Almost a year

It's been almost a year now since Sebastian died. I hoped we'd be pregnant again by now, and maybe the pain would not be so intense for the first anniversary. But that's just not happening. I don't know why my body isn't working but that's life. All I know is that I miss him, I miss the life we should have had with him and I'm still trying to live life fully, to honor him. It really does feel like a hole in your heart that never heals.

To sum up what it feels like, I am posting a very personal, awful photo. This picture really represents what every day feels like inside me. The nurse took this picture for Mimi to have of her with SJ. She was kind of baby talking with him and I fell apart. My daughter was in the room at this time and had no clue what was going on. Everyone left right after this because I was so upset.

I'm not sure what else to say but just getting this out of my brain and onto a blog will hopefully lessen some of the intensity of my grief. I can always hope, right?

Tschus.

What I am really.

I love you all for saying how strong I am. I really do. But guess what? I am not strong. I am nothing amazing or extraordinary. I think sometimes people say I'm strong so they don't feel bad when they think about me. "Oh she's been through a lot, but she's strong." No, I'm not. I'm just a mom who lost her baby.

Many times I wish I was dead, in heaven with him. I would never hurt myself. I don't think suicide is an answer to all this, but I do wish at times that I was with him. And his sibling. I do not know what would have happened, had they both lived. But I think about them both every day. And wish I could turn back time. No matter what I did, nothing made a difference in the outcome. I never delivered a healthy baby. And now I have to live with the past, something that I think of every day when I wake up and every day when I go to sleep.

The first two weeks after his death I existed with the help of valium. Now I have xanax during really rough days. Some days, not very often but some, I indulge in alcohol. It seems the best way to get by is by being numb. The number the better. Oh, what a shitty mother I am! What a horrible wife, a terrible person! And why? Because I admit what I am? Admit my weaknesses, my faults? To do something awful in order to get by? So be it. I care not what others think anymore. I just need to get by for now until all that is raw and painful is dull. To be able to continue to fake it until I can make it. To pretend what has happened is not on the edge of every waking moment of every day. Because right now, he is there, in my thoughts, my dreams, my tears, my anger, my frustrations. And trying to be a wife and mother have been the most difficult things I've ever undertaken before. Trying to be something for everyone when I feel less than whole. And to try not resenting those demands.

So here it is, raw and in your face. This is what a family looks like a few hours after giving birth to a still born. The result of learning of the death, going through labor and then the aftermath. This is what loss looks like, what marital strife is, what the ultimate worst nightmare is for parents to experience. I am not strong. I am merely working to continue to exist right now.

Hurt

Here it comes. The GRIEF. The staring into nothingness and the aching, painful feeling that something very important is missing. My baby is missing. My baby died about 6 days before scheduled delivery. My baby is gone.

After my mother died, I carried grief and pain with me for a long time. Almost 30 years, in fact. I just got to the point where I can think of her without feeling that heavy sadness. And then my baby dies and I never knew that there was emotional pain that could hurt so much. I don't know why he died. I do know there is much to get off my chest and it's not all going to be in this post. I can only deal with so much at a time.

The service was nice and brief. It went as well as it could. I tried to hold things together and succeeded, more or less. Now that all the family have left, I am left with the quiet, minus whatever output my toddler throws out. So the grief is rising to the surface and I am trying to let things run its course, but at the same time I am fighting it back because I don't want to feel. I want so badly to not feel anything but I know I have to. So I will deal with it, a little at a time.

This is the poem I wrote for my little baby, whose soul I am sure is safe in Heaven, secure with my mom.

To My Beloved Son

Dear beloved son, Sebastian, I wanted so much to meet you. To watch the unfolding of your magnificent spirit. To see you smile and hear your laughter. To watch you accomplish your dreams. But it was not meant to be in this world.

My heart aches and my spirit broken in pieces. Waves of anger meet in pools of black sorrow, Where I fear I will drown in my grief. Never have I known such soul-wrenching pain.

Why were you taken before your first sweet breath, Never given the chance to exist beyond my body? Small comfort lies in our belief that you are not alone. You are safe, my beloved, and free from pain and sorrows; Warm and happy in my mother's eternal embrace.

It is your survivors who must endure and live fully, in your honor. We will carry on with life, in laughter, tears and love, Taking no one and nothing for granted. Our hearts and spirits forever full of love for you, our beloved boy.

God sent me a turtle

I need to blog more frequently again, so all the intermittent posts aren't so tragic. Another death. Last weekend a friend was out riding her new motorcycle and crashed into a tree. She was my age, 36 years young.

Dianna was so many things: a friend, an animal rescuer and advocate, a gorgeous pinup, a project manager and all around wonderful person. This lady lived. She was always out at the rockabilly shows, always volunteering her time and energy to help pit bulls and other breeds. I don't know why it was her time to go, but I do know there is a huge hole in so many hearts because of her passing. Mine included.

Her death, and the death of my ex, at such a young age is fueling my paranoia about my own mortality. My mom died at 38 and as a kid I was convinced I wouldn't live to 40. Now I'm closing in on 37 and without realizing it, I am becoming more and more fearful of death. I feel like I have to love on my daughter a lot, like my mom did with me, because I could die any day. Now, I know that this is true for everyone. We all will die, someday. But for me, I felt like I could never see myself living to old age, some disease is bound to take me young. I am trying my best to not feel that way, but these passings have rattled me. I keep thinking I'm pissing my life away, taking it easy all day to try to prevent a flare. I feel like life is passing me by. I want people to come to my memorial service someday and say, "She had a zest for life. She did so much, was so happy and loved so many."

The day after I found out about Dianna's death, I took some time to walk the dogs by myself. I needed to be out in the grass and trees. I needed to be in nature. And while I was out, I came across a turtle who was trying to hide itself in our front bushes. We had heard earlier in the day kids gushing about a turtle they found. Well the poor guy must have escaped from the children. Gosh, he was cute. Right away I decided to take that little bugger out to the creek so he could go on living his life. I put him in a box and hopped in the car.

Parking near the drainage creek near our house, I trudged through the dry grass. The ground lined and cracked from drought. When I reached the creek, with box and turtle, I found it completely dry. And where water should have been, trash and detritus littered the area. So I left the car and set off through the grass, following the creek to see if there was some water, some where, dammed up away from the road. I'd seen beaver activity back there on previous walks so I thought it was a possibility. After not finding even a mud puddle, I finally decided to leave him near the creek bed and maybe rain would come soon. As I watched him crawl away from the box, I thought of Dianna. Of course, God would send me an animal to rescue when the pain and sadness of losing this amazing woman was slicing into my heart. All I could think was that God sent me a turtle to tell me it's ok. She's here with Me and she is happy and her love is shining down on all of us. And we should keep living, keep helping, keep rescuing. Because that's what she would want us to do with our lives.

And you know what? The very next day we had rain that didn't stop for a day and a half. See? The turtle is back in his habitat and now he has that water he needs to live. Funny how that all works out.

Thank you God, for the turtle, and for the time I had with my friend. God bless us and Dianna, I'll catch you on the flip side. Tschus.

A chapter closed

A couple of months ago my ex-husband passed away unexpectedly. There were rumors of suicide, accidental death and natural causes. I still do not really know what happened. What I do know is that he was very depressed the day of his death, and he had been drinking heavily.

I went through a gamut of emotions: anger, sadness, grief. I am mostly worried for my step-daughter. I don't want her to be in pain, but I know she is. How could she not be? Her dad was only 38, the same age my mother was when she passed. It's coincidences like this that confirm my beliefs that my marriage to him was never meant to be, but we were brought together so that I could be in his daughter's life. If I could, I would move her in this house right now but she needs to be where she is now. And her mother loves her very much, of that I am sure.

As part of my struggle to come to terms with my feelings in this and what happened, I wanted to know who he had been after our divorce. It appeared to me that he became a whole different person. No longer a country western type of guy, he now had numerous facial piercings, a mohawk and dyed hair. He was into punk music and roller derby. In fact, it seems his roller derby friends became a family to him. I reached out to a couple of them, hoping someone would talk to me about his last year but I was ignored. Had he mentioned my name to them and said such awful things that no one wanted anything to do with me? Or had they just simply not wanted to respond to anyone? I have no idea. I still feel some weird need to understand who he was, but it is fading. I just see all these references to how he was a great father and a gentle soul, etc. I can't help but think back on my 7.5 years with him and remember he started out that way, but as his depression worsened, he became volatile, angry, sullen and withdrawn. His interpersonal relationships were damaged at every job he had too. I remember explosive arguments, with objects violently thrown around and walls hit. And in the years after our split, he had trouble with the law and relinquished custody of his child. And this is Dr. Awesomesauce, as he was known? I never could completely forgive him for all of that. I had nightmares for years after I left. Certainly no one but he and I, and his daughter, knew how bad it could get. Not at all awesome, in my eyes.

But there were some good times, I must admit. He was extremely intelligent. He never forgot one thing he read. He was never satisfied buying something when he thought he could make it himself. He taught me to cook too. He was very good at making things from scratch and often spent hours canning vegetables, making sauces and salsas, breads, and other foods. He could be generous with his time and would help his friends with various projects.

I was terrified of him. And now that is over. I don't have to be afraid ever again. I can still be sad he's gone though. I'm sad the man I cared for is gone and that his daughter has to go through life without her father to guide her. My heart breaks for her and I wish I could take that pain away. But it's time for that chapter of my life to close and for wounds to finally heal. Such is life.