When I was in my late teens, early twenties, I had several epiphanies. Each time I had one, I thought that it was THE ONE. The one where I had everything figured out. That was until I had THE ONE at age 28. Or so I believe...
Given this history, how do I know that I'm "working through" all of this pain. Maybe I just "think" that I'm dealing with things and really I'm not. Maybe I've fooled e.v.e.r.y.o.n.e.
The best part is, n.o. o.n.e in the entire world knows what I'm supposed to feel... except me. And I don't even know.
Time for another epiphany, unless the last one was THE ONE. If so, I'm fucked.
Thursday, 28 April 2011
Tuesday, 26 April 2011
Random Thoughts with Thanks
I'm not a really touchie-feelie kind of gal. I don't have a lot of people that I would call a close friend. Of the few I do have (thankfully, my husband is one of them), I can share my deepest darkest secrets. Thoughts that I won't even share with myself (if that makes sense).
I get such relief... release from writing out my feelings AND sharing them. Once I speak or write them to another person, they become real. I was a bit worried about sharing my "is their humor in my loss" post but I thought, what's the worst that can happen? A troll comes along and tells me I'm a bad mother. That I didn't love my child. I know it's not true so I went and published it. I'm glad I did (thanks for reading and commenting).
Today I took the kids to playgroup. I met a support worker who came to talk to us about Aspergers/Autism. Sidenote: This was really interesting because the reason why I did some research last week, hence my latest Big Daddy reference was because there was a boy there that was different, unfortunately his mother wasn't there today. Anyways, I got talking to the support worker about adoption (her sister gave up a child), my brother (who is special in his own right) and loss, Alexander.
She asked me if I thought of him often, how I was handling things and if I had any support.
Support I told her was abundant. She was very surprised. She wanted to know how I found all of you. I couldn't really put my finger on how I found the first of "you" but I told her that once you find one, you find so many more...
Back to my last post. I knew that I could post it because I knew that none of you would judge me. You might not understand or share my feelings but you understand that we all think different things; sometimes "horrible" things and it doesn't make us bad people and/or mothers, it makes us human.
Thank you.
I get such relief... release from writing out my feelings AND sharing them. Once I speak or write them to another person, they become real. I was a bit worried about sharing my "is their humor in my loss" post but I thought, what's the worst that can happen? A troll comes along and tells me I'm a bad mother. That I didn't love my child. I know it's not true so I went and published it. I'm glad I did (thanks for reading and commenting).
Today I took the kids to playgroup. I met a support worker who came to talk to us about Aspergers/Autism. Sidenote: This was really interesting because the reason why I did some research last week, hence my latest Big Daddy reference was because there was a boy there that was different, unfortunately his mother wasn't there today. Anyways, I got talking to the support worker about adoption (her sister gave up a child), my brother (who is special in his own right) and loss, Alexander.
She asked me if I thought of him often, how I was handling things and if I had any support.
Support I told her was abundant. She was very surprised. She wanted to know how I found all of you. I couldn't really put my finger on how I found the first of "you" but I told her that once you find one, you find so many more...
Back to my last post. I knew that I could post it because I knew that none of you would judge me. You might not understand or share my feelings but you understand that we all think different things; sometimes "horrible" things and it doesn't make us bad people and/or mothers, it makes us human.
Thank you.
Sunday, 24 April 2011
Humor in My Loss?
Have you ever seen a car go by (say a green honda) and you think to yourself, “that reminds me, I need to get my teeth cleaned”. Two totally unrelated events/items yet somehow connected (or not). This kind of happened to me today (or not…).
I ended up on Big Daddy Autism and he got me to thinking… is there any humor in my loss?
Shortly after Alexander passed away, I was holding him up to my face and making him do “Chubby Bunny” (where you squeeze their cheeks together and make them say “chubby bunny”, with older kids you make them eat a bunch of marshmallows, hoping they don’t choke and then get them to say “chubby bunny”, anyways…). My husband and I were laughing. We took pictures. I remember (at the time) thinking that just because he was dead was no reason to treat him any differently than my other children. I might have regrets about other missed opportunities, but I have no regrets about that moment. Remembering makes me smile.
After that, I was stumped. No more humor in my loss.
Then I got thinking, what about hypothetical, future “humorous” stories that will no longer be? Like, “one less kid to kick out of the house”, if Alexander was anything like me (although I know that he was more like his father), this would have been a potential reality. Or, “one less person to borrow the car”. I could make a ton of jokes about him costing us less money. Not that any of that matters or is even funny. However, if Alexander had lived, it might have been “funny” and I don’t want to treat him any differently.
Thursday, 21 April 2011
All That I Do Have
So I've been writing this post (in my head) for a couple of days now. Not sure exactly what I was trying to say or even how to say it until I got the call...
After losing Alexander, I rejected or was rejected by a fair amount of people. I won't go into details, I'm sure that you know what I'm talking about.
One of the people that I rejected was a friend of over 20 years. We'd grown apart over the years, literally and figuratively. She sent me an email a while ago wondering when was a good time to call. I meant to send her an email back saying something like "now wasn't a good time, really busy, I'd get back to her". But I didn't, so she called.
She is a good person. The only reason why we've stayed in touch over the years is because she has put 110% into the relationship. The problem is that she didn't say any of the right things after Alexander died (still doesn't) and for whatever reason, I didn't/couldn't tell her so. Which is weird because I can tell the person in the checkout line that I've never met but not her. She also told people about us losing Alexander even though she knew that it was private information. I don't really trust her anymore.
So back to the phone call. She said all the same things like she always does. But this time I wondered if she was right.
I spend an awful lot of time thinking about Alexander and what should have, could have, would have been. Am I focusing too much on what I don't have and not enough on what I do have?
After losing Alexander, I rejected or was rejected by a fair amount of people. I won't go into details, I'm sure that you know what I'm talking about.
One of the people that I rejected was a friend of over 20 years. We'd grown apart over the years, literally and figuratively. She sent me an email a while ago wondering when was a good time to call. I meant to send her an email back saying something like "now wasn't a good time, really busy, I'd get back to her". But I didn't, so she called.
She is a good person. The only reason why we've stayed in touch over the years is because she has put 110% into the relationship. The problem is that she didn't say any of the right things after Alexander died (still doesn't) and for whatever reason, I didn't/couldn't tell her so. Which is weird because I can tell the person in the checkout line that I've never met but not her. She also told people about us losing Alexander even though she knew that it was private information. I don't really trust her anymore.
So back to the phone call. She said all the same things like she always does. But this time I wondered if she was right.
I spend an awful lot of time thinking about Alexander and what should have, could have, would have been. Am I focusing too much on what I don't have and not enough on what I do have?
Tuesday, 19 April 2011
No Rainbow After This Storm
I don't remember much during or after Alexander's death but I do remember one thing; I wanted another child... a rainbow (at the time, I didn't know that it was called a "rainbow baby", why would I?).
Within minutes of saying good-bye, the thought overwhelmed me. My arms were empty, I wanted to fill them. I realized then, as I do now that, it wasn't so much that I wanted another child (although I did), it was that I wanted him, my dear Alexander...
We have decided not to have anymore children. I use the term "we" but in reality it's my husband that's decided. If we hadn't lost Alexander, I "think" (it's hard to know for sure) that I would have been fine with that. It's hard to raise kids. You don't know how hard until they're here and by then it's too late to send them back. And, they take so much time and energy. Both of which I don't seem to have enough of (now love, the cup runneth over).
A part of me feels that if I had a rainbow it would make something "good" come out of losing Alexander. I'd be able to say "well we wouldn't have Jimmy if Alexander was here". People always tell me that it helps.
Not that I'd have a child just to make me avoid this pain. Creating life and raising a child is so much more than that but I'd be interested in entertaining the thought...
So, does having a rainbow help with weathering the storm?
Within minutes of saying good-bye, the thought overwhelmed me. My arms were empty, I wanted to fill them. I realized then, as I do now that, it wasn't so much that I wanted another child (although I did), it was that I wanted him, my dear Alexander...
We have decided not to have anymore children. I use the term "we" but in reality it's my husband that's decided. If we hadn't lost Alexander, I "think" (it's hard to know for sure) that I would have been fine with that. It's hard to raise kids. You don't know how hard until they're here and by then it's too late to send them back. And, they take so much time and energy. Both of which I don't seem to have enough of (now love, the cup runneth over).
A part of me feels that if I had a rainbow it would make something "good" come out of losing Alexander. I'd be able to say "well we wouldn't have Jimmy if Alexander was here". People always tell me that it helps.
Not that I'd have a child just to make me avoid this pain. Creating life and raising a child is so much more than that but I'd be interested in entertaining the thought...
So, does having a rainbow help with weathering the storm?
Monday, 18 April 2011
More Questions Than Answers
Since Alexander passed, I've been spending a fair amount of time searching for, finding and reading other BLM's blogs.
How is it that I find (at least five) new BLM blogs every.single.day, yet I don't know anyone in real life whose ever lost a child? If I do (which is likely, statistically speaking), why don't they talk about it?
Technically, I know two woman IRL who have lost children (friends of my mothers). However, one of these women has passed away (so now her daughter, who I'm not that close with knows of loss) and the other one has never talked about her loss (over three decades ago).
Why don't they talk about their loss? Don't they know that their silence makes me feel alone? Doesn't it make them feel better to talk about their lost loved one?
Assuming they do want to talk about them, do they really care about what people think so much that they don't talk about them? Is there some other reason for their silence that I'm missing?
I've recently read some posts where the mothers talk about being a "broken record" and saying the same thing over and over again. I can relate to this. I am a broken record. I don't care because it makes me feel better about saying it. Doesn't it make them feel better? Maybe it did and they don't need to talk about it anymore?
Do you ever notice that when cancer is mentioned, the person lowers their voice. Like they don't want anyone to hear for fear that it (the cancer) is contagious or some kind of a stigma. Is that the way people feel about child loss?
Why do we know so little about loss (present company included) when all of us die? ALL OF US.
Just wondering.
How is it that I find (at least five) new BLM blogs every.single.day, yet I don't know anyone in real life whose ever lost a child? If I do (which is likely, statistically speaking), why don't they talk about it?
Technically, I know two woman IRL who have lost children (friends of my mothers). However, one of these women has passed away (so now her daughter, who I'm not that close with knows of loss) and the other one has never talked about her loss (over three decades ago).
Why don't they talk about their loss? Don't they know that their silence makes me feel alone? Doesn't it make them feel better to talk about their lost loved one?
Assuming they do want to talk about them, do they really care about what people think so much that they don't talk about them? Is there some other reason for their silence that I'm missing?
I've recently read some posts where the mothers talk about being a "broken record" and saying the same thing over and over again. I can relate to this. I am a broken record. I don't care because it makes me feel better about saying it. Doesn't it make them feel better? Maybe it did and they don't need to talk about it anymore?
Do you ever notice that when cancer is mentioned, the person lowers their voice. Like they don't want anyone to hear for fear that it (the cancer) is contagious or some kind of a stigma. Is that the way people feel about child loss?
Why do we know so little about loss (present company included) when all of us die? ALL OF US.
Just wondering.
Saturday, 16 April 2011
I Feel Like a Bad Mother
I read the stories of other BLM's and they talk about how strong their child was and how hard they fought.
Since Alexander passed I've been so mad at him (amongst other feelings). Mad that he didn't make it, that he didn't fight hard enough. Disappointed as my child should have lived, should have beaten that which killed him.
What mother thinks that about their child?
I know what my therapist would say; "If he were here, you wouldn't like what he did all the time and might even be disappointed in him sometime(s). Why is it any different now that he's gone?".
I wish that I wasn't mad at him. So sad for myself. I should be sad for him. All that he lost...
I feel like a bad mother.
Since Alexander passed I've been so mad at him (amongst other feelings). Mad that he didn't make it, that he didn't fight hard enough. Disappointed as my child should have lived, should have beaten that which killed him.
What mother thinks that about their child?
I know what my therapist would say; "If he were here, you wouldn't like what he did all the time and might even be disappointed in him sometime(s). Why is it any different now that he's gone?".
I wish that I wasn't mad at him. So sad for myself. I should be sad for him. All that he lost...
I feel like a bad mother.
Friday, 15 April 2011
Fuck You Mom
I have a love/hate relationship with my mother. She thinks it's love, I think it's hate. I've tried a couple of times to let her in on the "hate" side of things but she'll hear nothing of it. We are close, like blood sisters close. Speaking of which, did you ever do that with your friends, prick your finger and exchange blood. Probably not a good idea anymore...
Back to the purpose of this post. So I have another blog, I have other kids. I use the other blog to update my family on how things are going with my "other life" (the one where I don't talk about Alexander and am happy all the time).
I added a "blog list" to my blog so that I could easily view other BLM's blogs (there's probably tons of other ways to do this but I'm not very technically minded). I get an email from my mother telling me that the blogs are "depressing" and "not appropriate" for my blog.
Three words for you... Fuck You Mom.
I didn't even waste my time informing her that maybe she could learn something from these blogs. Or better yet, suggest that if she didn't like what she saw, not to click on the fucking links. What an idiot. Thank god I'm adopted.
P.S. I feel so refreshed. I should have started this "other" blog a long time ago.
Back to the purpose of this post. So I have another blog, I have other kids. I use the other blog to update my family on how things are going with my "other life" (the one where I don't talk about Alexander and am happy all the time).
I added a "blog list" to my blog so that I could easily view other BLM's blogs (there's probably tons of other ways to do this but I'm not very technically minded). I get an email from my mother telling me that the blogs are "depressing" and "not appropriate" for my blog.
Three words for you... Fuck You Mom.
I didn't even waste my time informing her that maybe she could learn something from these blogs. Or better yet, suggest that if she didn't like what she saw, not to click on the fucking links. What an idiot. Thank god I'm adopted.
P.S. I feel so refreshed. I should have started this "other" blog a long time ago.
Thursday, 14 April 2011
A Bit of History
I got married.
We are infertile.
I got pregnant.
Alexander was born.
Alexander died.
This is my journey to living life without my dear Alexander.
We are infertile.
I got pregnant.
Alexander was born.
Alexander died.
This is my journey to living life without my dear Alexander.
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