking snotty sobbing that almost cause vomit.

The bus driver, thinking Sam was upset because he had forgotten his lunch, allowed him off the bus before everyone else and we hugged. I gave him his lunch and he cried and we hugged. And right then I just wanted to roll back the clock to when growing up didn't have so many expectations and my little boy could just BE a little boy.

As the weeks went on, we settled into a routine and he would ride the bus on designated days. It worked. But then I hurt my foot and he had to ride the bus every day...to AND from school. I was SO proud of him when he did it all week without a single complaint. And honestly, after a week of staying home, I was ready when Monday rolled around and I could take him to school and go to work.

I showered and dressed and went downstairs calling out, "OK Sam, ready to go?"

Silence.

"Sam?"

Yep...he went off and got himself on the bus...but didn't say goodbye. But there was that moment of irrational panic. Should I call the school? What if I don't call the school and he's really been kidnapped and I won't find out until AFTER school? I could lose precious time finding my little lost boy if I didn't call and find out for sure! But that's totally insane. Of course he got on the bus and is at school! Nobody could kidnap him at our house without at least one dog barking. Don't be crazy!

I made Steve call.

And now I find it hilariously funny when I say that I lost a child.

It's still here

I stopped writing here in January?!?! Wow!!! It's almost October!!! (Yeah, there are a couple posts that I didn't publish publicly...wanna make something of it?)

But the blog is still here and I feel the need to write again...for lots of reasons (all of which I'm sure I'll get to at some point).

 So here we go...

One year

I remember I HAD to get home. It was an instinctive need to gather up my hard-won little family, take them home, and wrap us all up in fluffy warm blankets. I needed those three other souls next to me. I needed to feel their presence so that I would not feel the absence of others so sharply.

That strategy has worked pretty well for me. Determined not to fall into the same darkness that consumed Sam's third year, I vowed to be present for Myles' third year...Sam's eighth. Despite my record-setting ability to suffer disaster at exactly the right time to ruin birthday celebrations, I committed myself to the HERE...to my boys who deserve more than tears and emptiness.

So here I am. This is better. It's not completely healed...but it IS better.

It still hurts and the temptation is still there to scream about the unfairness of it all. But there is nothing good to come of that...no point to all that wasted effort. It is much better to hold my little family close and celebrate this life...this being alive.

I don't really know what day to observe. The 8th was the day we knew for certain it was over. The 11th is the day my body was finally forced to give up its last deadbaby hostage. Neither is really cause for observance. They're both kind of morbid if you really think about it. And honestly, I have no real interest in either day.

I do miss the dream of the Little Bug...of what might have been. Surely something like this might have destroyed me if there hadn't been little miracles intertwined with the disasters. But I can see now how the miracles have saved me. And so I owe them something more...something better. And that is what I will give them.

So I take out the memory for a brief bit. Dust it off and look at it. And then put it away like a collectible on a shelf for another year. Then I turn out the light, climb in bed, wrap the blankets around the four of us, and vow to keep the true darkness from taking over ever again.

Because of what's coming

I was fine. FINE. We had a little disagreement that was NORMAL. But Steve asked me if I was being a little oversensitive, "...because of the date...because of what's...you know...coming up."

My response? I hadn't even thought of that!

And it's true, I hadn't.

And then I went on a deadbabymama weekend with some of the lovely ladies I'm fortunate enough to call friends as a result of my reproductive disasters. It was a nice weekend despite the fact that I was sick throughout (and am still sick two weeks later). It was good to be in their company. But I was uncomfortable with the emotion of it all and I couldn't admit why.

And now I can't stop thinking about IT.

April and May...filled with dates of horror.

Our baby died a year ago this week.

It seems so long ago...and just yesterday...all at the same time.

This is an amazing post over at Glow in the Woods.

I just really wish I could go back to not thinking about it.

Because I should be writing a baby book

A few weeks ago, Steve decided it was too difficult to put Myles to bed at night because he, having had a two hour nap at daycare, was still wide awake at bedtime. My oh-so-brilliant husband had the idea that it was time to end the daycare nap. He, on his own advice, asked the daycare ladies to try to keep Myles awake during the day. I remained respectfully silent on the issue, since I have generally abdicated all bedtime responsibilities under the guise of being a general distraction to my boys who keeps them up way past their bedtime no matter what tricks I may try. He puts them to bed...he can be in charge.

Ha!

Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha HA HA HA HA!

It lasted three days. Three days of an inconsolable (screaming) three-year-old who was CONVINCED there were spiders and snakes in any darkened room including...you guessed it...the bedroom. Tired? Yes. Overtired to the point of hallucination? You betcha. TRY getting a three-year-old to sleep under those conditions.

Steve BEGGED daycare to reinstitute the daytime nap.

And I giggled.

Why? Goodbye, that's why.

Not supposed to blog while drunk...but I can't help myself.

Why do I have this blog? I have no battles to fight anymore. And that's really what makes a good blog, isn't it? Unless you're reading for some educational value (how to sew, how to scrapbook, how to photograph, etc), it's all about watching someone battle until they are either bloodied or triumphant. Will they or won't they...x...y...z...? Rubber-necking at its finest.

I started this blog to keep in touch with family. Now they're all either dead or so depressed by what I write that they don't read anymore. I was supposed to write about the adventures of our lives with my little family of four. But it wasn't this family of four. I can never escape that. And when I write about it I always wonder what that other life would have looked like...where grandma didn't pay for a headstone for our baby Alex. We wouldn't have known Myles (the Sophie's Choice of it all is so dramatic).

Does that make sense? I don't know...I've had a really big glass of red wine.

So my choices are to (1) smile and make lemonade (in which case I may have to puke at my own positivity); or (2) continue moaning and groaning about what a real mess it all is...this life I'm living (in which case I may have to puke at my own negativity).

I don't particularly like me anymore...in case you didn't notice.

I'm just too tired to write about battles. And I don't believe in fairytale happily ever afters either. Grandma's dead...so what are the rubber neckers looking for here now?

I want to write about the $12 of fabric I bought today that will be a Valentine's photo backdrop for my friend's baby girl (not for my boys because...well...boys don't do Valentine's photos once they learn the word "no")...how I'm going to spend tomorrow cutting out paper hearts to hang (for a DIY feel)...and I really hope they turn out. I have a vision...now I just need to execute it.

But really...I know nobody who is left reading this blog really wants to read about any of that. That might have been good stuff for the original audience of mom, grandmas, and aunts...

But now...?

Now I think it's time to shut this thing down.

To quote my eight-year-old...

Catherine's out...PEACE!

Miscellaneous thoughts

Yep...I'm bringing back miscellaneous thoughts as my weekly post. At the very least, it should inspire me to write SOMETHING.
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We fostered two shepherd mix puppies over the holidays. It was a lot of work, but a lot of fun too. Now that they've both gone to adoptive homes the place has returned to its normal level of crazy...which seems kinda quiet (as I type this I have to take a break to shout downstairs, "NO SMACKING!").
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Click THIS for a freaking brilliant idea!
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A friend from high school updated his Facebook status to say, "SO...How do you tell your six year old that her favorite horse is gone?" I didn't answer. That's progress, right? Incorporating my experiences while maintaining some understanding of what is appropriate to say and what is appropriate to only think? Yay me!
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This is not a food blog...nor is it a gluten free blog...but this...this is so wonderful I had to blog about it. It's a little lumpy-bumpy, but it is DELICIOUS! I can not wait to make a sandwich for lunch tomorrow!

I am committed to eating gluten free. I have discovered that regular bread causes me a LOT of intestinal upset...generally 12 hours after I eat it. And now that I've found the joy of homemade gluten free bread...I am SO happy! Now I just need to learn how to use unmixed flours (save a little money).

I have to send thanks out to my sister and her husband for gifting me the bread machine for Christmas. I LOVE it!
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I got this fancy new laptop from work. It's great...does everything I want it to do and none of the stuff it's supposed to do. Who says government work doesn't pay?
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Started writing this on Monday after the last puppy left. By Friday he was back. We took him to the shelter tonight (Saturday) so that he will get seen by more people. I'm kind of glad...I had a feeling the adoption wasn't "a good fit" when I dropped him off...but I disregarded it because I thought I was just being too picky (guess not). Hopefully he'll find the perfect home now.
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Oh...and that bread I made (also on Monday)...the dogs thought it was YUMMY. So much so that they stole the LOAF off my counter while I was walking the puppy. They left me ONE piece. It was good...very very good...so I will definitely have to make more (and guard it better).
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So this was boring. I need something interesting to write about if this blog has any hopes of surviving.
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Happy New Year

Things were going along JUST fine...gallbladder had calmed down after the holiday gluttony...my house was getting back in order...had sushi with a friend...and then I found myself passed out on the bathroom floor.

Mega-migraine.

After 40+ unconscious hours, I'm up again...

...only to have Steve tell me he had a little accident this morning and messed up the steering on his car.

So far I am not impressed with 2011.

But instead of complaining I'm just going to post a cute picture of our foster puppies...aren't they cute?!?!

2011 Resolutions

I'm not going to go extravagant...because I ALWAYS fail at extravagant resolutions. So I'm going to resolve to make a few simple changes this year...

~eat meals at the dinner table together as a family instead of in front of various televisions

~eat less pre-packaged and fast food and more fresh food prepared at home...try interesting recipes...stay gluten-free

~buy less

~buy local for what we truly NEED

~laugh more...cry and yell less

~say something kind and loving to my husband every day

~devote one weekend day each weekend to doing something with my family

~do something to pamper myself at least once a week (take a bubble bath, simple at-home manicure, wear lipgloss, curl my hair, etc.)

~crochet the Amsterdam Coat for myself

~read the rest of the Harry Potter series (I have been in the middle of book #4 for many years now)

Oh...I suppose I still do have a couple of extravagant resolutions I want to make...

~find sustainable funding sources for the APL

~get treatment for my gallbladder issues

~launch my photography business "for real"

~bury Little Bug

~let "it" go and find happiness by living in the moment with my amazing family

I just need to LIVE a little more...find beauty and peace in this life I have.