Ten years

It is impossible to describe what it is like to live ten years with a broken heart. Patched and sewn together pieces that never really quite fit back together the way they should. 

How can the feeling of him be so far away while the pain of losing him still hurts so much? 

Alex would be ten if he had lived. Ten. So many things we've missed...so many more we will miss.

The idea that this will go on for the rest of my life makes me feel sick to my stomach. 

School starts

First and seventh grades. I love them so much...and yet there are these missing pieces.

I read this article this morning and it describes perfectly what I'm feeling.

• He’s been gone far too long to stay in the present.
• It hurts that an entire school day will happen today without anyone realizing someone was missing.
• I have two other children of my own. I get it. I really do. But I want to scream to these parents– YOU ARE SO LUCKY!!!!! YOU ARE SO BLESSED TO SEND YOUR CHILD OFF TO SCHOOL. YOU ARE SO BLESSED TO WATCH YOUR CHILD GROW ANOTHER YEAR OLDER!!!!

Put simply, my babies are still dead and I still miss them every day.

But I'm not allowed to say that anymore. My "loss" isn't as enormous as some. Yet it is more than "normal" people want to hear about. So there is nobody to talk to about how much this hurts.

Second and third grade classes will go on today without Alex and Travis. My husband will work at home with no four-year-old baby to interrupt his work. Their names won't be included in any attendance roll call. Nobody will mention their names today.

Here's to another school year.

Socially unacceptable

Eight years later, I'm still the woman who wants to stand on the conference room table and stomp my feet and scream at people, "My babies are DEAD! Stop bickering about NONSENSE!"

Alex Gerard - 8

A good day seven years in the making

Today I choose to celebrate...
...the husband who lets the dogs out every morning so I don't have to roll out of our nice warm bed
...the sunshine
...the little arms that hugged me tight and wished me a good day
...the perfect cup of coffee
...the pink tractor contest (known only to me and Sam)
...the free evening to "do something fun"
...the mystery of my Mother's Day gift
...the mortgage is paid
...the professional satisfaction of a job well done
...the chance of maybe getting the lawn mowed this week (it's scary out there)
...the freaks/pets and their never-ending devotion
...the love of my parents
...the happy memories
...the kindness of my friends
...the good things that come out of bad things
...the noise and dirt and chaos
...the dreams

So I take a deep breath and take another step forward. I no longer wish for what might have been. I no longer search for answers. Instead, I look around me and just feel.

I choose...

...love...

...and peace.

"I am thankful for small mercies. I compared notes with one of my friends who expect everything of the universe, and is disappointed when anything is less than the best, and I found that I begin at the other extreme, expecting nothing, and am always full of thanks for moderate good...If we will take the good we find...we shall have heaping measures." ---Ralph Waldo Emerson

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.

Decorating the xmas tree

Sam: Myles, do you know that you have two other brothers?

Myles: No.

Sam: Do you wanna know their names?

Myles: Yes.

Sam: Alex and Travis.

Myles: Alex and Travis.

Sam: Yep...but they died.

Myles: [blank stare]

Sometimes I don't know whether to cry or laugh.

I cried

It was over on Sunday, April 11th. Nearly two weeks later...it was a Friday...I cried. No, I sobbed. I picked an argument with my husband, he left the room, and I laid down on the bed and my body shook with the sobbing. And I haven't cried since.

Until today.

I don't know why today. But today is apparently the day.

A friend came for a visit a couple weeks ago and suggested maybe I am depressed because I'm like that commercial ("Do you find you have to wind yourself up just to get out of bed?"). And I said no as I mentally ticked it off...May...June...July...August. It's been four months. I was feeling better by four months with Alex.

Alex.

Here come the tears.

Alex.

It seems a million years ago I held sweet baby Alex. I say his name and it seems so un-freaking-believable...like it happened to someone else and was just some horrible story I heard once. But my arms still ache to hold him. I can't deny it. I miss my baby boy.

But I can't talk about it either. I'm supposed to have had my cry and moved on by now. If someone were to walk into my office right this moment, what would I tell them is wrong? Why am I crying?

I don't even know anymore.

Am I depressed? Maybe. Or maybe today is just a day for crying.

I wonder

From An Exact Replica of a Figment of My Imagination...

"When I've thought of Claudelle since Pudding's death, it's been with sympathy: she must feel terrible. I've never wandered further down that road, wondered whether she feels cupable, whether she worries that she's the villain in our version of the story. I've never wondered whether it's terrible that we simply diappeared--because we did disappear, soon enough after that day we erased ourselves from that part of the world as completely as we could--or a relief. Maybe it's a relief. Maybe every day we stayed gone was a relief to her. Or maybe it was just one of those sad things that happens when you're in the mostly joyful business of childbirth, and she never thinks of us at all."

I wonder if she thinks of us...the doctor who was so dismissive when I was sick during my pregnancy with Alex. The doctor who did no testing to see if Baby Alex was doing ok. The doctor who was so sure gestational diabetes had something to do with his death. The doctor who lied to me about his cause of death (over the phone)and would've let me believe that lie forever had I not asked for a copy of the autopsy report.

I wonder if we ever cross her mind at all.

And if we do...I wonder what that's like for her.

I hope she knows we hate her...even if we never said it directly to her.

Alex Gerard

She's lost her mind

I'm doing something my mother doesn't really approve of. But I've waited a reasonable amount of time to make sure I'm not making a spur-of-the-moment decision and, even though I'm nervous, I think I'm ready.

I'm getting a tattoo. Friday.

Now here's my dilemma...the design. Here are my options at this point...
I won't tell you which is my favorite because I want an impartial opinion from the internets. So...which do you like?

They can all be altered, so feel free to make suggestions. I want it to be pretty small...but not tiny. Maybe two or three inches across at the biggest point. I also want to work in the colors of the boys' birthstones (or rather, birthstones for Sam & Myles, and what-should-have-been-birthstones for Alex and Travis...so May, June, September, and November).

I toyed with the idea of a celtic heart, but I used that on Alex's headstone and...well...I'm not sure I want the same thing on my person. I want a visible reminder...just not such an in-my-face one, ya know?

I've been thinking about this for, literally, years now. I can't believe it's finally time to do it.

Alex Gerard

Mother's Day memories

I'm trying very hard to hold on here.

But I remember that Mother's Day four years ago so clearly. Mama Roberto's Italian Restaurant. The pink t-shirt I was wearing. Excusing myself from dinner to go stand outside because I started coughing and couldn't stop. Is that when it happened? Or did he die while I was enjoying my chicken parmigiana? I still can't set foot in that place...and I doubt I ever will be able to again.

I want so much to replay the happy times. But the happy times seem so far away and fuzzy around the edges. Like a dream that you know was good...but you just can't remember the details.

The details of the bad, however, are crystal clear. Why is that?

I look at my beautiful boys here with me and I try not to think of that other life...the one we could have had. It's just too painful. Because the razor sharp images of all that went wrong spring to the front and center and demand attention...when all I really want is one or two good memories of what was right. Like the thought of Mama Roberto's, the details only seem to bring guilt and sadness and unanswered questions. It was a lovely lunch. But unless I concentrate really really hard, that is not what I recall.

I know I'm not supposed to wallow. I KNOW. But Baby Alex brought such happiness to my life once upon a time that I can't help but want to feel a slight glimmer of that again. That's not to say I'm not happy now in my life. I mean, look at my boys...of COURSE I'm happy. It's just a different happy. It's the happy that came AFTER. I just really really really miss the happy that came BEFORE.

I'm rambling. And I apologize for it. There are just so many thoughts and feelings that bleed into one another during these few days each May that I can't compartmentalize...can't quite make sense of. Mother's Day is it's own special hell each year. Smiles and brunch and homemade gifts from smiling children I adore alongside trips to the flower shop and cemetery to visit dead children I long for. How did this become my life? I still can't quite believe it...can't wrap my mind around the horror of everything that happened to us. I see us on that Mother's Day in my memory and I want to scream at us. I'm not sure what I would say, though, because it's all so complicated now.

Yes, I would love to find the uncomplicated happiness that came BEFORE. But that will never happen. There will always be a footnote to explain that I was happy "even though"...or I was happy "despite."

So I'll never go to Mama Roberto's again. I'll miss it, but I think I can be ok with that. In fact, looking at my little family, I'm sure I can be happy with that.

Thank you Carly

My heartfelt thanks to Carly at To Write Their Names in the Sand for the beautiful images she makes available (see my sidebar).

I should have expected this

Myles turns one year old next Thursday and I've got all the hallmark mommy sentimentality to spew forth in the next few days as I rightly should. What I didn't expect...what I'm kicking myself for not anticipating...is the resurgence of grief that comes with these milestones.

I'm fairly used to the every day stuff by now...the smiles where I wonder if his brothers would have looked like him...the screech that I don't wish too hard would stop...the packing away of now-outgrown clothes that were actually purchased for another child. Those moments are like tiny little arrows that prick at calloused skin but don't puncture through (anymore). But as the major milestones happen, like first birthdays, it's like somebody is taking a pick axe to my heart.

I read this over at Glow in the Woods...and I was shocked to find myself at peace with the knowledge that someone gets it.
There are days that are darker than others. I want to call the office and be free to say, “Sorry, but I just can’t do it. It’s all meaningless don’t you see, because today I’ll be useless to anyone but her. She’s dead and I can’t bear to wash my hair and I really just need to stay at home to be with her.” I start to cry in the shower and hate the world for expecting me to stop and get on with it. The only her left for me to be with is not one anyone else understands.

The thing is, I know I'm not alone. But as time moves on and life drags me forward, I FEEL alone. I feel as though I'm supposed to hide Alex and Travis away in a closet and not let their absence affect my every day life. I'm not supposed to spend time with them. I'm supposed to be grateful for what I have, not mourn what I've lost.

But these days...these days that hurt so much I want to howl in pain again...these days still come around. And I know it's no coincidence that they come around gleefully dancing hand-in-hand with the happy days. First birthday happiness? Meet my partner, glaring emptiness and sadness. I can't have one without the other. Not anymore. Probably never again.

Of course I know it's normal deadbabymama stuff...routine for those who travel in these circles...and I should have planned for it because I really really really don't want it to ruin the day. I need to focus on the living. Even when I hear the dead calling me to spend time with them.

Punched in the gut

Alex & Sam
The Art of Giving

After all this time, seeing those two names together just makes my heart ache.

I am thankful

Tash wrote a great entry over at Glow in the Woods and she asked

In retrospect, comparatively speaking (or perhaps not at all), are you at all, remotely, even a teeny bit thankful for anything that happened surrounding the death of your baby/-ies? And believe me, it's fine if you say "No. Not a fucking thing. Are you crazy?"

This is a subject I've been thinking about lately.

I AM thankful but I just haven't been able to say it.

The words are stuck in my throat like a big piece of soggy half-chewed bread and I just can not choke them out. I tried once or twice to no avail...ripping up multiple thank you cards...deleting more than one thank you email...nearly hyperventilating at the thought of saying thank you in person.

I can't get over the tail end of the thank you...Thank you for (insert kindness here) after my baby died.

I can't help but feel like I shouldn't HAVE TO be thankful and therefore I resent that I AM thankful. Everytime I think about being thankful to anyone, I can't help but finish it with, "But I hate it...every bit of it." It doesn't make sense outside of my head, I'm sure.

Lately, though, it has felt like now is the time to let the qualifiers go and just be thankful. So let's see what I can do here...

I am thankful for my husband for a million different reasons.

I am thankful that my pregnancies with both boys were easy (some might say perfect). I am thankful for the time I got to know and share space with them.

I am thankful for the nurses who talked with us and not AT us. They made us feel normal when this big horrible abnormal thing was happening to us. I am thankful they took the time to anticipate that we would want footprints and photographs.

I am thankful that giving birth to Alex and Travis did not require surgery. It was hard enough leaving the hospital without my babies. I do not think I could have survived if I had to recover from a c-section as well.

I am thankful for the doctor who delivered Travis and his understanding that I could not cope with milk production. I do not remember the name of the drug, but it is my opinion that it should be prescribed to every loss mama.

I am thankful for the funeral director and his assistant (whose son's name is Alex) for their kindness. I am thankful they gave me a lock of Alex's hair to keep and placed a few treasured possessions from his family with him.

I am thankful for my family who stood by me and offered me their love, knowing I wasn't capable of returning it at the time. They loved me when I was at my worst and I know my worst was pretty bad. I am thankful they remembered who I was and saw me through to who I am.

I am thankful for those who stood beside us as we buried our sweet baby boys.

I am thankful for our friends in real life and online who called or emailed or sent us snail mail. They surrounded us with love and support and kind words. We weren't nice to be around and yet they remained tenacious in their belief that we were worth it.

I am thankful for my job and my many volunteer distractions. It kept my mind from sinking into the deepest darkest pit that ever existed for me.

I am thankful for the answers as to the biologic reasons Alex and Travis died. They are scary and horrible and bring a lot of complicated guilt feelings with them. But having these answers is better than only having questions for the rest of my life.

I am thankful for a beautiful cemetery where I can go and experience peaceful moments thinking of our boys.

I am thankful Alex isn't alone.

I am thankful for my new perspective. Before this happened, I tended to think in terms of black and white...right and wrong...cause and effect. This has taught me that I don't have all the answers and I shouldn't be so quick to judge. It has softened me and made me a more empathetic human being.

I am thankful that I live in a place where this will most likely be the worst thing to ever happen to me.

I am thankful for Dr. A. and his kindness all last year while I was pregnant again.

I am thankful that this wasn't the end. I am thankful for our sweet Myles.

Gotta be some kind of record

Two days at daycare and the littlest one brought home the creeping crud. Snot and vomit for a week from him...now he's feeling better and Steve and I are sick. Fun stuff. (H...I'm just going to apologize in advance if any of you gets sick. I really thought he was over it and since we hadn't gotten sick, I figured we weren't contagious. I was wrong. I'm so so sorry.)

But on a positive note...Myles is seven months old (can you believe that?) and weighs 19 lbs, 1 oz. He is 27.5 inches tall. He had NO problems adapting to daycare and seems generally happy.

We took both boys to get studio photos taken and ended up spending A LOT of money. We couldn't help ourselves. We've waited SO LONG to have photos of our children together. Not that Sam's solo photos aren't gorgeous. But the cutesy "Brothers from the start, Friends to the end" that was printed on one of the portraits means something entirely different to me.

One of the things that caused me an enormous amount of pain in the days after Alex died was hearing friends talk about the interaction of their living children with each other. Such a joy to see how they love each other. So thrilling to see them interacting with one another. So painful to know how my boys were cheated.

To some extent, I still have "ghost child" issues when I see young siblings together. Sometimes the anger bubbles up. Sometimes it's just a sad smile that crosses my lips when I think of what was lost.

I long to see my boys TOGETHER...a wish that can never really come true.

I only had to excuse myself from the portrait studio once to wipe the tears from my eyes.

Back to the future

This place has become awkward for me and I've been trying to pinpoint why. Yes, there is the standard, "If Alex had lived, Myles wouldn't be here," issue to deal with. But I expected that. I didn't expect these other complicated thoughts to create such a block that seem to make it impossible to write at all. I've given it a lot of thought and I have come up with three reasons I'm having difficulty here in this space...

1. I am suffering from some strange sort of survivor's guilt. It feels foreign to be happy and it feels even more foreign to express that I'm happy. But next to the happiness is the fear...sitting quietly in the wings waiting to take center stage. I keep waiting...for those familiar grief feelings to drop on me like a lead balloon...squashing me into oblivion.

I'm also ever-aware of what it's like to NOT be happy and how my happiness might unintentionally cause someone reading this blog additional pain. I haven't been entirely truthful here. I DO write for me, but I also DO censor myself quite a bit to save myself any additional drama that might be created by my being completely honest. Now is no different. I COULD wax poetic about life now...about the healing that Myles has brought to my life...but it seems redundant and unnecessarily hurtful to some of my dearest blogosphere friends.

2. It seems somehow wrong to use this place to talk about Myles...as if I'm treading on holy ground and/or disrespecting the memories of Alex and Travis by using this place to talk about the little brother they never got to meet. This also ties in to #3.

3. "I hate to say it, but if Alex had lived, I'm not sure how we would have managed (financially)." This simple truth makes me feel sick. I do not want to ever find a silver lining. I do not ever want to feel even the tiniest bit of relief that my child died. But I do and I am not emotionally equipped to process this, let alone the feeling of happiness I feel when I look at Myles.

It's like a ball of yarn that gets tangled. I know it's all one piece and all I have to do is unravel it in order to be able to use it to create something beautiful...but I just can't unwork the knots.

So I'm not sure where this leaves me as far as this blog goes. I'm not sure if the emotional baggage in this place will allow me room to say what I want to say. But I am also not sure I want to let a little bit of complicated emotional untangling to run me off of a place I've felt so at home for so long. This place was home before the bad stuff and I'd like it to remain home now that I'm through the bad stuff (knock on wood). But I worry that it's like my colleague and I were talking about earlier...once you wear that cute little black dress to a funeral, it ceases being the little black dress and becomes your funeral dress...there is no going back.

So if I'm quiet for a while, just know that I'm working it out in my head. I will let you, dear internets, know where I land.

3 Years

Alex Gerard
5/11/05