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.

First Dream

So I had my first "dead baby" dream last night. I was holding an infant, but couldn't see its face. I had it semi-wrapped in a blanket and I was just going about my business, like usual. I suddenly realized in my dream that the baby's feet were not wearing socks or shoes and that they were very cold. I became concerned, wondering how I could have brought my baby out not properly dressed. Then I noticed the feet were purplish and very, very cold. I couldn't warm them up. I woke up and moments later my daughter screamed. She too had a bad dream. I rushed in and soothed her until she was ready to go to sleep again. It took me a long time to fall asleep afterwards.

I read in some blogs and such that these dreams are common and I am sure I will have them for a lifetime. Bad moments like this follow you into your dreams. It's weird where and when a bad moment will strike. I was struggling on the elliptical today, watching one of my favorite war movies on the Ipad when a bad moment hit. There was a part where some Nazis were executed, pistol to the head. And it sickened me in a way it hadn't previously. Their deaths so quick and flippant. I thought, how many dead people have I see in my life? Well there was my grandma's funeral, my aunt's ex-husband's funeral and then the funeral of my grandmother-in-law, all open caskets. All were embalmed and they felt like a statue and looked like wax. But my son. My dead son. He was never warm to my touch, not waxy or stiff. His little body was limp in my arms and every time I shifted him around, his head would lop this way or that. So, so cold.

My dead son.

Unless you've been through it, you can't begin to understand. He was a sick baby, strong in my womb but unable to sustain life. That he died somewhere safe and warm is merciful. But the pain I feel at not having him here, having a post-pregnant body to look at in the mirror every day but no baby in the crib, is excruciating. I will never be the same person again because of this. No better, maybe no worse, but different. This is by far, the worst thing I have experienced, and if you know me, I've experienced enough to last a lifetime. Right now I am waiting and waiting for autopsy results. I have to know WHY. Tentative information points to a possible inherited gene, something for which we all must be tested. I need to get past this part and maybe I can have more closure.

I don't know what else to say right now. I hope the xanax kicks in soon. I feel like my heart could explode with all the emotions I feel. I don't want to feel anymore.