How it is

I've avoided saying anything for a while because each start doesn't lead to what I'm trying to say...

after a bottle of wine (wince) what I'm trying to say is this: My sister sent a message on Saturday, after bringing her 1 year old son home from Korea the Wednesday before: the baby won't sleep, but daytimes are fun.  It takes my sister and her husband to keep up with the little boy.  It sounds hard, like a big adjustment for sure, but...

but
but
but what circles through my mind, on a current of wine, is: she brought a baby home from Korea.  How improbable is that?!  My baby boy was tucked safe inside my uterus, he was so very close that I could almost reach him, and he didn't live to come home, yet her son was halfway around the world and he made it home.

I could do it too!  I swear I could take care of a baby and the little one would know they were loved beyond the ends of what they could imagine.

Where is my son?

He is further than Korea.  And I would go any distance to get to him.

I understand that I needed this degree of trauma for my marriage to dissolve - my husband and I were joined so tightly in dysfunction that only a dead child could come between us - and I love my new boyfriend - but sometimes I think that I would sit through a dark hell for ages if only I could be with Toren.  What I would give to know that he is safe, wherever he is.

What I would give to not have time to drink a bottle of wine.  It's not a choice I have, but knowing what I know now about relationships, what would I choose between keeping Toren (and staying with my lying ex - holy shit, I can't stand the thought of him) or finding a healthy, romantic relationship?  It's a good thing that a choice is not an option because I would do anything to avoid the pain of living without my son.  I love my new boyfriend, and I'm so glad to no longer be with my husband, but I would live through anything to know that Toren was safe.  I would forgo personal growth to watch my son grow up.

I imagine this is a tiny glimpse of what other mothers feel when they have a much loved child who never would have been born if the prior one had survived.  I DO NOT WANT TO GIVE BACK MY CURRENT LIFE however, along with that comes a pain that will never end.  This is not a situation where a choice has to be made, but I still feel guilty for not knowing that I would give up my son to have a happily-ever-after with my boyfriend.

Since holding my dead child I think that happily ever after is not an option.

Simultaneously, I am so happy to be here and I hate my life.

Fuck all of the people who said that I was young and would have another baby.  Fuck those who didn't realize that Toren was a precious human being who was unique and could not be replaced.  Fuck those who think that I'm ok while I smile through every day.

At the nail salon tiday I watched, fascinated, as a mother gave her young daughter a choice of nail color then didn't approve of the silver glitter polish her daughter selected.  The mother probably saw me watching and judging her on the color that her daughter picked out, when really I was thinking that I would let my kid (girl or boy) select any color they wanted.

It's been almost 3 years, and this hurts so bad still that I don't understand how I get through each day.

Around this time

You would have turned 2

I still miss you.

............

I'm out of town and this is set up to be posted Sunday morning, on the anniversary of Toren's EDD. On this day I'll be helping a friend move, unpacking the moving truck we packed the day before.

..........

Toren, there is nothing I'd rather be doing more than having a birthday party for you.

I guess the terrible two's would be starting ... naively I think that a toddler asserting himself through tantrums and screams would be preferable to this unending silence.

For the second anniversary of a day when nothing changed, words are hard to capture. I tried for a baby but instead got a broken heart, memory box and an ex-husband. But the all consuming anguish is over. Now it's just day after day of coming closer to understanding with all of my being that Toren is not coming back to me. It still is shocking on some level that the little being that I continue to care so much for could truly be gone. In a soap opera it would turn out that he had actually lived and grown in an incubator after scientists administered an experimental drug that prompted organ development. After enough time grieving, so that I properly learned to love and cherish another human being, he would be given back to me.

Sometimes he feels that close. Tonight he feels very far away though.

........

Sunday morning I will wake up in an unknown place, joke around with my friends, unpack a moving truck, continue to lift furniture and carry boxes well past the point of spinal comfort, say goodbye to someone starting a new phase of her life, and get a ride home. Most likely no one will remember that I almost had a baby at this time two years ago. No one outside of here knows that I might as well spend what could have been Toren's birthday being helpful because there is no reason to stay at home.

.......

He feels so very far away. I wish I were preparing a party with family and friends for my little boy instead of honoring my love for Toren alone with his memory box.



Thank you for recognizing how important this very ordinary day actually is for me. I hope wherever our babies are has vanilla cupcakes for their special days. May they always know how loved they are.

Thought # 1 while driving from the meeting with the guy I'm divorcing.

"He's mine"

The ex is just now starting to deal with Toren's death - he even referred to the baby by his name repeatedly, "Toren". At the time the ex left he did not mention the baby, he didn't want to hear about it, and he certainly didn't say his name.

As requested, I gave him directions to the cemetery and the plot and the place where I keep Toren's things in the communal grave for the ashes of babies. And I told him that I still have the memory box and CD of photos that he can see if he wants to.

Now I'm uncomfortable with the ex visiting Toren's grave. The ex "abandoned" us, he ignored the memory of his son. I feel like he is just MY BABY by now. I don't want to share Toren with his father, even though Toren is only a soul, memory, and ashes.

Weird.

Getting here

For the last week and a half I've been watching my body heal from an unfortunate moment of unbalance that ended with me sprawled on the asphalt.

Healing is not pretty. Exposed, weeping wounds become covered with crusty scabs which protect those tender areas as new skin grows. Over the days bruises dawn and darken and turn sickly colors before fading away. Joints at points of impact stiffen and now I gently try to coax a normal range of movement out of my knee and hand.

Besides keeping the sores clean and preventing infection or further damage, there's not much you can do to speed the process along; healing takes as long as it takes.

.......................

Over the past two years since Toren died did I do enough to prevent "infection"? Did all of that alcohol work as an internal disinfectant? Did my brain shutting off and the mental numbing and the dissociation give my soul space to heal, free of external stimuli?

Could I have healed faster? Could I have done anything other than shut down and sit with my grief? Surging forward, determined to succeed and excel would have only been a lie and may not have led towards actual healing.

.......................

One year ago today I was preparing to kill myself. On the 16th I would end up in the ER, drunk and having swallowed every pill in the medicine cabinet. From there I would be transferred to a psychiatric inpatient hospital in the back of a sheriff's car. My journal entries from those days are very difficult for even me to read now as they document the shift from feeling desperately lonely, utterly hopeless and completely heartbroken to being at complete peace with not having another moment of this life.

Day after day, page after page of last Autumn, over and over I wrote about how lonely I was. When my husband said he didn't want to be with me anymore I was sure that I would never find another partner who would put up with me. If the person who knew me best couldn't stand to be around me what hope could I have for the future?

........................

Today my home is filled with 3 women, 2 cats, and one dog. I'm here half of the time, the other half is spent with a guy who likes having me around. Today I slept in late and had breakfast made by the snuggle bunny. We showered, went back to bed, went for a walk, went out for lunch, went back to bed, and all day we laughed. Back at home this evening, housemate L.'s laughter bounces off the walls through the house as she laughs at a TV program. Housemate C. laughs at her cute dog. My house is full of life and animals; the driveway is full of cars. Tomorrow night I'll be back with the snuggle bunny for a night out and then peace and quiet at his place. Tuesday night, who knows!

.......................

I've had little to say about the second anniversary of Toren's birthday/death day, but I've been doing a lot of thinking. The day of his second anniversary was lovely and I want to tell you about it soon, but already it's taken so long for me to write this much. It's really incredible... in the months up until October 30, 2007 I was joyous and expectant, last year, completely destroyed, and lately, I'm still living with the sorrow of being without Toren but I smile everyday. How do you find words for this sort of journey?

Ah hell, what kind of post is this?

October 30

It's been two years since... what exactly?

since I last had faith that things would work out well

since my heart didn't constantly ache

since I was maternal

since I felt my family was proud of me

since I felt that the future would be gorgeous



and those don't adequately describe it

................

What was I doing two years ago? Was it a great day? Was it a happy day?

...............

It's been two years since I wasn't taking a single antidepressant

since I was happily sober

since I was happy to be living my life, with my own baby on the way, with my own husband - three unique souls together

since I believed that I would fall into the majority side of a very important statistic

since I didn't know the words "bilateral renal agenesis"

..............

I had been bleeding for weeks and frequent check-ups always turned out great - the baby had a strong heartbeat so everything was presumed to be fine. None of us knew that his heartbeat was contained in increasingly cramped quarters. So many people told me that some women bleed through an entire pregnancy and they have healthy babies. Over and over women have healthy babies. Everyone believed I would be one of those women. I was cautious but at 18 weeks and 4 days, after hearing that heartbeat so often, I thought it was just about safe to seriously argue about names and sign up for birthing classes and prepare his room.

Two years ago I believed that in just one more day, after the anatomy ultrasound, I would breathe a sigh of relief. Surely I had already had my big scare on the day so much blood came rushing out of me weeks before.

..............

Two years ago today I believed that in two days I would be showing off new ultrasound images of my little boy; I would be e-mailing the pictures to all of the would-be grandparents, aunts, and uncles.

Two years ago I believed that my family was growing. I believed that I would never be on birth control again because siblings would be very welcome before premature ovarian failure hit.

.............

Two years ago today I never ever EVER would have guessed that that my husband would be GONE... that I wouldn't be balancing family life and work... that the baby's room would be rented out... that I simply wouldn't give a fuck about credit scores, mowed lawns, my career, basic car maintenance, home cooked meals... that it would be so easy to sleep with other men. Two years ago today I'd be shocked at the amount of alcohol I can now consume without getting sick.

Two years ago today I wasn't bitter, jealous, or consumed by anger; I didn't rage against being a member of the unlucky.

Two years ago today Halloween was my favorite holiday. I loved the parties and giving out candy to children.

Two years ago today I had more friends.

...............

ONE year ago today I believed that I was going to make a big comeback very soon, in fact I was secretly sure that I would have a new baby or be very close to birthing by today. I had hope.

............

Today... I have a bottle of wine which I will drink without judgment since excess drinking doesn't happen all that often anymore. I don't have hope for beauty in my life but perhaps I don't need it anymore. I sometimes get out of bed because I'm excited for the day instead of just because that is what is expected of me.

Today I hope that by this time next year Toren and I will have a revised relationship that allows for more love and less agony in my life on Earth. Today I still secretly hope for a family or at least something good enough to replace that craving.

...............

This post sucks, but it's important.

I have diligently tried for two years to drown the memories of the life I almost had in a sea of alcohol - unfortunately my tolerance for booze has become too high for these thoughts to be swept away... so grab another glass of wine and a huge bowl of ice cream and let's stroll down memory lane!

In the handful of days before entering the hospital to terminate Toren's pregnancy I did a lot of reading and learned that a fetus at a mere 20 week gestational age can be born alive. They don't stay that way for very long though. Toren died before he was delivered. I knew he wouldn't live no matter what gestational age he made it to and it was both a relief along with huge a disappointment that I never got to see him alive outside of me (I wanted desperately for him to die with me rather than with nurses tending to him so I did get this wish). At the 6 week follow-up visit with my doctor I asked her why he wasn't born alive and learned that with delicate fetuses who are not cushioned by amniotic fluid the force of the contractions often kills them. My uterus crushed Toren to death.

Another confession - I like to watch the show "I didn't know I was pregnant". Doesn't that sound ideal?! No known pregnancy to worry through and everyone on the show ends up with healthy take-home babies! Unlike the women on the show who recognize no signs of pregnancy I have frequent pregnancy symptoms, despite the absence of sexual encounters (until recently) and the baby. I have pregnancy daydreams. Almost two years after Toren and I DAYDREAM about being pregnant. Why not daydream about fantastic vacations to Greece or discovering a major cause of bilateral renal agenesis? Or why not at least daydream about paying all of my bills on time every month or being caught up on laundry?

What next? I am still suicidal every so often, like earlier tonight, and I think I have figured out a major contributor... add PMS to the list of self-diagnosed health issues! (Also on the list are PTSD and a sprained toe) Before August when my housemates moved in and I met the snugglebunny I was depressed 24-7; during the last couple of months I have been truly happy at times, but then around a week before my period I become so "moody" (as in amazingly depressed, suicidal, and out of my mind crazy). I'm afraid I will drive this awesome guy away by being insane and that makes me very, very sad to think about. I'm really trying to hold it together and I take my meds everyday and see my therapist once a week but I still can't quite make it to "normal".

And back to the start - at least I think Toren was dead when he was born. He and I were alone and I didn't quite know what had just happened due to the sedation I'd been on all week, pain medication for labor pains in the form of morphine which it turns out I'm allergic to so benadryl was added into the mix too. Gravity took over and it seriously took a few moments for me to figure out what I was looking at. He was all curled up and just when I was starting to stroke him with a finger a nurse leaned over me, cut the cord and swept him away.

................


I have confessed my way to sober. Good night.

In a year or so, this will slip into the sea

Two years ago today Toren was just a vague wish ... just a hope for the future.

Contraception had ceased, prenatal vitamins commenced, and actively trying to conceive was planned for the upcoming winter. Meanwhile, I had been been feeling ill for a couple of weeks - nauseous, bloated, gloomy. On August 13, 2007, after listening to my frustrating and on-going symptoms a friend asked if I could be pregnant and while I thought it was unlikely, I picked up a pregnancy test on my way home from work anyway. Of course, that turned out to be positive and of course it turned out dismally.

But that was two years ago tomorrow. Two years ago today I had had a great summer with family visiting to attend my graduation, a trip to Seattle, plenty of time sitting by the neighborhood pool, and hanging out with friends. And then I felt sick for weeks, then so happy and excited, then so loved, then so worried, then so utterly heartbroken. And heartbroken is where I've remained.

One year ago today I was unexpectedly overwhelmed by tears from realizing that it had been a year since Toren hadn't been the primary topic of my thoughts. Now it's been two years since I felt the lightness of not worrying over him or missing him. Last year I wrote this:

"What I would give for thoughts from my self a year from now. Next August 12 will I be remarking on how much beauty and joy has entered my life or will it be another shell shocked statement of "didn't see that coming"?"

Well Anna from the past, if you could have heard your thoughts from the future, this is what you would have been told ...

You will still be a bit shell shocked from living another year without Toren and a good portion of a year without your husband - yes, he will leave your ass without hardly a word. But by August 12, 2009 you will also be so thankful for the joy that entered your life. You never would have believed that housemates would be a good situation for you but it is so great having C and L around! Also, you will spend this terrorversary with a boy - he's nice and fun to be around and tonight we see if he can cook.

.............

It's been a lousy year; the end of my marriage was so painful. But interspersed with sorrow is happiness. I'm so thankful.

.............

Tonight I see this guy for the third time; he's making me dinner. He is fun to be around and if we keep having a good time I'll definitely sleep with him and I'll be so good to him, but I will not confide in him, fall in love with him, need him, or see only him. I'm no longer that kind of girl.

...........

I like to listen to this LOUDLY

Space

Years ago I read a magazine article that talked about creating space in your life for the things you want. For instance, say your winter coat is old and needs replacing but you keep wearing it on cold days because you haven't seriously searched for a new coat, and you haven't looked for a new coat because you still have the old coat. And you can't give away the old coat until you have a replacement, right? The article suggested getting rid of the old coat first because that creates space in your closet and life for something new.

For 21 months I've maintained heart-space and house-space for Toren. He will have his heart-space with me until the end of time but his house-space is gone. The almost-nursery is no longer waiting for the boy who can't come home.

Surprisingly, it's comforting to see the boxes that housemate L has already brought over stacked against the wall that never framed a crib. It's a relief that the space is no longer waiting to be filled.

On Saturday L and C move in. Fingers crossed that this will be a very positive change.

.....................

I'm doing badly ... I'm grateful for my new housemates and that I'm moving forward, but I really wanted Toren to live here, I really wanted my family to fill this house.

A while ago, stunned by how quickly a happy, hopeful life can turn horrific, I begged the Universe to release me from this hell ... I prayed for a change. The change is coming before I'm fully ready - there's still a part that can't accept that life continues after so much sorrow, there is still a part waiting for the nightmare to end in a reality that includes my baby safe and sound and my husband happy and present.

Anyway, a song to say goodbye

Let go!!!

Sometimes it is gentle and encouraging - "Anna, let go".

Other times it takes on the sharp tone I use when my cats have caught a bird or chipmunk - "Anna! Drop it!!"

"The family you had is gone and will not return. With a white knuckled, unbreakable grip you are clinging to a dead memory, a wish, a huge what-could-have-been, the corpse of what-almost-was. DROP IT!!!"

"With this desperate grasp on NOTHING how can you possibly hold anything new?"



......................................................................................


BUT BUT BUT BUT BUT
If I let go who will remember that my beautiful family existed for a short time? Who will recognize that everything felt so right with my marriage for those few months of pregnancy? Who will rage against the world because my baby died?


You were supposed to outlive me. I was never supposed to need to let go of you.


.........................................................................

I just had a fight with myself that is ending in tears and too much wine. Hooray for Friday night!

What are your internal conversations like lately?

Growing pains

Babies grow so quickly. The babies born well after Toren died are teething, trying solid foods, learning to roll over and crawl, and they are GROWING.

Toren stays forever tiny, his weight easily held by my left arm.

......................

I stopped by the cemetery yesterday evening after not visiting for several weeks. Since it is a communal plot there is usually something different each week when I normally visit. There was nothing different last night! No new toys or memorial items placed ... nothing rearranged. And this is what my grief feels like lately - stagnant, immobile, quiet and ignored. Work, a trip, "oh shit" financial situation, quest for housemates, love/hate emotion swings related to ex, and trying to reclaim my life, has pushed thoughts of Toren to the sidelines.

......................

My living situation is going to be very different in August when housemates move in. I'm happy about this because it helps with my goal of paying my bills, but sometimes the thought tiptoes through my brain "is this what I wanted for my life?". The answer is "no". I never had a desire to live with housemates. I feel like I'm too old for this. I should have my family with me. I miss them. I miss the life I almost had.

.....................

You know that feeling of everyone's lives are moving on, progressing, changing while you are stuck missing your kid? Now I see progression and change in my own life but it's happening out of necessity not desire. It's a good thing, but it's weird. It's a happy thing and a not-happy thing at the same time.

For today, how about a song about going places (I didn't watch all of the video) to inspire this Southern Belle to get her ass to work!

November 8

I need to rehash dates.

Big dates are:

• October 31 - horrible diagnosis day, seeing that ultrasound absent of amniotic fluid, doctor after doctor gently speaking until one says "incompatible with life"

• November 8 - delivery date, it was a Thursday at 10:35 pm

• March 28 - estimated due date

I plan to take these days off work until further notice. They have primarily landed on weekends so far.


Minor dates include:

• August 12, 2007 - last day I did not constantly think about Toren, the last day of not worrying about that precious soul

• August 13, 2007 - positive pregnancy test revealed that Toren existed

October 31 is so important because that was the day he was lost in a sense. That was the day when I turned into one of those people who only exist in distant tales of misfortune and heartache. March 28 is important as it is the only day I can cling to and consider how under very different, or normal, circumstances Toren would have been out of the womb and enjoying the world. The estimated date of delivery is just a marker, it doesn't really belong to him, but it has become important because it could have been his birthday. I didn't get to make enough memories with Toren - I need his due date.

November 8 is kind of a weird date. The shock that he would die had already been revealed. October 31 started the horrid time of waiting to enter the hospital, frantically researching labor and delivery of a fetus, entering the hospital, day 1, day 2, day 3, and he was delivered. Not really a birthday. I think it was the day he died but he could have died the day before.

Delivering your dead fetus is a really crappy situation, but there was a huge sense of relief to have it over. No more dreading the hospital stay, no more fearing what a tiny fetus will look like, no more contractions and cramps.

October 31 and March 28 hold my anger, horror, and sorrow that the world can be so cruel. These are important days that I both need and hate.

November 8 is Toren's day. It's the day I felt a type of love that I could have never imagined. I saw him and LOVED HIM! There in my hands was a unique individual who cannot be duplicated. A tiny person made through love. A little carbon copy of his father. My heart and entire being flooded over with love. I thought I would deliver and then cry and cry over his body but there was no room for tears that night - sorrow for sure, but more wonderment, love, and joy from seeing him.

The next day there was plenty of crying. Rocking his cold body, playing mom, saying all I could think of to tell him before releasing his body for the last time and leaving it behind.

It's hard to make sense of the duality of so much sadness and that powerful positive feeling (which by the way, I think happens without seeing your baby, that's just the precise moment when I felt it). But if I'm going to recognize the bad dates and rage against the universe for this experience, then I need to, GET TO, remember my son's date of delivery with thanks that I felt that level of love, even if the object of my love had died.

My camera is not capable of taking a good photo of the necklace made by Barbara but I wanted to show it to you. It is SO BEAUTIFUL in real life. "TOREN" is stamped on one side, and the opposite side says "NOV 8 2007".

Hello Spring!

Toren, since you have been gone I have greeted Winter, Spring, Summer, Autumn, then another Winter, and now another Spring. How does the world keep turning without you in it?

~~~~~~~

Your comments to my last post were so cute and funny, thank you!!! Sara, I agree that he really showed a lack of class by speaking of offspring due so close to your due date (grrrr). And Debbie, of course women who are so blessed to have pregnancies that couldn't possible be touched by sorrow can do whatever the fuck they want, including not remaining properly clothed at work. Now, deadbaby mama's are expected to be appropriately clothed for their positions, professional, intelligent, kind, timely, and they are never ever to speak of or express sadness over their missing child. Deadbabies never really happened, if you never had time to bond with them after birth they didn't really exist - this is in the handbook that everyone besides deadbaby mama's receives.

Of course, you all are exempt from my bitterness when you conceive your subsequent pregnancies and birth healthy, living, beautiful babies. If your blogs get too gushy with joy I will only read when I can handle that. If I get too verbally grumpy, you can tell me to fuck off and I'll reevaluate my behavior. If a non deadbaby mama tells me to fuck of and listen happily to her stories of maternal joy, it will be on! And by "on", I mean I'll be crying and feeling sorry for myself for an undetermined amount of time.

~~~~~~~

When speaking of subsequent children, the leader of a support group I attend also says subsequent lives.

"subsequent children or subsequent lives"

I really like this, even though a subsequent life doesn't sound as nice as a subsequent child. Although they couldn't possible cure the pain of losing a baby, it seems that a lot of healing is expected to come from a subsequent child, and certainly they do bring mountains of joy. But how do you heal without the possibility of a subsequent child?

Last Fall, I imagined I would be trying again by Spring. Certainly by Spring the economy would have improved and my husband would have found a job, leading to him feeling happier, and we would have become closer, and then we would pick up where we left off in our plan to expand our family. Here's what really happened: economy got worse, and husband left emotionally (physically he still lives here), which means planning for a subsequent child is not being realistic.


It's time to plan for my subsequent life. A subsequent child is fairly straight forward (and is part of a subsequent life) whereas a subsequent life could include anything. I have no idea what to do! Is there anything as meaningful, life altering, and joyful as having a child?

Are you planning for a subsequent child or a subsequent life? Can a sub life without a sub child be fulfilling?

The garden today

Dormant. Drenched from rain. Frozen.

Jizo is getting dirty! The pristine white was so lovely but I knew it would be impossible to maintain with the red clay of Georgia. The statue will be lovely when aged by the elements too.


Here's some cute fungus on a stump!


My New Years adventure was wonderful and healing. I'll give details later (unless my lazy blogging habits continue) but here's me January 1, 2009.

Dormant. Frozen. Standing strong against the elements.

I hate being unloved.
I hate marital separation. I bet divorce won't be great either.
I hate not having any guarantees that the future will be beautiful.
I hate that all of this emptiness began with the decision to add to our family and share our love and lives with our own baby.

Sometimes I feel like I'm being punished for asking for too much, but so many other people have husbands and babies, why couldn't I have that too? How is it possible that the desire to add love resulted in so much love lost?




Miss you Dear One.

Even worse

I've been avoiding visiting the cemetery where Toren's ashes were to end up with the "hospital disposition". I understood that there would be no way of knowing when the urn containing his ashes would be full and then buried in a plot with the ashes of his peers. But today I had an extra hour to kill.

This place is completely depressing and not because of the obvious issues of being a mass grave for the ashes of fetus' and infants but because it is unkempt and lacks even a simple marker stating what the ground holds. This sounds totally ungrateful since the burial of these remains are done free of charge and there is a bench to rest on with a dove engraved, but not a single word about the babies. Like it's something to be ashamed of. The information I received about the plot almost a year ago states that only flowers may be left in a vase next to the bench. There is no vase, but parents leave mementos anyway and I have heard that periodically they are cleared away.


After collapsing on the bench in horror at the lack of a memorial I got up and began frantically pulling crab grass and clearing away fallen leaves only stopping when my fingers became raw and my left hand was covered in welts from an encounter with a fire ant nest. I tidied stuffed animals, brushed the dirt off of tiny clothes and carefully refolded them, wrote a letter to Toren, smoked 2 cigarettes, and left some flowers with Toren's letter.



Next time I'm wearing better gardening clothes and bringing gloves, a bag for yard waste, and some hand tools. I'm contemplating bringing a garden for butterflies on tour by doing some planting there. Sure you aren't supposed to leave anything there but babies aren't supposed to die either so fuck those rules.

I hate this. Seriously, where is the goddamn light at the end of the tunnel? But there are times when I don't care to live anymore and making my memorial garden kept me busy and now clearing the weeds from this grave site provides a new project to pour energy into. I really hate this.

October already, which means the countdown for the first anniversary of Toren's delivery is marching steadily along.

Although I haven't read about this being a normal stage of deadbaby grief, I am in the stage of deep regrets. While completely honoring my choices at the time regarding what to do with his body, how I prepared for his delivery, and how much time I spent holding him afterwards, I so wish I had done things differently. It's been almost a year but the memories are so vivid and feel so near that it seems those moments are just out of reach - like if I could stand taller, stretch from tippy toe to finger tip just centimeters more I could change the past.

If I could re-do it I would spend the 5 days between finding out he was incompatible with life and entering the hospital cherishing our last days together. I would find him a special blanket and toy. I would have a photo taken of my husband and I while I was still pregnant. I would prepare for taking my own photos of him after he was delivered. I would have him cremated privately with the soft items I had given to him and have his remains returned to me. I would spend more time with his body afterwards.

I know I've said all of this before - must rehash, re-discuss, re-wish, over and over right now.

What actually happened - The first day and a half (Wednesday and Thursday) were spent crying, vomiting, and researching bilateral renal agenesis and delivery of mid-gestation fetus's. Then my husband took me to Helen, GA. We spent time together. Walked around, stayed in a beautiful bed and breakfast. Were intimate for the first time in about 6 weeks, because pelvic rest in an effort to prevent a threatened miscarriage was no longer applicable. We came back to town on Sunday and I met with a friend who counseled me regarding our choice - she said I needed to make room for the healthy babies who are coming in the future.

After the horror that the baby will die settled in a bit came the fear of entering the hospital. Fear of pain, fear of delivery - the aspect of pregnancy I hadn't had time to learn about yet. Fear of seeing the baby. So much to be afraid of that there was no time to find things that I wanted to give him, and really at the time I would never have imagined that I would have regretted not handling his body differently.

In retrospect I'm also pleased with how those 5 days were handled. My husband and I were close. It was an important time together. We weren't completely focused on what was upcoming. We were actually in public a lot, walking around, eating in restaurants, so we weren't displaying grief. We looked like a normal couple in love. I had a large tummy for me but did not look pregnant. No one looking at us would have guessed that we were just passing the time until our doomed baby left us.

The point of all that is I made the best possible choices at the time however now I would be greatly comforted to know where his body is. I want to honor Toren appropriately for the anniversary of his delivery. I have some ideas. Do any of you have ideas? What did you do, or what to do plan to do, to honor your lost children and express your love for them on special days?

Other stuff
I've been gardening again and I'll post some photos when all the planting is done. Yesterday was a bad day for one of my cats and my bank account. I don't feel like telling the whole story right now but here is what I told my real life friends through lj:

Picking up the story in the middle of it...

As soon as we got home my neighbor who owns the dogs came over to tell us the dogs were current on their rabies shots and they were just used to having a lot of land to run around on and blah blah blah... but it was very nice for him to check up on the situation.

X-rays showed no broken bones or internal injuries so that is good. But Sammy Kitty cannot move his right hind leg without it trembling and the few attempts he has made to stand made him growl and cry. He won't eat and the vet said the medications should be taken with food to guard against tummy upset but we gave him his pain medication anyway because it was clear he needed it.

A is going to bring the futon mattress down to the living room and at least I will be sleeping with Sammy down there. I don't want to put him anyplace high up in case he tries to walk around and falls to the floor, disoriented by the medication. I'll be working from home tomorrow.

So overall a good prognosis to a tense afternoon of rescuing the bloody kitty from a tree and taking him to the emergency vet, and I am so thankful for that, but it still is just very sad to see him in so much pain.

Sorry for this disjointed and rambling post - I took a Vicodin for back pain from gardening all weekend and I think Vicodin works by numbing your brain rather than the actual point of pain.

Thank you Meghan! Words cannot describe the feeling of seeing an envelope in my PO Box; I opened it up right there, standing at a counter in post office. A beautiful card! A beautiful sentiment! Again, thank you so much for your thoughtfulness.

~~~~~~~

Leaving the hospital with a sad but entirely treasured memory box ... what are the words to describe that? Horrible. Unfair. A whole slew of swear words are also appropriate. The morning after delivery I wanted to see the baby again. "He will be cold", the nurse told me. My husband took the opportunity to haul the belongings we had accumulated the past 4 days in that hospital room out to the car; poor guy is not a fan of deadbabies. Toren arrived nestled in a tiny white basket; I sat in the rocking chair, the nurse handed him to me and left the room, and that was my time alone with him. Together we rocked and I told him all that I could, all that was applicable. No life lessons to be passed on other than sometimes things are entirely, impossibly unfair. Sometimes horrible things happen despite our best efforts and intentions. Pretty heavy stuff for a being aged 20 weeks gestation.

His body was so cold and his blood had pooled, turning areas of his skin so dark. I didn't unwrap him to see his body again; I didn't need to see the feet that were starting to club and the fingers growing in odd directions from his body being crushed by my organs. Since finding out he was not surrounded by amniotic fluid I had done my best not to slouch and crush him further.

Knowing what I know now, I would have sat there rocking him longer. I would not have felt rushed knowing that my husband was waiting or worrying that the hospital staff wanted to clean the room. That was my only time to see his tiny body. It's been almost 11 months and I crave seeing him again.

To leave the hospital room I needed another dose of Xanax. Then, finally, I left the room I had been in for the past 84 hours straight, walked down the hall praying not to see anyone smiling over having a new baby in their family, clutching the memory box.

This is it, the white box.
Now it sits in the bottom part of an end table in my living room. On top is a photo of Toren alive, taken via ultrasound; the photo that was joyously e-mailed to family members as a way of announcing the pregnancy. Also housed in that area are family photos and roses formed from palm fronds (or something) that my husband got for me from a guy on the street in Savannah (one of the most beautiful places on Earth). The box holds the soft blanket Toren was wrapped in, the tiny knit hat he wore, a stuffed dog, hand and foot prints, polaroid photos of him, cards received welcoming him to the world, and a few other various things from the hospital. Cards of condolence are kept behind the box.

Initially, I didn't know what to think of the box. It instantly turned into one of my greatest treasures (like if the house is burning down, grab the cats and the box) however the things inside were not items that he enjoyed during life. He never played with the stuffed dog, he never felt the softness of the blanket. His items, memories of him, but they are not his memories.

I wanted to give him so much.

I don't know if anyone else felt this way, but when I found out there was no way in hell that my baby would live outside the womb, finding things to give him did not cross my mind. I wish I would have selected a blanket or toy for his body to at least lay next to, but I gave him nothing tangible. In response to a post on Glow in the Woods recently I expressed my regret with how I chose to deal with his body, I'm not going to repeat it here. In hindsight, I wish I had selected an item just for him and had his body cremated with it. I wish I knew where his body was right now.

Which leads to the point of all of this ... months later the box is still not enough. All this time and all this effort spent on grief work and it turns out that container of memories just isn't enough. I now have a new card, a new memory, to add to the story of my baby's life. Sure it's the part of my baby's life where there is no adorable cooing, drooling, young human - we are limited to a heartbroken couple who barely speak anymore (and who are frequently drunk), a woman who refuses to move on and a man who (I imagine) wants nothing other than to forget the sight of his dead son.

Ready for the shameful part? The part that is our secret? I'm going to buy the things I had intended to buy for him. A halloween, jack-o-lantern hat and dinosaur pajamas. The things I never dared get since the pregnancy was classified as a "threatened abortion" for so long.

I hate that I was never able to tell him face-to-face, while he was alive, how much he was loved.

Stumbling towards purity of mind, body, and soul...

...whatever that really means.

Mind, body, and soul are so intertwined that it is impossible to completely untangle their tendrils. In fact even just months ago I would have argued against even trying to treat these three as separate. But in this phase of grief my physical body and emotions, at least, need different things.

Looking back over the last 10 months, considering how the sadness moved through my being, I think the grief actually started in my body. The sudden uterine emptying, days spent medicated in the hospital, bleeding bleeding bleeding, then the horror of lactation - all happening when my body was busy and focused on growing a baby. Next was the strike to my soul - holding my tiny son, becoming focused on THAT being, wanting THAT baby. A much planned for, wanted, and loved human; a baby made from love ... with that much preparation and care how could this baby die? An intense, unreasonable love for him began as soon as I saw him; with this innate and immediate emotional and visceral response how is a dead baby even possible?

Weeks later as the shock wore off depression set in. Every single moment and every single action since then has been hampered by this mind which is so obscured by depression.

Anyway, now my mind gets psychotherapy and my body gets massage therapy, and I'm trying to listen to what my body wants at any given time. This morning my body wanted to listen to the new I:Scintilla album loudly during my drive to the shuttle. Physical senses indulged - loud music, cool breeze through the window, vibration from the engine (ok, also the smells of exhaust which is not nice but goes with the territory).

Care for the soul is harder for me to figure out than care for mind and body. I haven't been disciplined enough to meditate regularly. And on that note here is something to think about from Pema Chodron's mini book "Awakening Loving-Kindness":

"When people start to meditate or to work with any kind of spiritual discipline they often think that somehow they're going to improve, which is a sort of subtle aggression against who they really are. It's a bit like saying "If I jog, I'll be a much better person." "If I could only get a nicer house, I'd be a better person." "If I could meditate and calm down, I'd be a better person."

... But loving-kindness - maitri - toward ourselves doesn't mean getting rid of anything. Maitri means that we can still be crazy after all these years. We can still be angry after all these years. We can still be timid or jealous or full of feelings of unworthiness. The point is not to try to change ourselves. Meditation practice isn't about trying to throw ourselves away and become something better. It's about befriending who we are already."

Pema Chodren presents an interesting way to look at meditation practice. I have felt that I should improve through meditation practice but improvement seems such a daunting task right now that I don't even bother with practice because I simply cannot live up to the expectations of improvement I had.

Enough rambling for tonight.

The garden today

Carnage
Hey you! Yes, you, right up front! Why so sad and wilty?

Now for some gardening information: Impatiens will swoon and collapse with only one day of hot sun and dry soil. It turns out they do better with partial shade. Most are able to be revived after a good watering but this one is on day two of looking pathetic so I'm not sure if it's going to make it. A lovely pile of rocks may take up residence in this spot very soon. I don't know why just this one is fainting, it's not like I only water the plants around it.

DH has planned our weekend which includes spending Friday night at a friends house and spending Saturday night in Charlotte. Which means I won't be home to water the flowers for all of Saturday and most of Sunday. Under the hot sun of the South this means I may be replacing all of the impatiens next week.

And this is how agitated I am ... this weekend is supposed to be fun! I used to like getting away but I just feel really resentful that I won't be able to tend the garden for a couple of days.

Being a basket case
Remember how I was having good days? Those were nice.

I hope my therapist enjoyed my cheerful mood last week because in one hour she's going to get bombarded by a whirl wind of confused and angry emotions. For a sneak peak at today's issues:
1. A Walk to Remember is coming up ... I don't want to go alone but I don't think anyone will want to come with me and I don't want to try to enjoy the ceremony with someone who feels uncomfortable being there.
2. The book I just finished (cited below) says that for a completion of grieving assigning some meaning to the loss is necessary. I am rebelliously refusing to find meaning because no lesson or "bigger picture" seems worth how bad I feel about the deadbaby.
3. A friend said that the baby will never be forgotten but will find a place in me to reside where he is cherished. Sometimes I'm pretty upset with the baby for not growing correctly and I'm ashamed by this anger towards him. I have a great deal of love for him but I also feel other emotions towards him, negative emotions.

Off to overwhelm my therapist!

The day I'm waiting to finish

The "Reorientation and Renewal" chapter of Hannah Lothrop’s book Help, Comfort, & Hope: After Losing Your Baby in Pregnancy or the First Year begins with the quote “I felt as though I had awakened from a deep sleep.”

The feeling that this is the beginning of the upswing started last week, triggered by not being as concerned about my marriage and getting a promotion at work. Even my therapist happily commented on how I’m getting better.

The months since the baby died really have felt like being asleep; I haven’t been truly conscious much of the time (I have no idea why I was given new tasks at work rather than being fired). It’s wonderful to feel like doing things again, and it’s intimidating to see all that has been left undone since last November.

The silent moments are still fearsome though. I’ve been waiting for the nightmare to end and even though I’m waking up and re-finding interest in life, that choking feeling remains quietly present and if the world becomes still enough I get dizzy.

Then the realization that, irrationally, impossibly, I have been waiting for Toren to come back. Surely this has been some kind of test! Surely this can’t be reality! Despite the progress it is still so hard to accept that this is how it is. He is gone. He is dead.

I didn't want to wake up here! I’ve been waiting to wake up on the afternoon of October 31, 2007. After hearing the baby’s heartbeat and having an encouraging talk with the midwife perhaps I just dozed off, drugged by progesterone, in a chair in that tiny, cozy alcove while waiting for the ultrasound. Any moment now my husband will gently nudge me awake when it’s our turn and a minute later our baby will be seen floating and moving in amniotic fluid on the ultrasound screen. The radiologist will confirm “it’s a boy!” and will measure him, marvel at his progress and health, and give us new ultrasound photos of our son to take home. Then my husband and I will dive back into our busy day: eating dinner, passing out play doh and candy to trick-or-treaters, and heading out for the evening where he will dj and I will wear my new velvet empire waisted coat in a fashion show modeling fancy masks.

That day feels so close. That day almost happened and a whole different life from what I have now almost followed.

Real quick

Last night I dreamt of pushing Toren as a toddler in a stroller through the zoo. We were having an awesome day! Right before waking up I was reading lines of poetry about how horrible bilateral renal agenesis is; how horrible agenesis of the stomach is; how horrible agenesis of the bladder is. Completely horrible poetry but the sentiment is true. I really really really hate it when major organs just don't develop!