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?

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

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!

Celebrity sighting and other gossip

Guess who I saw!!!

Debbie from It's just me (along with 2pac and P. Diddy) visited my region of the world and I was able to meet her! Debbie is super duper sweet and fun and if we lived in the same area I would want to hang out with her often. We sweated in the Southern heat, laughed at/with her colleagues, and caught up IN REAL LIFE!

AnnaLand gossip

My trip out West to visit family and attend a conference was fantastic and just what I needed. I can't even believe that a few days before I was supposed to fly out I considered canceling the trip because I was just too depressed to leave the house. Upon returning to my silent, lonely home I realized how much I enjoyed being around other people, whether it was sleeping in my Dad's living room or on the hide-a-bed in their hotel room or in my own bed sharing a hotel room with a colleague. I loved saying "goodnight" to someone and not eating every meal alone. So while it was sad to return to "my reality" I discovered that I CAN be happier. Thus, I have promised myself that if, after renting out the spare rooms of my home, I am not happy enough I will leave. I will fucking walk away from this fucking house, this investment for my family's fucking future. I will go home to my Mother and leave the ex to figure out how to pay the mortgage and keep up with repairs. He can put the damn thing up for sale or lose it to the bank - I won't care! BUT FIRST I will make a serious effort to make my home happier by getting some housemates.

Which leads to piece of gossip #2: Yesterday I posted ads for the rooms. It is very stressful. So far 3 people have responded and I am convinced that all of them are scams (although I'm not sure how they could be scamming me, or why). When I don't hear anything for several hours I start to freak out and think that I'll never rent the rooms, then when an inquiry arrives I freak out because I'm so suspicious. At first I was thinking that the worst case scenario would be to be murdered by a loser renter. Then I thought that death wouldn't be so bad considering I've been whining about being alive for so long and I may have an opportunity to try out some of my boxing moves before being slaughtered. No, the worst case scenario would be my sweet kitties being harmed during a robbery or my murder. The ads were only posted just over 24 hours ago and I am this worked up...
So, every crazy person in the area may answer my ad but I'm just going to remember that I'm certifiable - I've been 1013'd and hauled off to treatment in the back of a sheriff's car so I can outcrazy the best of them. Um, yeah, that was my "assert yourself" and "call them on bullshit" fight song.

All of this was brought on by gossip snippet #3: Every time I see another e-mail from my bank telling me about another fucking overdraft charge I get so freaking angry at the ex for not bothering to contribute ANY money towards the mortgage this month or bothering to give any explanation for why he's ignoring my requests for it. I hope he can live with himself while he shirks his prior commitments and pays rent somewhere else. Of course I'll never say any of this to him, but if I could manage to speak around him I'd say "You fucking closed off, immature, adulterous man, so far I think of you often but someday you will never cross my mind."

Further inflammatory remarks in gossip passage #4: I am destitute. But it's not pissing me off as much as it could. Instead it's kind of empowering! No car insurance, no natural gas service (which means no hot water or cooking), and only $15 in gift cards and cash to live on since Friday. I'm living off the land (horray for my awesome veg garden!) and out of the freezer. Also, I'd like to give a big shout out to the George Foreman Grill which has allowed me to cook the turkey burgers from the freezer. Everyday I am just so thankful that I have food to eat and that it's hot enough outside that cold showers are not so bad. My goal for next month is to not have any utilities turned off.

Gossip story #5, a tale of self-assertion: There is a hope of acheiving that goal because I canceled all current and future appointments with Therapist 2. It wasn't pretty. Of course she asked if there were reasons beyond financial for my desire to leave therapy and you know what, there are! I felt uncomfortable many times. I was referred to her for trauma treatment and it turned into regular psychotherapy plus group therapy, which would have been ok if my insurance had been filed properly. Again, of course I didn't say anything beyond "I need a break". Anywoo, it's my fault for continuing to write the checks and spending hundreds every month, but by not paying her I should be able to keep the utilities on.

Finally, HOPE: I get paid soon. In July I'm starting a budget. Starting in July I will not pay my ex's bills (other than health insurance). On payday I will start my own car insurance policy and the bill will be less than $60/month and I'll be able to access information about my account without needing my ex's password or last 4 digits of his SSN. On Thursday the gas will be turned on and I'll have my own natural gas account rather than needing the ex to authorize anything on the account.


Wow, didn't think all of that would spill onto the screen...on first glance it may not look shiny and pretty in AnnaLand but a gleam is working its way in.

On and on...

After loading the groceries into the trunk and running the cart over to the corral I sat down into the seat of the little car with a sigh and thought "He's dead". Then I realized I am always thinking that. How many times does that run through my head in a day? 100? 200?

He's dead.
He died.
Toren died.
My baby is dead.
He is dead.
He is dead.
Dead, dead, dead, dead, dead, on and on, all day long.

Truly, brain chants related to dying are probably not helping me.



I wonder if I can change it to "love".

I miss him because I love him.
His absence hurts because I love him.
I remember looking at him on the ultrasound screen and I loved that.
I remember telling my parents about him and them loving him instantly.
I loved him during every moment we were together.
I love him still.
I love him.
I love him.
I love him.
love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love, and on and on...

Goodbye glass jaw

Mother's Day is coming to a close. How did you all fare? Many thanks to you all for the comments on my last post. You're support has been more than I could even hope for!

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I had a good day - at least a good day for a deadbaby mama, who's been kicked to the curb by her husband. Being family-less on Mother's Day was no worse than every other day.

First I slept in, then started a new Anita Blake book, then breakfast, gym, purchased own Mother's Day gift (below!), then dressed for dinner, stopped by the cemetery, treated myself to dinner (wine, papaya salad, red curry), came home and called my mom. Next will be ice cream and bed.

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

So, if mothers with living children could use pampering on Mother's Day to provide a break from the constant care the give, what could I use? NOT caring for my son makes me really pissed off. I'm not really mad at anyone or anything in particular, I'm just mad that my baby died. I need help processing the anger that comes along with this kind of motherhood.



So guess what lessons I'm getting!





First full training session is next Sunday. Today a gentleman named Tank taught me a move where you punch (or kick) your opponent, then get their arm in a hold, lift up which forces their head down, then you knee them in the face!

Am I a Mother?

In Japan there is a term for lost babies - mizuko - is there a name for mothers of mizuko's? Is there a word to encompass the "almost", "loved fiercely", "eternally heartbroken" nature of being a women whose baby died?

What am I?

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

Mother's Day greeting cards fall into certain categories. There are the sweet ones from a child to a Mother thanking them for all of the love and hard work they have given. Similarly, there are the funny ones talking about the pampering that Mom deserves on Mother's Day because of the energy she expends to care for everyone every other day of the year. There are the husband to wife cards. There are the cards to someone whose actions have been very "mother like".

These do not describe my situation. I could certainly use some pampering, but not because I'm exhausted from taking care of a family.

In terms of daily physical nurturing and care given I am not a Mother. The object of my care has died. There is no need to breastfeed, launder tiny clothes, or stay up late rocking him. Think of all of the time saved by not needing baby sign language classes! And leaving the house is so simple, instead of a husband and wife packing the little boy, stroller, diaper bag into a sensible family car all I need to do is hop into the tiny two seater and go! Getting properly dressed is not even an issue since there's no one with me that I could embarrass by running errands in sneakers and an over-sized sweatshirt.

I'm not exhausted from a crying baby keeping me up at night, instead sleep is disturbed because things are too quiet. I'm exhausted from getting through each day with so little to do.

I could use a break from the difficult days of missing my child.


But, in terms of having experienced maternal love, I am a MOTHER. Maternal love is such a unique feeling. It is powerful and beautiful and unforgettable. In body and soul I am forever changed by my son. My heart has overflowed with love!

.......

New, unique emotions felt or practical aspects of physically parenting a child? Which weighs more heavily? Which counts for Mother's Day? I can't explain the sudden concern over this but I want some clarification on where I fit in a world of mothers and children.

My answer to this comes in a round about way ... I know what Toren is ... Toren is my son. MINE! He is a precious soul and he spent his short life with ME. And when things turned impossibly bad I made a decision about how he would spend the rest of his life, trading in his cramped quarters for the inevitable.

If he's my son, I must be his Mother.

.......

Still embracing the crazy side, I'll be sending Mother's Day cards from my home to my PO Box. I have cards for a couple of you too. Would any one else like a card? Send me an e-mail with your mailing address.

Countdowns and prophesies

The part of me craving renewal: "I need to spend time in the garden before I go crazy!"
The sarcastic part of me: "You arrived at crazy a while ago"

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

About a year ago I started seeing my therapist (T1) and I have made notable progress with her, but since I was still resistant to being alive I started seeing a therapist (T2) for Brainspotting about a month ago. T2 then recommended I join group therapy that she conducts and I attended that for the first time Thursday night.

So most weeks I have an appointment with T1 and T2, and now a group therapy session. Every once in a while I see my psychiatrist, adding a 4th visit in a single week. Kind of a lot (4 hours a week with out a psychiatrist visit) but less time than when I went to the outpatient program in the winter (10 hours a week).

The deadbaby and ruined marriage triggered big problems and ripped away the facade I was maintaining. Huge heartaches themselves, it turns out that I'm missing a foundation to build a healthy future/life on. That's the short of it. Therapy is intense.

But on Tuesday, after a big crying fit that turned into a productive session T2 said my issues are totally fixable and she knows just how to do it, and that I will be feeling much better in a year. We both marked April 14, 2009 on our calendars as the day I would be feeling better in one year.

"Feeling better" stands for some specific issues.

I completely recognize that it will be a gradual process and I won't wake up on April 14, 2010 suddenly feeling amazing. And April 14, 2010 probably won't mark the completion of the process of feeling better. But the countdown is on towards a much needed end date to feeling so lost. For a year and a half I've desperately craved knowing WHEN I would feel better; having a date, no matter how silly it seems, provides a lot of comfort. I've placed a ticker on my blog counting down to April 14, 2010.

Hold on ... I'm looking forward to a future date ... I take steps everyday to make sure that future day really will be what I want it to be ...

I'm not suicidal anymore.

Those were a horrible 5 months. The tension of believing that it is very wrong that you are alive is something I never want to feel again.

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

"When you're on that train of thought you pass some pretty funky stops."
- The Beautiful South

Therapy is taking me places that are necessary but difficult and there is often lingering discomfort after sessions. At my first group therapy session Thursday night a man came in to join the group a little late; he made me a little uncomfortable. After the session ended I went to meet friends for dinner and thought it would be just the girls but a bunch of significant others were there too. Hugs and friendly affection from the guys made me tense up. I didn't want to talk with them or be touched by them.

Men are making me uncomfortable! Even one's I'm friends with!

Not stressing out about it because I think this feeling will pass, it's just interesting.

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

My Dad had a psychic reading done and asked about each of his children. The psychic said that I had had a very bad year in 2008 (spot on) and that 2009 was better (true, it's pretty easy to improve on 2008) but that 2010 was going to be a good year for me. I have got to believe her. I have to believe that something good will happen.

With both the countdown and the prophesy I'm so excited but also frustrated that these "deadlines" are so far away. On one hand I WANT something beautiful and big to happen RIGHT NOW, on the other, I'm just so relived that nothing totally shitty is happening right now.

I guess that is one comforting thing about your life completely falling apart - anything else that happens now can't phase me that much. I have held my own dead child, I have heard my husband say that he doesn't love me anymore, anything else would pale in comparison.

On that note, here's a photo of cute pea plants.

Spinster or crazy cat lady?

Easter passed by without cares about being alone and not having a one year old to entertain with colored eggs and plush, pastel toys. I stayed in my world of the gardens. Even though I did nothing to acknowledge Easter, it was nice not to be torn up over what I could have had. Right now I'd rather feel nothing than feel such loneliness and hurt.

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

Last week was a hard week in therapy. Brainspotting doesn't fuck around and takes you places you've been ignoring. It's all good though, I am desperate to get well.

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

Regarding my whining over my friend/ex-friend/I don't know what she is to me, I sent a message saying how nice it was to see her and didn't say anything about getting together. Then I decided all of this was ridiculous so, in my heart, I forgave her for the careless things she said and have almost forgiven myself for being so angry and that my dear readers is how closure will occur! I hope.

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

Besides three friends, other people are off my radar for the most part lately. Outside, digging, planting seeds is the only place where I my heart feels still. I still remember the baby, I remember my broken marriage, I remember that my life is starting over, but while I'm in the garden I'm in the present.

I don't care if others think I'm boring or being too reclusive, I'll get out more when I feel like it.

My butterfly and vegetable gardens are "Gardens for popsicle sticks" right now so I can remember what seeds are planted where. The vegetable garden still needs some work before it has it's big reveal in photos but here are some glimpses of my happy place.


Two caterpillars drying off on a rock after a rainstorm


A caterpillar resting in a plant

Sammy's photoshoot

Carefully posing

Awwww, looking peaceful

With a tomato plant

Profile, looking reflective

Really, even during snack time?

What does this misshapen grape make you think of? I think of how Toren looked like that in the beginning of his life but now he is dead and I've been kicked to the curb so another little bean is not on the horizon. If I were trying to conceive a subsequent baby this would be interpreted as very auspicious, maybe the grape was meant for one of you!

~~~~~~~~~~~
Sara said the magic words "victory garden" and I have been happily and frantically digging and designing a plot for a vegetable garden. All of the soil has been weeded and fluffed, a cute path has been laid, and the first plants and seeds have been planted. I'll take some photos soon.

~~~~~~~~~~~
Today I suddenly thought "all I can do is live my life starting from where I am". A deadbaby followed by a failed marriage feels WRONG. I feel sick to my stomach and dizzy; it just doesn't seem possible that these things happened. Because I can't rationalize it, it's hard to accept it. But instead of needing to understand and accept these horrible events, and hoping that SOMEHOW the Universe will recognize the mistake that has been made and correct the problem, what if I just start my subsequent life from where I am. What if I stop wishing for the past to have been different.

Dispite all of the complaining that goes on here, I really am so glad that I feel better than I used to. Everyday I feel lonely and sad, it's like being heartbroken has become permanent. I cry several times a week. I'm in a lot of therapy. I wish the scales would tip and I would feel mostly good instead of mostly sad. I want to reach the point where I am a happy person with sad moments rather than a sad person with better moments. But for so long all I felt was constant anguish and that part is over!

The point is, I'm so thankful to just feel like shit now instead of feeling consumed by sharp sorrow and constant confusion of the early days.

Depression talk - way more personal than is appropriate

By the way, I didn't have a cigarette. I haven't had one since my birthday on February 10, and that was only because I drank so much tequila that I lost all sense of appropriate behavior and smoked a cigarette, danced on the table, lost my panties, was fondled in ... um, yeah ... and returned the kisses of someone's boyfriend.

I haven't had any tequila since then and probably never will again.

Oh, and I'll never return to that restaurant!

So I have quit my 1-3 cigarettes per day habit! Not through will power though. My psychiatrist added li.th.ium to my antidepressant cocktail and now I have no desire to smoke!

I wish the lith.iu.m had been a miracle drug for me as it had for other patients my psychiatrist told me about. Some feelings have been eased, particularly in the early weeks of taking it; I am able to stop an anxiety attack from becoming full blown, which probably explains part of why I don't want to smoke.

The le.xap.ro gives confidence. The traz.o.done mercifully knocks me the fuck out at night.

I see either my therapist or psychiatrist at least once a week, although this is cutting back from what they (and I) think is necessary, but I'm on a tight budget now.

What is missing? Seriously, what is missing? I've been sui.c.idal since November (panic not, for my doctors know this and I don't want to break my mom's heart by killing myself) and it is a really painful way to live. Waking up everyday feels so wrong.

Before moving on to the next set of medications to try (those would be antipsychotics, guess how awesome that makes me feel, but my psychiatrist has seen these be effective for depression because your view of the world can be shifted from being so gloomy), I've been referred to an additional therapist. This Wednesday I'm trying out Brainspotting.

After trying therapy (outpatient and inpatient), medications, affirmations (although half-assed), avoiding alcohol (most of the time now), getting adequate rest, spending time with friends, I'm still incredibly depressed and, by now, resistant to believing that anything will help. But as Wednesday inches closer I'm getting more excited and HOPEFUL.

It's embarrassing feeling this low for this long. I worry that some of my friends are getting frustrated by my avoidance of clubs and large parties. They want to see my happy because they love me, but I just can't do it right. Besides my mom, my family has no idea what the last several months have been like for me. I don't want to deal with pressure to feel better from them.

Even here I feel like a straggler in my cohort of deadbaby mama's. I see others taking the difficult, scary, and well earned steps forward, and I am going backwards. The life I wanted and worked towards moves further away every day.

Cross your fingers for Wednesday, and thanks for listening.

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.

Recent moments

This past Sunday night while on my way to pick A up from the airport, with traffic clear I accelerate and enter the highway - the little car obediently and easily surges ahead and I think "how fun!".

Just over an hour ago I exit the bank and the wind catches my hair and my entire being feels light. I had just opened my own checking and savings accounts. My first "own" accounts in over 11 years. My husband and I have divided our finances.

Three hours ago my hair had 6 inches of length removed. I left the salon wondering if I should ask for the hair to use in a ritual tonight before deciding walking away and not looking back was the ritual. The length I loved is gone but so are the dry, thin, fading ends; what remains is thick and black and wild with so much weight gone.

Before going to the hair salon I read blogs, enjoying your end of year/New Years reflections. Ya Chun posted photos of her daughters name written in the sand and I thought about how I want to write Toren's name over and over in sand as a silent shout to the Universe, but also thought that I wouldn't visit a beach any time soon. Hours later, plans have been made, I'm packed and soon I'll be joining some friends for an impromptu journey to the coast. Tomorrow morning will find me watching the sun rise over the Atlantic Ocean.

I didn't realize until just now how urgently I need to get away from my home and daily life. Up until right now I saw the new year as just an extension of 2008, which was all about dealing with the events of 2007. I wish I could have some sense of a new start but with so much past baggage that I'm dealing with I don't know if that is possible. I now approach every day as a new day but in each new day there are still things from previous days that bring about heartache. But maybe, MAYBE, I can feel that things will be different now. Perhaps a visit to one of my favorite cities and the ocean and the sun can restore hope for happier days.

Best wishes to you all for happy dreams to come true in 2009!

All I can do is laugh at myself

Um...

Last night in group therapy my friends stressed that even though I don't have answers for why so many things have been happening in my life that I find disagreeable, I am exactly where I need to be right now. This is kind of difficult for me but I'm trying it out. Perhaps the tiny car, sized for a single girl, is representative of what I need to be focusing on - my own mental and physical health.

So, I start to come to terms with the car that I didn't want. Now this is where things become absurd. Guess who drove into other cars this evening. I am not even kidding! I caused a 3 car accident tonight! My first accident, beyond bumping into another car when backing up in a parking lot, that was my fault. This comes two days after buying the car and the day after I added the car to my insurance.

Clearly I still need to get used to driving the car but that will have to happen after it gets repaired.

I am in very good spirits though. All that therapy seems to be paying off!

The ugly dog competition on Animal Planet is too funny. Yeah, it's another fun Saturday night for me! And it's not like there are not things to do - my husband is dj-ing as usual, some friends had dinner out, but while I usually can be pried from the house with food I don't like hibachi.

I had my first deep tissue massage today. At the first painful presses I grimaced, laughed and told my massage therapist, Vera, how a friend of mine (who is also a client) said that deep tissue from Vera was brutal but that you felt like a new person afterwards. Vera asked who I wanted to become. I'm still working on an answer.

Things that gotta go:
Bitterness
Self-hate
Exhaustion
Anger towards people who hurt my feelings

There were a few times when I almost cried during the massage. This body has been through so much; it stores a lifetime of life weirdness ...

"Life weirdness" is the best I could come up with to describe neglect, abuse, chronic pain, and an autoimmune disease. On top of that, labor and delivery, pills inserted to soften my cervix, so many hands checking progress, all culminating in seeing my tiny, dead son. The boy who didn't grow all of the necessary organs. He looked so good on the outside...

The weirdest thought I had after hearing that the baby would not live was "of course he will die, because that is the kind of thing that would happen with me as his mother." I had known about my crooked spine with a lumpy spot from an early life fracture, intestines that can't absorb gluten - I didn't know my uterus couldn't grow a complete baby. Even though no cause for the agenesis has been identified I still feel like I did something wrong. Instead of marveling over a fertile, life giving uterus, I've been calling mine the "womb of doom" - Beware all souls who enter here.

So yes, I do want to be someone else, I wanted to turn into someone new today.

Anyway, I didn't intend to say all of that. I was going give an update on my cat. She had a third vet visit today where her toe was drained and she now has more antibiotics to take and we have pain shot to give her. By the time I got home she had one shot, was walking on her injured leg, and was ready to go outside to play. Of course she can't go out because hubby and I are mean. My other cat slept a lot when he had pain medication but she is snuggly, playful, and is eating well. This is not characteristic of her... Tiny Tim is HIGH.

How was that for a blog of randomness?

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.

Our PO Boxes overfloweth

You all are awesome!

Enough of you mentioned a PO Box that I considered it. I asked my husband what he thought about me giving out our address and he thought it would be fine for a few people. What if it turns out to be more than a few people? He asked how many cards I thought I would receive ... I grinned ... he rolled his eyes. My husband and I shared a cute moment! Ok, it had a bit of that I-can't-acknowledge-the-deadbaby-and-I-can't-believe-you-are-so-open-about-it vibe on his end but at least we communicated in a sort of playful way. I don't expect too many people to be into this but I decided that since I have never had a PO Box before I would like to try it out, so for 6 months I have a PO Box to call my own! I'll pick up the keys and get the number on Monday.

Whoever is interested in having their mailing address shared with others so we can all send each other cards let me know. Otherwise just you and I will mail to each other. E-mail your information to gardening_anna at yahoo dot com (this is especially important if your contact information is not available on your profile page). Non-commenters too - if you want some support and acknowledgment of your fresh or continued hurt please feel free to send me an e-mail.

Something strange is happening ... at this very moment I am too excited thinking about exchanging cards to consider how much I hate my life. Gotta go to Hallmark...

Something crazy this way comes...

Ok...the following is inspired by my therapists...

Remember how my massage therapist, V, suggested that I express emotions everyday? So I've been paying more attention to what I feel ... trying to define it ... trying to indulge feelings. Then today my psychotherapist, K, said she can't tell me how to get to a place where I feel better because I have to figure that out for myself. Although I'm still pissed that she won't just give me the keys to happyland I think what she is saying is that I have to find the belief system that works for me. I have to pull some kind of meaning that I can understand and find some comfort in out of my ass (the usual beliefs/religions/spiritual stuff do not bring me comfort).

Then mzfitzita said "But, sadly, it's one foot in front of the other - and often two steps back - and in the middle of it all, a LOT of just figuring it out on your own - figuring out what works for you - and trying to ignore the people who don't understand and, in their ignorance, make the journey so much harder for you."

Figuring out what works for me... and on that note I propose an experiment of sorts.

A couple of days ago while looking for a greeting card I found some cards specifically for miscarriage and pregnancy loss. I want one. I want one of every kind they have. I received a few cards of condolence right after everyone heard the bad news but 10 months later I still feel like shit and I still need support so I'm going to get my own freaking cards. If times get dark enough I'll even mail them to myself.

According to Still to be Born, I have up to 14 more months to "come to terms with" the death of my son (whatever that really means) so if by November of 2009 I'm still hating life or if I've been committed to a mental hospital or end up in jail (I don't know what for but it would be for something stupid) we will all know that purchasing greeting cards for yourself is not an effective way to deal with grief.

This is such a long process ... the idea of a card specific to pregnancy loss is both smart (to acknowledge the loss) and ridiculous since the sorrow lasts for such a long time. Really friends and family should be able to sign up for a condolence card of the month to be sent for two years.

If any of you need cards of condolence or cards of encouragement send me an e-mail with your address and I'll send you a card in the mail regularly until you say "no more!".

So clearly I've hit another low spot. Back in the spring, I started freaking out about 2 weeks before my EDD so this might be anxiety about the upcoming terrorversaries, which would be very bad since they don't start until October 31. There is something else that may be causing or at least weighing in on these sad feelings and soon I'll give you all the full story, complete with shameful jealousy bits, just like some sort of lame, depressing soap opera.

Sigh.

My obsession with reading every book on deadbaby grief I come across continues.

Today's excerpt comes from "Still to be Born: A guide for bereaved parents who are making decisions about their future" by P. Schwiebert and P. Kirk. I was given this book at last weeks SHARE meeting.

"Those who have never had to suffer the intense pains of loss tend to underestimate the time required for "grief work" to be completed. That is because they are projecting an assumption based on their own limited experience, for indeed it does not take long for them to "get over" someone else's loss.

The same is true, but to a lesser extent, where friends and relations - other than a spouse or child - are involved. Most people find that it takes no more than from forty-eight hours to two weeks to get their lives back to a normal routine after suffering the death of a close friend or relative not in the immediate nuclear family.

For bereaved parent, however, the readjustment of one's life following a loss of a child takes approximately eighteen to twenty-four months. This does not mean that after twenty-four months the death is forgotten; it simply means that this much time is needed to come to terms with the loss."

This passage compares other deaths with infant death and I'm afraid it may minimize the impact of other deaths but I have not lost a close friend or relative before so I can't know how accurate the claim of 48 hours to 2 weeks until a "normal" routine can be re-gained is. I can attest to the freaking long time it takes to come to terms with the loss of a baby - even though I never even saw him alive outside of my uterus.

So at 10 months post that hellish day of delivery it is both comforting and depressing to think that I can expect 8 to 14 more months of this. And I'm not holding myself to any sort of timeframe like this is how much longer my grief work must take to prove how much I loved my son, really, after spending 10 months in bereavement I am much more stable than early on but honestly I don't see the end of the tunnel yet. Coming to terms with my son being dead is not going to happen in the next couple of months.

The thought "I hate my life" runs through my head at least once an hour, but the passage above at least makes me curious to know if this loathing will still be present after 14 more months.

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.