The Meltdown

The meltdown happened at about nine o'clock last night. It had been building for awhile, that uncomfortable pressure, like someone has corked a steam kettle. When the cork popped, the emotional trainwreck that followed was of epic proportion. I cried, I freaked out, I became a one woman snot factory. I scared the shit out of my husband, thank God the kids were sleeping. After it was done (about three o'clock this morning), I was spent. And embarassed, and sad. Embarassed that my husband has NEVER seen me so utterly and hopelessly fucked up, embarassed that I had actually put words to some of the things I have been thinking of lately and worried that he now thinks I'm a complete mental case. Maybe I am. How tragically sad that I have worried my husband to the point where he thinks I'm a danger to myself. How sad that there is now this wall of words between us that I can't knock down, the things that have been haunting me that I should have kept to myself. It's also pretty tragic that there is still that magnitude of sadness in my heart, the kind of sadness that just seems to cast a shadow over everything good in my life. I miss my son. I miss him to the point where I want to be with him sometimes, and that I suffer with guilt over the fact that he is alone in the ground, alone in his death. I feel like I should be with him. Shane doesn't understand my thinking at all. He said he wishes Calvin was with us, not the other way around. Of course, I do too, more than anything. I would probably give up eternity to have him back with us but I know it's not possible. The devil himself is highly unlikely to appear on my doorstep offering me a deal regardless of whether or not I would take him up on it. So there it stands, out in the open for all to see. Sometimes I would rather die than live like this. Sometimes I want nothing more than to go to the cemetery and dig up my son so that I could hold him again. It's horrifying, I know. But I'm not going to commit these unspeakable acts, it's just the way I feel sometimes. People don't get it. I don't get it. I should have tried harder to keep my feelings under wraps, to contain my sorrow. I am too emotional for that, I wear my heart on my sleeve for all to see and for that I get hurt and judged quite a bit. If I could compartmentalize my feelings for Calvin, shove them away somewhere until I could take them down and deal with them with the appropriate words and response, I would. I'm not made that way. So I continue to embarass and horrify and for that I feel utter and total regret. All I can hope for now is to move past my outburst and keep my head up and hope that I get over the feeling of being judged. If anything, judge me as someone who is very, very sad, not someone who is crazy. I can accept sad but crazy goes nowhere with me.

Despair

This past weekend has plunged me back into the depths of despair. I don't know what to do about it either. Maybe it's the natural cycle of grief coming around for another pass, maybe it's the utter failure of my swap meet, maybe it's my hormones. All I know is that I feel like crap emotionally. I think that I need to go spend some time with my son, get some of the heartache out. The cemetery is far from private, unfortunately the Trans Canada Trail goes right through it so there are always people walking by, riding their bikes or taking the kids and pets out for a romp. I hate feeling like my privacy is invaded while I'm there, especially if I'm talking to Calvin or crying. I dislike my life right now. I want it to change. I want to be free from the painkillers so I can stop sleeping twelve hours a day. I'm always tired and lately I could care less about sex, how bad is that? I don't seem to care about much these days aside from my children and making money for Children's Hospital. They're what keep me going most of the time. Today, I realized as I was sitting in the doctors office that it's been at least a month since I shaved my legs. Gross!!! Although my basic hygiene hasn't suffered, I definitely haven't cared about how I look in months. I can't stand myself right now, I'm uncomfortable in my own skin and although I've tried to entice Shane into going out with the girls and I during the day, I think he's in the same boat. He doesn't leave the house often anymore. He hasn't worked in almost a year and he spent one day last week looking for work and became discouraged. Our residual income isn't going to last forever, we're already feeling the pinch but I can't manage to motivate someone else when I'm in the same condition...Fuck, will this ever end? I hate how disrupted my life has become, how unmanagable my feelings have gotten and how I've hidden myself away in drugs and blogging for months now. I just want to feel normal again and I just know it isn't going to happen. How long before the fog lifts and the sun comes out again? Help me ladies, I need some words of wisdom right now....

Frustrating Times

Have you ever been thrust into being in charge of something where you actually looked forward to the challenge? Have you ever been truly disappointed by how that something turned out? That was my weekend. I had been asked to be in charge of coordinating the next Parent's Buy, Sell, Swap indoor swap meet. I jumped at the chance because the last one was very successful and raised alot of money for the charity "The Ayden Project" at the door. Yes, I wanted to do this, and yes, I thought I could raise alot of money for BC Children's while I was at it. I posted an event on Facebook inviting table rentals, I booked a meeting room at the Days Inn, I messaged everyone on my friend's list, on the Parents Buy, Sell, Swap group and all those who showed interest in attending. I put an ad in the paper, one thing the last organizers had not done. I took it the extra step. My mother and sister in law came down to help me sell and to collect donations at the door. It was a dismal failure. I booked the swap meet the same weekend as Elvis Festival and the Peach City Beach Cruise, both of which are huge events. I didn't know they were happening this week until it was too late. So there I was, in a room full of women who had rented tables from me and spread out all of their baby and children's items to sell, and I wanted to cry. One by one, they approached me and made suggestions about how we could bring in more people, "Maybe you should call the radio station...", "Maybe you should run down to the park and put up posters for this before the Farmer's Market is closed for the day...."
Pretty soon, the suggestions became complaints, loud complaints at that...about what a waste of fucking time this was etc. and soon, my sellers started packing up their wares to leave, two hours early. I sat there apologizing profusely, trying not to cry as everyone started angrily packing up their stuff. I wished the earth would swallow me whole at that point. I felt like I had let everyone down by not doing my research well enough to ensure nothing was going on in the community that day. I felt like I had let Children's Hospital and Calvin down. I felt like I had imposed on my inlaw's time for nothing. I was embarassed, horribly so, and incredibly let down. I felt like a failure and it completely sucked. I need a hug....

The Little White Hearse

The Little White Hearse


By Ella Wheeler Wilcox


Somebody's baby was buried to-day --
The empty white hearse from the grave rumbled back,
And the morning somehow seemed less smiling and gay
As I paused on the walk while it crossed on its way,
And a shadow seemed drawn o'er the sun's golden track.

Somebody's baby was laid out to rest,
White as a snowdrop, and fair to behold,
And the soft little hands were crossed over the breast,
And those hands and the lips and the eyelids were pressed
With kisses as hot as the eyelids were cold.

Somebody saw it go out of her sight,
Under the coffin lid -- out through the door;
Somebody finds only darkness and blight
All through the glory of summer-sun light;
Somebody's baby will waken no more.

Somebody's sorrow is making me weep:
I know not her name, but I echo her cry,
For the dearly bought baby she longed so to keep,
The baby that rode to its long-lasting sleep
In the little white hearse that went rumbling by.

I know not her name, but her sorrow I know;
While I paused on the crossing I lived it once more,
And back to my heart surged that river of woe
That but in the breast of a mother can flow;
For the little white hearse has been, too, at my door.

I found this poem the other day and it really struck a chord in me. This poem, written close to a hundred years ago so perfectly describes the kinship between babylost mamas. There is a bond that draws us close, that terrible feeling of knowing, of understanding. I don't know any of the mothers I blog with in real life, but I've grown to care deeply for many of them. There is something about the heartbreaking cry of a mother mourning her child that draws those of us that have been there to her, to comfort her and love her. At first, when Calvin died, I felt that it was kind of morbid, mothers of dead babies flocking together. Now I have a deeper understanding into the compassion and shared sorrow so few can understand.

I have also been struck by a passage on another blog about how infant mortality rates are so low today compared to what they were a hundred years ago. I suppose it's true, I ran into hundreds of examples of mothers and infants dying during birth when I was researching a little family history. Funny how those old vital statistic records make you think twice about life today. I'm pretty sure it was taken for granted that a family would lose at least one child back in those days. My grandmother even had told me a story about my grandfather's mother giving birth to a stillborn baby in the pasture of their farm. She simply left it there and went about finishing her chores and didn't go back for the baby until she was done. While I suppose it was commonplace maybe even fifty years ago for infants to die, today it just doesn't seem like it should happen. We have so much knowledge, our society has made so many advancements in medical technology that you would think that they could fix anything. I never knew babies died anymore until mine did. And I guess they always will. It's such a sad thing, to realize that some things can't be fixed, that human beings will always die from something, even the youngest amongst us. However, in learning firsthand that sorrow, and having shed tears for many a mother I've met through this dark journey, I have learned that even though death can't be undone, there lays a comfort from those that have gone before, to pave the way for those of us who come behind. And we too shall bear offerings of comfort and love for those who join this dark journey behind us. May I never forget the hands that reached out to me in my darkest hour by reaching out to those in theirs.

Just Empty

I am just empty today. I have spent most of the day with my girls, tending to their needs, taking care of them while their father is away. My heart wasn't in it though. Today I was definitely on autopilot, my head somewhere far away thinking about Calvin and all that we've lost. If I could flog myself to release some of the pain, I probably would, however self-flagellation is not socially acceptable here and I would probably be locked up for being a danger to myself. I need a release. I'm tired of carrying everything so close to my chest these days. Tired of holding in my grief. I need to expel some of the demons that make my life feel so miserable and purposeless on days like today. I need something...I just don't know what. That empty feeling inside could swallow me whole I swear, and although I've tried, I just can't seem to fill it. There isn't enough anything that could fill it...I think. Maybe it's just learning to live with it. Learning to live with the ever-present gnawing inside, the ache that screams for recognition. Lord knows I've tried to satisfy it with food, drugs, sleep, shopping and blogging, but my offerings seem a pittance to the void that threatens to suck out my very existence. Maybe if I cover my ears and scream La la la la la la la as loud as I can, it will drown out the call of emptiness that echos through my soul. Maybe if I just treat it like a bad weed and cut off it's food supply it will wither up and die...But how do I do that? How do I rid myself of this relentless pain? How do I push the dead aside long enough to focus on the living, my girls? How do I set my world straight again? God, I feel like a shell. A hollow fucking shell. I want to rescind my membership to this dead baby club and have my son back. And my life. Can I please speak to who's in charge here?

Baby Blues

Both of my sisters-in-law are pregnant right now. Susan is due in October and Trisha just found out recently and is due in February. I am so incredibly happy for them. I am also so filled with longing for another baby, it's making me a touch blue. Don't get me wrong, I am so grateful for Georgia and I love every little bit of her adorable baby self. But she's growing far too fast. Too soon she'll be running from me rather than to me and my days of snuggling and kissing and caressing all that baby softness will be coming to an end. Making the decision to have my tubes tied after my c-section was probably the right decision for me both mentally and physically, but it doesn't take away the desire to have more children, to try again for another baby boy. Shane and I have discussed all the different options, IVF, adoption, using a gestational carrier, but have no idea where or how to proceed. I know as far as having my eggs harvested, I'm on a timeline. Most clinics will only harvest your eggs up to age thirty-nine and I'm thirty-eight now. I also have a high level of follicle stimulating hormone which isn't conducive to IVF. I don't know whether I should just start making peace with the fact that my pregnant days are over and that our two girls will be all we have, or whether we should forge ahead and attempt to have another baby. I guess I never really realized how much I would grieve not only my son, but the loss of my childbearing potential. I'm sad for us. I'm sad because I feel like I've ruined any chance for us to conceive naturally again and that in itself is heartbreaking. I've tried praying about this but I just haven't gotten an answer about which way we should go. All I know is that I want another baby and while I will have the chance to be a hands on auntie with one of my sister-in-law's baby, it won't be the same as having my own sweet child sleeping nuzzled into my shoulder. I guess I'm kind of feeling sorry for myself right now, and I know that there will be resolution to this problem one way or the other. I just don't know whether I want to accept the fact that it might not be what I want.

Daddy

Today I honour my husband Shane. He is the best father in the world to our children. I can't say enough how wonderful it has been to be married to a man who adores his children. When our first child Lorelei was born, I was terrified. She was tiny, only five and a half pounds when we brought her home. I was so worried that something would happen to her I was paralyzed in my mothering. Shane jumped in with both feet, even though she was his first child as well. He never hesitated to change a diaper, give a bottle, cuddle for hours or give a bath. In fact, he has bathed both our girls since birth, their slipperiness made me too uncomfortable to try it myself. He has been tender with them, soothing colicky cries, kissing boo boos, dancing with our girls to his favorite music. He makes them feel cherished. I love him so much for that. He is amazing with our oldest, firm and no nonsense but also doting. He has spent so much quality time with Lorelei since Calvin has died, taking her camping and fishing, spending daddy time with her. She has needed it, her place in our family has been shaken since the arrival of the twins and the death of her brother. He has been very aware of her needs and I thank him for that. Too often caught up in my own grief and the needs of Georgia, I often didn't have as much to offer Lorelei in the months following Calvin's death. I am so proud of Shane. He may not always be perfect, but his love for his children is.

As for my own dad, he wasn't the greatest father. He had alcohol and drug issues, gambling problems and didn't think twice about hitting his wives. He was though, the only father I knew and our relationship wasn't all bad. He was extremely proud of me in his own way, often taking me to his favorite neighbourhood watering hole and sitting me up on the barstool next to him. I would drink Shirley Temples until I thought I'd float away and he'd marvel at how many I could put away. He always had room on his lap for me, and I snuggle in against his belly and enjoy the smell of his cologne and the feel of his arm around me. He would take me for two weeks in the summer, always at some swanky cottage he had rented or in his camper at the best rv park in the world for kids. I would swim, play with the other kids until dark and stuff myself with peanut butter and cheese whiz sandwiches. I worshiped my dad. In the later years, we fell apart, my disapproval of his lifestyle driving a wedge between us. When I married my first husband, he urged me to contact my father and rekindle the relationship. I did and although it was strained, I was eventually able to say "I love you" again. The last conversation I had with my dad was him telling me he was going away for awhile and that I wouldn't be able to reach him at his home number. I assumed he was going to jail. Six months later I received a call that he had died of lung cancer. When I received the box of his things, it was filled with pictures of me. I wept like I would never stop. I do miss him and I'm so sorry he died alone, without family there. I pray he is in heaven looking out for my baby boy, being the grandfather to him that he was as a father to me when I was little.