Those
of you who are regular followers know today holds a lot of conflicting emotions
for me. Simon has dragged us all along on his joyous countdown to Christmas, and
I am truly excited about both the secular and religious aspects of the holiday.
But today (12/24) was also my due date, before my miscarriage this summer.
I’ve
talked about all this a lot – on this site, to friends and family, to a
therapist, in a journal. I’m doing a lot better but this day is hard, as I
anticipated it would be. I wrote in the above entry, that my brain is not
allowing me to think too much about the details of the Newtown school shooting,
and I think it is doing the same thing here. I can talk about the loss
superficially, and I’ve processed many different aspects of it, but over the
past few weeks, I can’t get very far in terms of imagining what life would be
like, “if only.” The thoughts about what should have been are still too painful
– the last couple of months I should have been huge and uncomfortable and
exhausted because I’ve been making all these preparations for not only one, but
two babies to arrive. And as of today, I should be holding them in my arms.
You see
what I mean, right? Today is sort of awful. I suppose I’m thinking that if I
can get this official mourning out of the way early on, I can spend the rest of
the day baking cookies and saying for the 138th time, “No, Simon,
you may not open one early.” This is actually the most I’ve thought about it in
quite awhile, and it’s hitting hard.
Matt
gets me a new Christmas CD every year, and I’ve built up quite a collection.
This year’s is a “various artists” compilation titled Maybe This Christmas
Tree, and
yesterday I listened to it for the first time. The song “Bittersweet Eve” by
Belasana really stood out for me, although it’s about New Year’s Eve, not
Christmas Eve. Other than that tiny detail, it’s just about perfect:
(first
verse & chorus)
And
your eyes are like a waterfall tonight
I
could dive right in
But
I'd soon drown and die
I'm
not gonna make it
I'm
not gonna last
The
current’s too strong
And
The river’s too fast
So
I'm letting go
All
right?
What's
the point of holding on
When
logic fails
I'm
the captain of a ship beyond repair
I've
given up slowly
Swimming
upstream
I'm
tired of being tired and lonely
I'm
yours for the taking
Well
it's bittersweet
To
be incomplete
On
New Years Eve
I
guess honestly
There's
a part of me
That
just wants to go to sleep
It's
a tragedy
To
be incomplete
On
New Years Eve
I'd
have everything
I
could ever need
If
you'd just come back to me
Come
back to me
This
reminds me of an entry I read on cafemom.com, not too long after I miscarried.
They have an online support network for pregnancy loss, and a young woman
posted a photo of her twin boys who had recently been stillborn at 20 weeks. In
the photo they looked like any other tiny sleeping babies, in the little
hospital-issue knit caps and blankets. I think this was probably her first
pregnancy, and judging by her profile picture she was probably in her early
twenties. She said her overriding thought was, “I just want them to come back.
I just want them to come back.”
I could
basically understand what she meant then, but more so today, I know exactly
what she means.
This
entry marked the end of my going to cafemom, by the way. It’s helpful up to a
point to realize other people are experiencing the same thing as you, and this
marked that point. I don’t normally pity anyone, but I pitied this poor girl
and her little babies – I felt so bad for her, and without discounting my own
loss I felt her loss was so much worse.
Incomplete,
yes.
That
awful Wednesday, June 6, when the pain was so bad I finally had Matt take me to
the doctor: we were sitting in some random spare office, talking with one of
the nurses while we waited for the doctor. Simon was in daycare but David was
with us; Matt had called his mom to come get him but she was still an hour or
so away. David is always a huge hit with any group of female medical providers,
and this nurse was no different. She was fawning all over him and he was making
the most of it, giving her fabulous grins and making little super-cute David
noises. I remember a specific instance of looking at him and thinking, “You
know, this is good. Maybe this is enough. Maybe this should be enough.” Matt
and I have discussed the mutual feeling that we had Simon and he was so great
and wonderful, then we pushed our luck with David and he had so many problems
at birth. Then he got healthy and strong and awesome, and we got greedy again,
and tempted fate again, and look what happened, so maybe this should just be
enough. … of course we both understand that’s not how these things work, but it
was a strong feeling at the time.
So this
Christmas Eve is difficult, and the sense of incompleteness is pretty raw.
Probably the next several Christmas Eves will be difficult to some degree, but
each one will hurt less, until it is more of a pang of sadness. At the same
time, my life is pretty full and I’m reminded of just how fortunate I am to
have my two happy, healthy boys, my loving husband, a warm safe house, and all
the other good things in my life.
I’m so sorry, little babies. I’m sorry I never got to hold you
or know you. But I will never forget you. I love you and I miss you. Today I am
missing you a lot.
That
took about half an hour to type, those five sentences, there was a lot of
crying.
So
maybe that’s all for now.
When I
was in Target last night, lots of thinking about things that come in pairs –
mittens, gloves, socks.
Yeah I
think that’s all for now.
Merry
Christmas, everyone. I’m okay, really, just sad right now.
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