This Is What Crazy Looks Like

Can you sense it?  Do you feel it?  Can you see its creepy little eyeballs peering over the edge of my wall of gratitude?  Yep, there it is…CRAZY rearing its ugly head again.  I want to give you a little insight into my mind these days, but let me warn you, it is not a pretty place.  Oh, there are still fabulous flowers of hope springing up all over the place but tangled up in their stems are my vines of crazy.  And what do we know about vines?  Well, they try to take over if we let them.  Most of these fears come in forms of what I should and shouldn’t do while being pregnant, you know being vigilant in assuring that I am doing all that I can to protect this tiny life growing inside me.  Trying desperately to prove that I know how to do this, to prove that I am a good mother, to show the world that if I follow all the right rules (see there I go again), I can really make this happen.  (Can you see the crazy surfacing already?)

First of all, I do all of the things that are blatantly obvious, things that even men know about being pregnant: no drugs, no smoking, no drinking, and no caffeine.  Got it covered.  And just to be extra safe, I started practicing these safety precautions during the “2 week wait” (of course some much earlier than that), before we even knew we were pregnant.  See, I had a drink during that time period with our last pregnancy and a little voice in the back of my mind has always wondered.  You might notice a trend, a little voice in my head wonders things unsolved quite frequently. 

Then there are the things that may not be as well known, but most pregnant women become aware of pretty quickly.  Like things you should and shouldn’t eat.  Did you know you that food like soft cheeses, unpasteurized products, hot dogs and lunch meats are now off the table?  There’s this evil called Listeria bacteria that might not make you feel sick but can attack the baby (or something like that).  A hidden demon of sorts.  Being a vegetarian, I’ve got the hot dogs and lunch meat thing covered, but the definition of “soft cheeses” often leaves me wondering?  What’s safe and what’s not?  I feel like I almost need to own a cheese dictionary because I usually have no idea which cheese is safe and which cheese is lethal.  What if I unknowingly eat the wrong one?  Seriously, we’re talking about cheese here people.  I like cheese.  And, I think I had a salad with goat cheese on it weeks before I had and lost Wyatt, but the doctors say no relationship, but I say how do you rule it out?  If it’s a rule that we aren’t supposed to eat it, it’s obviously been documented to have hurt someone’s baby, why not mine?  Unsolved wondering.  So I figure if cheese isn’t safe, then hell, what is?  So, I have rationalized to myself that I should not indulge in some other things.  I’m pretty sure there is little documentation to support my withholdings in any way, but just to be crazy safe, I’m keeping them out of my mouth…  Things like herbal tea (I’m sure I read somewhere that some kind of leaves could cause miscarriage), honey (well, if you’re not supposed to give it to a child under 1, then doesn’t that include my baby?), tofu (some well intended friend just happened to mention to me, one week after my recent loss, that “studies show” that tofu can contribute to infertility or miscarriage or being crazy).  And there are other things that make me worry: food poisoning, E. Coli, undercooked food, overcooked food….seriously, how can I stay sane?  Ugh, I’m almost determined not to eat anything at all.  But of course, I would worry about that too, see, I purposely only gained a couple of pounds with this past pregnancy/loss (reminder, it was only 12 weeks)and my madness slightly wonders about that as well.  It’s really a no win situation in the food and drink department.  And if you think I’m joking about this stuff, well, these are seriously the things that keep me up at night.  I make myself completely nuts just thinking about all the things that could go wrong, things that I need to do right, the “what ifs” that might contribute to another baby being snatched away from me in an instant.  The wonderings of what I could have or should have done differently. 

Next.  Toxoplasmosis.  Seriously, I don’t even know how I know or remember these things.  I haven’t looked at a pregnancy book for this kind of information since I was pregnant with Wyatt (for reasons that should be quite obvious by now).  I refuse to Google anything these days because I’m afraid what I would find would just feed into my crazy a little bit more (as if).  So anyway, I call this one the “cat poo disease”.  I don’t know much more about it, but from what I remember, if you exposure yourself to cat feces, you could be putting your baby in grave danger.  But I don’t have a cat, you say?  Correct.  But my neighbors have decided that it would be a good idea to have 20 or so “outside” cats just roaming around, and where do they hang out?  On my porch, in my yard and in my flower beds.  So I refuse to garden, weed or hang out in my yard much at all.  This does not bode well for my landscaping or for my husband’s growing lists of things he now has to do because of what’s lurking in my tainted brain.  Sorry hubs, I’m sure the risks are low, but my mind is on any risk alert right now and all are code red as far as I’m concerned. 

Oh, and you should have seen me when I was sick.  I just had a cold, of course it began within days of finding out I was pregnant.  First of all, just being sick makes me crazy.  I had a low fever the last two weeks of my pregnancy with Wyatt.  More wondering.  And, I also refuse to take any medication whatsoever, even if it is deemed “safe”, because what you think is safe now, may not be safe later.  Take Paxil for example, have you seen the class action lawsuits on the telly these days?  Well in one of my early crazy episodes when pregnant with Abs, it was recommended that maybe I needed to take Paxil (super crazy girl).  Of course I refused, knowing that it would only increase my insanity with all the wondering that I do, but it was thought to be safe at the time.  Not so much now.  And then there is even something as benign as Tylenol.  We all know that’s safe in pregnancy.  Hmm, well the last time I asked a doc about it, I heard something come out of her mouth to the tune of “renal failure”, and I’m sure something else followed regarding large doses or some other unlikely condition, but all I needed was to hear was the word “failure” and I was done.  Pray for no headaches because this mad girl is pain killer deficient.  And then there’s the added story about how I went to the pharmacy during this same illness because my eyes were red, watery and irritated.  I went to all the trouble to ask the pharmacist what was safest, I purchased it, came home and left it in the box unopened.  Still.  I mean he said this was probably the “safest”, but he never really said it was “safe”.  Bye-bye eye drops, crazy beat you to the punch. 

And then there are other things that are simply ridiculous that cross my mind anyway.  Can I cook my baby if my shower is too hot?  What about standing too close to the stove when I’m cooking?  When do I need to start sleeping on my left side?  Oh, crap, what if I roll over in my sleep?  I avoid putting my cell phone in my lap, because you know those memes that went around about the cell phones blowing things up when a call came through.  And there’s also the microwave, my lap top, hell, is there something toxic the toaster can emit?  Pesticides, weed killers, household cleaners…keep them away!  Please say you didn’t use any when I came to your house today.  And then Rob just told me something about sunscreen, some recent report.  Sigh.  Add it to the list.  And this is me.  Day in and day out.  I think these thoughts and so much more.  This is just a small window into what my brain mutates into potential toxins these days, a very small window into the things that make me loco just trying to navigate through my daily life.  And I am aware of the notion that it’s very likely that absolutely none of these things ever did or ever will matter.  I am aware, but I can’t let them go.  Because no one can tell me what did matter.  So I’m left to my own devices, I’m left with the wonderings of a madwoman. 

A small part of my brain realizes that most of these things are not rational, most of these thoughts do not make any sense, but in some (crazy) way, I’m pretty certain I need these thoughts.  I’m pretty sure that on some level these thoughts actually serve to keep me sane.  They provide me with some sort of way to feel like I am in control.  They make me think that there is something I might be able to do to control things this time, when I’m pretty sure deep down I know there is very little I am really in control of at all.  But I like to be in control, I need to be in control, I have to be in control, at least in control of something.  So if this is what it takes for me to feel empowered, to feel like I have some say in the outcome of this pregnancy, if this crazy is what I need to survive, then I say bring it on.  (But in small doses please).  I’m sure some of it will wear off as I settle into all this a little bit more.  I’m hoping I soon realize how unnecessary most of my mental tanglings of crazy conditions truly are.  But until then, I guess I am thankful for having something to give me the power that my mind craves to convince itself that I can protect this baby in ways I couldn’t protect some others.  So I will try to ward off the crazy with all my might, but please be understanding that there are just some things that are worth holding onto, rational or not.  Some things I just need to do, to control my life in ways that I’m aware are really uncontrollable.  Some things that truly bring me a little peace of mind and a small amount of sanity in a truly crazy tangled mess of hopeful flowers and fearful vines that is now my current life.  I hope it stays that way.  The alternative condition is what I truly fear the most, it’s how crazy came to grow its vines in my mind in the first place. 

**Disclaimer:  If you are pregnant and reading my blog (first of all, bless you, you brave soul), please consult a physician before feeding into any of my crazy rantings and beliefs, I am certainly no expert in any of these things mentioned above!

Breaking Rules

I try to keep this secret hidden, it’s not something I’m incredibly proud of, but those that know me best know this:  I am a rule follower.  Now don’t get me wrong, I am not always a “color in the lines” kind of a girl, but when it comes to specific rules in discrete forms, I tend to adhere.   If you’ve ever played a board game with me, you understand completely.  I’m known as the “game nazi” around my household.  Hey, there are instructions in that box and they are meant to be followed.  Even when playing games with my little one, if a question arises, I am the first to pull out the instructions and tell all who are not following the rules all of their wrong-doings.  It’s a curse, I admit.  I have also been that person who will not take food into a movie, bring an outside drink into a restaurant, or use the bathroom at McDonalds without buying something, you know, because you’re not “supposed” to do that.  It’s against the “rules”.  I am also a bit neurotic about going to new places that have particular routines, such as the gym or oil changing venues, because I am afraid that if I am not following the rules correctly, someone might indict me.  Seriously, I avoid new oil changes because I never know when I get there if they want me to park my car or pull into the garage, wait in my car or get out, pay now or pay later, get the air filter or wait until next time…  Seriously, will someone please tell me what the rules are and I will be sure to abide!  I told you, a rule following neurotic mess. Yep, that’s me. So when it comes to the game of pregnancy, it should be obvious that I want to follow right along.  So, what are the rules and how do I play?

The first rule that you quickly get initiated in with is the “12 week rule”.  So, you pee on that stick, get that double line positive result, hug your spouse, and then stare at each other.  What do we do now?  You are experiencing some of the best emotions ever: excitement, elation, joy, happiness….and what do the rules of our society tell you to do with that?  Stifle it.  Keep it to yourself.  Don’t tell anyone.  It’s not safe.  Guard it with your life.  And what does this message tell us?  Your happiness is not guaranteed.  Keep your secret, because what if something happened?  So we begin our pregnancies in fear.  Fear that something dreadful could happen in a time that should only be joyous.  And I understand why we do this (to an extent), I know the statistics, hell, I have lived the stats and kicked their ass (in the wrong direction, of course).  I have been on the bad end of this one, I am well versed and practiced here, and I am going to tell you, not sharing your joy does not protect you.  It does not make things easier, it does not make losing more tolerable.  It hurts like hell no matter who you do and don’t tell.  There is absolutely nothing you can do to afford yourself the protection you so desire.  Your silence is not a premium that you put towards an insurance policy on your heart.  There is a complete false sense of security implied in this rule.  I adhered to this twelve week rule with each pregnancy to some extent, possibly with this most recent pregnancy least of all, and it was still so much more difficult to tell those who didn’t know I was pregnant in the first place about our loss than those that had already been able to celebrate in our earlier joys with us.  And, we all know there is no “in the clear” for me.  When you make it to forty weeks, you pretty much think you’ve sealed the deal.  And when the harsh realization comes that you haven’t, well, the world already knows you’re pregnant, there were no secrets going on there, 50 pounds is hard to hide (ugh, did I really just admit that?).  It wasn’t even an option to grieve alone.  I have no safety zone.  So I say screw the 12 week rule, it’s not for me.  I have come to the decision that I can choose to either celebrate alone and grieve alone or have a collective celebration of sorts and know that you will also be there for me to lean on if botched statistics come to knock on my door once again.  I like knowing that I have a support system, so I choose sharing, I choose not living in fear, I choose not to be guarded and to celebrate unrestrained.  Nothing is ever guaranteed, but this moment is mine. 

So, I’m not sure if I need to spell it all out for you or not, I am kind of hoping that you’ve figured this one out.  But maybe you’re just skimming and looking for the important points, so I’ll come right out and say it.  Heck, I’ll even highlight it for you.  I’m pregnant.  Very freshly and very newly pregnant.  Five weeks to be exact.  I have been anticipating this moment for the past three months.  Wondering when it was going to happen again (and sometimes if) and how I was going to feel.  I speculated that this moment would bring a plethora of emotions including joy, excitement, fear, sadness, resentment, or even anger.  But I will tell you, what I am feeling today more than anything else is intense amounts of gratitude.  I am most especially grateful that I am even able to have the opportunity to have this experience again.  I have no idea what the outcome will be, but I have been given the opportunity to find out.  And of course, there is some fear under the surface, that keeps trying to pop its ugly face up whenever it can, but I keep pounding on its head in some sort of whack-a-mole style, determined to keep that fear from taking over just yet.  I am going to enjoy my state of gratitude.  This moment is worthy of appreciating, devoid of nasty fear, even if it’s only for a minute. 

There is really only one reason in which I considered displaying some restraint.  I know there are women out there who have been through experiences similar to mine and women out there whose stories are different than mine, but difficult nonetheless, who might be turning to these pages in hopes of finding something to relate to.  I am afraid that my pregnancy announcement could become someone else’s pain. (If you don’t know what I am talking about, revisit this post .)  I don’t want my discussions of my joy and gratitude to be sources of heartache for someone else.  And I have considered this exhaustively.  But as I reflect on how I felt about our first loss, when I was left completely empty-handed, at that time, I needed to know that someone who had been through an experience such as mine could have a happy ending.  I needed to know that there was a possibility of a subsequent pregnancy, that another baby could and would happen, that I wasn’t broken forever.  I needed HOPE, desperately.  And I’m not saying that this pregnancy is going to be that for anyone.  I don’t know that this pregnancy is going to have a happy ending.  I don’t have a clue about the outcome.  But what I do know is that I need hope.  I need to do what is essential for me so that I can find the courage to reach for that hope, hold on as tight as I can, and be grateful that hope exists in the first place.  And in some strange way, sharing this news with you today brings me a handful of hope in and of itself.  By being excited and elated and unrestrained in my current joy and being able to share that with you, I find much needed hope and courage.  I have no idea what tomorrow holds, but today I can be happy, I can be joyful, I can be grateful.  And today, I will do just that. 

So fasten up, I have no idea what this ride is going to be like.  It could be a very sad and short journey or it could be an exhausting course of approximately 9 (long) months.  But either way, I have to take you with me.  I will continue to talk about my challenges throughout my journey, the difficulties I have found in loving and losing, and I will begin to talk about the challenges that lie ahead with considerations of a new life growing inside of me.  And I know I will get some scrutiny for this act of anarchy, this not playing by the rules.  It won’t be blatant or entirely obvious, but I will see in some of your responses the judgment on my sharing.  I will see in some of your eyes the fear you hold for me by my early telling.  Some of you will insist I shouldn’t break the rules, that I should protect myself, protect my family (I will not tell Abigail right now, just FYI, I might just be able to protect her this time), guard myself from the potential of heartache.  But I know these things are impossible, and let’s be honest, I haven’t actually been playing by the rules too much lately anyway.   Sometimes rules are meant to be broken, right?  Especially once you realize those rules just simply weren’t made for you.  It’s time I custom design my own set of rules in this pregnancy game.  It’s time I begin playing this game on my own terms.  It’s time for me to gear up and realize rule breaking might just help me beat this demon I’m playing against.  Ah…. it looks as if I’m finding my fight again.  Game on.

No Regrets, No Apologies

It doesn't interest me what you do for a living.

I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream

of meeting your heart's longing.

It doesn't interest me how old you are.  I want to

know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your

dream, for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your

moon.  I want to know if you have touched the center of your

own sorrow, if you have been opened by life's betrayals or have

become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain.  I want

to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without

moving to hide it or fade it or fix it….

-Oriah Mountain Dreamer
(Click here for full version of this poem)

Last week’s post was a tough one for me.  I was in a place where I needed to write, I needed to get all of my thoughts out of my head and out of my heart.  I had to have a release of some sort or I thought I might just crack or spontaneously combust or apparate to another place altogether.  So I wrote, and I wrote much differently than usual, I wrote without much thought, I wrote and just let the words flow from my heart onto these pages.  But then when I was done, I hesitated.  It was darker than most.  It was possible that it would not be well received.  It was likely that others would judge the place where I was, judge my dwelling, misinterpret my intentions and meanings.  I considered and reconsidered and then remembered why I started this blog in the first place.  It is for me.  It is my space to be who I need to be and when I need to be it.  Of course, I am glad that you are reading, without any audience at all, I would just be writing a journal.  I know I want more than that, but at the end of the day, it really doesn’t matter if I have one reader or 100 readers, this space is here so that I can do what I need to do and do it in the way that I need to do it. Not in the way that you need me to do it.  So I posted.  I posted my heavy heart and my dark spirit, I posted my angst, my pain, my fears and challenges.  I posted little hope or inspiration or any semblance of fight.  And after a dark week of internal struggles and after putting my heart on the line and posting what I needed to put out there, my heart finally began to feel a little lighter.  The heavy weight seemed to lift a bit, almost right after I hit the “publish” button.  And I know I’ve said before that I need you to know how I am feeling, but I should reiterate, I need you to know all of it.  I’m aware that I have talked about my pain before, I have told you of my heartaches, but I have yet to tell you of my difficulties without letting you see the window of hopefulness into my soul.  And, I’ll have to say, most days that window is wide open.  But I also have days that are so much heavier than others, days when I can’t seem to find that hope, no matter where I look, days when I just can’t seem to give my soul the pep talk that it needs.  I think it’s important for you to know that this side exists too and not every day is the same.  This is not a linear progression, it is a scrambled, messed up configuration of emotions, that are often unpredictable at best.  And although I think I might have caught a hint of pity or judgment (neither of which I desire) in a response or two, I have no regrets of posting it and will offer no apologies.  It was where I was and it is who I am.  I have chosen to be an open book, I have decided to put it all out there, and I will remain true to myself and my feelings at all times.  I owe it to myself.  I am worthy of that.  I can “sit with my pain, without moving to hide it or fade it or fix it”.   I found that poem when I was in grad school about 11 years ago.  During this present week and thinking about my last post, many lines of this poem kept popping into my head.  So I pulled it off the shelf and reread it.  I thought a lot about this poem back in the day, gave it to many as gifts, but now, rereading it again, it brings new and enlightened meaning to my heart. 

I know that some of my thoughts may be difficult to relate to and could possibly be challenging to understand.  Especially if you have never experienced a loss such as mine.  Or even if you have, our losses might be similar but our experiences with them could be very different.  But let me try to at least attempt to explain how our first loss affected me.  A year and a half before Wyatt was removed from my world, my dad died.  It was sudden, unexpected and intensely painful.  I defined that day when I got that dreaded phone call as “the worst day of my life”.   I was only able to use that term to describe that event for exactly 1 year, 6 months and 29 days.  Something far more painful was on the horizon.  There was no way in that moment of losing my dad though that I thought there could be anything more painful.  I loved my dad like any daughter loved her dad and then some.  We had established a relationship in my adult years that was incredibly fulfilling.  I had so many memories and experiences with him that were so fond, I found it incredibly difficult to let him go.  I hurt so deeply.  In those moments of grieving my dad, I would have never imagined that losing a baby who I had never “met”, who I had never hugged or kissed, a baby I had never played patty-cake or peek-a-boo with, a baby who I had not had the opportunity to form any memories around except for the nine months of nurturing him inside me….I never, ever in my wildest dreams, thought that losing a newborn baby would hurt more than losing my father.  Never would have thought it.  Never.  Ever.  So when the pain started rolling in on this newly defined “worst day of my life”, when in an instant my newborn son was now my newfound angel in the sky, not only was I experiencing shock, pain, heartache, and grief, but I was also experiencing a heart breaking and gut wrenching surprise.  How could this hurt so much?  How could this be so painful?  I’m not sure I will ever be able to answer the hows or the whys, but I do know it was brutal beyond words.  And although I have lived through this and have often felt I have “moved on”, this pain will always lie in my heart somewhere, and some days it sneaks back up on me and punches me in the gut.  It just hurts.  Bad.

But I guess I feel like there are a few things I still need to explain.  Some things that I want you to know.  I don’t want you to look at these as justifications or apologies of any sorts.  I just need to be sure there is some sense of understanding of who and how I am.  First, I don’t dwell.  I live.  I live every day with a piece of my heart broken that can never be fixed, no matter how many babies that survive enter my world.  Abigail did not replace Wyatt in any way shape or form.  She was a blessing, a true blessing that I am grateful for every day, a blessing that I know just how lucky I am to be able to hold onto with each passing day.  I know of this fortune, I am acutely aware of this fact.  Acutely.  But she was a different experience for us than Wyatt, she is a different child, she is her own being.  She was not a do-over and having her did not fix everything and did not make my pain go away.  She brought joy, incredible amounts of joy, but don’t think that joy makes my heart heal in an instant because it doesn’t.  That joy and that pain often sit right beside each other and battle on who gets to play each day.  Thankfully joy is often the winner, thankfully joy seems much more powerful than the pain, thankfully joy shows up at all. Thankfully.  I also hope you understand that despite some of the pain that I express, I enjoy and appreciate Abigail to the fullest.  If there is anywhere in my life where I am fully present, it is with her.  I will never ever take her for granted.  She makes my heart soar and can lift my spirits with only her smile.  She doesn’t know about my dark days, at least I try to shield her from as much as I can.  She knows of our losses, but I try to expose her to all of the goodness that is in our lives, so she knows of those things more frequently.  The light from her sheer presence most definitely wards off much of the darkness, and I appreciate that light more than you know.  I appreciate my life as it is, it is good, and I am grateful.  But I will not apologize for grieving the things that have been taken from me or for wanting the things that others seem to so easily acquire.  I will not apologize for these things or feel shame in holding onto them.  I most definitely have no regrets in offering my story to you on these pages, no matter how much darkness or light they reflect.   I also hope you know how incredibly grateful I am, however, in your willingness to read, your desires to return, and your abilities to lift me up out of the darkness when I need it the most.   I am truly touched and grateful for you.  So thank you for tolerating the dark from time to time, I am truly hopeful that much more light is soon to follow. 

Celebration Anticipation

I’m not sure that I have too much to say this week.  It’s been a rough seven days.  The worst part about it is that I am not even entirely sure why I have been moping about.  I’m not exactly sure what it is that is bringing me so far down.  Except for the obvious of course and maybe that’s all that it is.  Maybe it’s that I spend so much of my energy going about my daily life pretending that everything is okay, pretending that I haven’t been broken, pretending that I was never pregnant just a short time ago.  Pretending that I haven’t been robbed of planning for the birth of a baby in just 3 short months.  Ugh.  So, maybe that’s it.  Maybe my mind and my body are so exhausted from all these charades that they just can’t keep up with the game anymore.  Maybe my core and my shell altogether have conspired to just shut down entirely.  Maybe I need to stop and just let these tears that I have been fighting all week just flow out of me.  Maybe I should let myself be a puddle on your floor, let myself be vulnerable, allow myself my grief.  Maybe I shouldn’t hide, only letting my true self surface once a week, here in this safe space.  Maybe I should scream and yell and swear no matter where I am.  But don’t worry, I won’t.  For some reason, I need you to think I’m okay (but I’m not).  I don’t want you to worry about me (but I do).  The reality is, I truly want to be normal (but I can’t).  And this really sucks.  I want to be able to go about my day without this dark cloud looming overhead.  I want to be able to participate in the day-to-day happenings in life with joy and exuberance, I want to have uncontained excitement, I want to enjoy the fullest experiences I can.  And I try.  I do these things, I partake, I participate, I attempt, I attend, but I’m finding that my heart is only half-engaged in most of my endeavors and my mask is in full force when I appear to be fully present.   And if you think the day-to-day is hard, wait until you get to the holidays and celebrations.  Just you wait.

And so it will go this Mother’s Day.  There will be celebrations to participate in, honorings to engage in, people to dote on.  I will make my appearances, I will do my duties, and I will disguise my pain as I have done in years past so I am not the one responsible for ruining someone else’s celebration.   If you aren’t aware, holidays and celebrations are by far the worst days for those who have loved and lost.  Well, at least that’s been my experience anyway.  But there are certain holidays that turn the knife in your gut a little more than others.  Mother’s Day is one of those for me.  And I know I have a lot to be grateful for on this Mother’s Day.  I have a kind, caring, giving mother to celebrate who is thankfully still an amazing part of my life.  I have the best daughter a mom could ask for, who is compassionate, loving, and wise beyond her years, who will celebrate my mommy-ness with me.  But I am also presented with the complexity of playing a dual role on this day.  Mommy of the living and mommy of the dead.  Brutally honest, I know, but just a reminder, this is my reality.  Hopefully you only have to read about it.  I know I have so much joy to celebrate, but a certain darkness haunts me from one holiday to the next and this one is no exception.  I have a son who should have been present for the past five Mother’s Days, but instead I have spent them grieving his loss.  I carry him with me in my heart every day, but there are certain times when the reminders of his absence in my life are way too present.  He should be here celebrating with us, drawing me a picture, making me a card, planting me a flower, whatever it is that five year olds do to celebrate their mommies on this day.  And now I carry a new burden with me this Mother’s Day.  My heart also knows that I would have or should have been anticipating and celebrating a new chapter of mommyhood.  This Mother’s Day, I would have been 6 months pregnant.  I would have had a full-on baby bulge.  This baby would be kicking and moving about and I would be fully aware and basking in the thought that I would be a mommy once again very soon.  The gifts I received would have been from Abigail and Baby.  We would already know the gender of this bundle of joy.  We probably would already have a name picked out.  There are so many would haves and should haves that make my heart ache.  And I realize that I am spending a lot of time dwelling on the would haves and should haves instead of the indeed do haves, but damn it, I’ve been here before.  I’ve paid these dues already.  I’ve mailed in the check.  Can the collectors please stop harassing me?  I demand to have more to celebrate than I have to grieve, more alive babies than dead.  Hell, at this point, I’d be happy to break even.  And I know it’s all about perspective sometimes, but right now, I obviously have only one.  And here I sit with it, as it spews its ugliness into my soul. 

Most of my blog posts recently seem to end with some sort of hope or inspirational message.  I’m not sure I can do that for you today.  My heart’s just not in it and I’ve promised myself that in this space I will be true to who I am and how I am in the moment.  So I’m not feeling it today.  I’m not feeling my fight or my hope or my spirit.   Instead I feel pain, I feel heartache, I feel the grief of it all.  I’m feeling a huge amount of anxious anticipation for the celebrations that are quickly appearing on the horizon.  I’m anticipating the loneliness I will feel in my urges to engage in an anti-celebration of sorts.  So maybe my message for you today is simply to be aware that celebrations are difficult for some of us whose dreams have been broken, dreams that we may have had for a lifetime, that have been ripped away from us in an instant.  Be aware that although I may be smiling on the outside during this day of honoring, my heart may be breaking on the inside.  Part of this brokenness may be because I know what I have lost and know that I can never have it back.  Part of this brokenness is feeling incomplete, a part of me is gone forever.   But part of this brokenness is because I feel I have failed as a mother and wasn’t able to provide the care for my babies that they needed.  I wasn’t able to protect them and keep them safe.  And this is Mother’s day and maybe I don’t feel like I have always been able to adequately fulfill all my motherly duties and maybe this is why this day hurts most of all.  Just maybe.  And I know these are not fully rational thoughts, but there are days when the darkness plays gatekeeper and fends off all of the rationale from entering my heart in any way, shape or form.  I’m having one of those days.  So if you know someone who has been down a similar path, someone who has traveled a journey similar to mine, please be sure they do not feel alone this Mother’s day.  They may be having one of those days too.  Do something special for them so that they know they are valued and thought of during this day of honoring and recognition.  Make sure they know that tangibility is not a defining factor in being a mom.  Make sure they know that a mom is defined by the experience of love:  by knowing love in its truest form, by loving that baby, that child, that gift, even if that little one’s only living space is now in her heart.  Be sure you remember these moms who have loved and have lost, whether it has been through miscarriage, pregnancy loss, neonatal loss or a child loss of any kind.  Be sure you extend them a kind gesture of some sort, a phone call, an email, just an “I’m thinking about you” on this day that might be hard to celebrate, a day that may be very hard to swallow.  There’s a very good possibility that uncovering their holiday charade may be very well appreciated, and although it most definitely will not fix everything, it may be enough to at least mend a small piece of the brokenness, at least in the moment of this celebration.  It may be enough to elicit a fleeting smile that isn’t forced after all.