I've been grieving for more than two years straight now, but for different things. Lately, I've been thinking quite a lot about Evan Louis, Bud's perfect son, whose body I saw cradled in her arms in her casket. The sweet boy that she wanted more than anything, who never knew anything but love, and who never had to be apart from his mama. From the moment he was conceived, he was loved every second, and he still is. With his mama every second.
And then I think about our own Baby B. Sometimes I think he was a boy. And he should still be with me, kicking me and making my body ache, this very day. I should be so pregnant right now that there should be the question in my mind, and in my midwife's mind as to whether I can travel safely to my brother's wedding in Houston this weekend. The bridesmaid dress I will wear was selected to allow for the unknown hugeness that I should be right now. (Is hugeness a word? I don't think so.)
Grief is such a weird thing and it's constantly changing. I thought I was pretty good at it, with the loss of several of my family members and Donna. But I was so wrong. You never know how it will affect you.
I feel like I can relate to the Robin Williams story because I can understand his pain. I've never once thought about taking it as far as he did, but I completely understand how it is to feel completely and utterly alone in this world, alone in every sense of the word, and to also have the pressure of everyone you know thinking they are so 'close' to you, or they 'know' you, and they don't know how you could ever feel alone. Or in his case, they were surprised that he made the decision to end his life.
For some reason, the news of his passing set me back a couple of steps. I imagined him: alone in his room, with the rope and the closet door, and his tears, and his need to feel the release from the pain. I understand all of that. And it's scary to admit that, but it's the truth. I understand wanting to be free from the pain, but I don't understand taking actual steps to end your own life. I could never do that.
In between all of this, I started picking fights with my husband- about anything. Everything. He shut down and wouldn't talk to me. That made it even worse. And then we had a breakthrough. Or a breakdown. Either way, it turned out to be for the best.
I finally- FINALLY- got my 2nd period since the miscarriage, and it was after a long cycle- 42 days- which is also the longest cycle I've ever had since I started charting, and the last time I had one was the cycle before I got pregnant with Abigail. I was feeling relieved because I was going to Austin for my birthday weekend (alone, a big deal!) and I didn't want to find out I was pregnant by surprise on my birthday. We have not been trying. I've been doing acupuncture, and focusing on relaxing and being present in the moment, and especially on enjoying Abby being in school two days a week.
And I got a phone call from a close friend that I've known since I was 4. She said, "So, I took 2 pregnancy tests this morning, and they both have a faint line, but I'm just not sure." My response was: If there's a line, even if it's faint, it sounds like you are pregnant! And pretended to be happy. Then we discussed how she would make it special to announce the news to her husband. I even explained that 'when I got pregnant the 2nd time, it came back negative, and then a week later, the line was there, so if there's a line now, that means you are'. She asked if Abby was 13 months old when I got pregnant, like her son was, and I let her know that Abby was 11.5 months old.
She called back later that day to go over the details of how she announced the news to her husband. I did tell her to let me know how it went, expecting a text with a picture of her son wearing the onesie she was planning to buy. That night, Bean went to bed early, and I got drunk. I had wine with dinner, and then I was having so much fun watching Project Runway and texting a friend, that I opened a bottle of cheap champagne. And poured it into my fancy old-school champagne flutes lined in gold, splashing it on myself a little bit, and just "loving life". I got up at one point to go pee and threw up.
I stumbled into the bedroom, and was apparently being so loud that I woke my husband. I told him I threw up, and he asked if I was sick. I told him I had some champagne. And he got freaked out. I don't drink to the point of throwing up, and I don't drink alone. Just personal rules, I guess. We ended up staying up at least 2 hours talking about everything- my thoughts on the miscarriage, my friend's pregnancy (I had some mean thoughts here), wondering why she deserved a pregnancy and not me, and he said I asked what he thought about it all. And I cried. Really hard. I remember that part. Bottom line is I felt like I finally let him in on all of the things that I'd been feeling, and he supported me. I always knew he would, but I didn't let him have the chance.
After I got back from Austin, the newly pregnant friend called again to chat on her way home from work. What stands out to me about this conversation is that I had the intense need to get off the phone, but couldn't figure out how to make it happen. And then she said, "I just hate this first part, where you are waiting to go to the first appointment, and all you want is to make sure there's a baby in there, a viable thing with a heartbeat".
I just mumbled something like "yeah, I know". I had completely different thoughts.
"What I really hate is when you go to the first appointment and everything is fine. And then you have some weird thoughts, but you push them out of the way, and you announce your pregnancy to everyone you know, and you show up for your second appointment, hopeful that your fears will be gone. And then you are told that your baby doesn't have a heart beat, and you spend 4 hours in labor- alone- completely alone- and give birth to your baby's....whatever- body parts or something... on your toilet and you are so freaked out that you flush it. And then everyone expects you to be completely normal. That's what I really hate" And then I would have hung up and she would have felt terrible.
I'm glad I didn't say that, but I am glad that I was able to talk with Bean about it and he was given another opportunity to support me. And conversations have come up since then where I've offered my support for him, if he's willing to take it.
The combination of this difficult situation, plus imagining how huge I would be right now for my brother's wedding, and adding in the fact that my husband and I are more connected now, has put me in a much better place emotionally. Not to mention that Abby now gets excited and smiles going into school, which gives me a nice sigh of relief. I need to take care of myself, and I need to be alone in my house to relax, and I'm finally getting that chance now.
When I think about Bud, I feel happy. I miss her, but it's still abstract. Maybe it's because she's already in me, in my soul, like she always was, and the only thing I have trouble with is not hearing her voice, or getting to have sleepovers and talk into the night with her.
When I think about Evan Louis, I do feel a little sad. But mostly I'm happy for Bud that her son never knew anything but love and that she never had to be apart from him.
When I think about Baby B, I miss him. I wish he were here with me, and that I would get to hold him next month. I think he's somewhere (hopefully with Bud, Evan, and Donna) looking out for me, or maybe he's waiting to come back to me in a different body. I don't want to say that we are trying for another baby, but we are not preventing anything from happening that's supposed to at this point.
I know that being pregnant will not make me happy. In fact, Bean had some very quotable moments last night when I asked him about this topic. He said I was normal when I found out about the pregnancy with Abigail, and then everything changed when the nausea, aches, heartburn, etc. settled in. But I know that for me there is a comfort in knowing, and feeling that my body is back to normal, and that there is a chance I could get pregnant again.
Also, I found out that my great grandmother was a twin. I have always loved the idea of having fraternal twins (one girl and one boy), because you get two for the pregnancy of one (haha). Bean doesn't even want to entertain the idea! And it's not under my control anyway. For now, I am just going to enjoy the ride, and see what life has to offer.
My cute girl wore boots to the pumpkin patch last week and took it upon herself to strike a pose on a large umbrella straddling a pole. It was hilarious, so how could I possibly let this grief thing get in the way of laughing about that?
2 comments:
Love is much, much, much bigger than Death. Working through grief is a continual mind, body and soul process. 37 years later I still grief and mourn my full-term stillborn son because my love for him will never end. Don't hide your grief, continue to blog, and know you are often in my thoughts and prayers. If you ever need somebody else to talk, to my phone # 713-829-5131.
I have always loved the idea of fraternal twins. My grandfather was a twin.
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