Day 18

Posted: April 4, 2013 | Author: | Filed under: The Story of a Mother | 1 Comment

I’ve learned to avoid being home alone. The last few days have been hard, so with Evan staying at his cousins’ and June over at a friend’s house this morning, I knew I needed to go do something. I got some spring/summer clothes for the kids, and tried to ignore some really great deals on maternity clothing. (The deals weren’t quite good enough that I could get away with only using the clothes for the next month.)

Then I thought about having lunch by myself at Ikea. Instead, I talked Jarom into a lunch date (not at Ikea) and we tried to not talk about the baby. Or the burial. Or the expenses. Or the sadness. We laughed about our less-than-stellar waiter, eavesdropped on the conversations around us, tried to figure out what we’d add to the soup to make it more palatable. It’s nice to suffer together and to be funny together.

When I got home, I decided to read in our hammock-chair-swing. I finished a book yesterday (Mr. Penumbra’s 24-hour Bookstore) and was browsing through the daily deals on my Kindle. For whatever reason I chose Angela’s Ashes. It was making me feel better about my life, but when a second child died I thought maybe I’d better move on to something else.

Today has been better than yesterday, overall, which is a gift in its own right. We have another appointment to check Tiny Baby’s heartbeat tomorrow. I’m not worried like I was last week. There’s a lot going on in the next few days and I hope the busyness keeps me distracted.

Plus, when I showed June the new clothes I bought her, she was adorable. Every time I pulled a shirt out of the bag, her jaw dropped and she exclaimed, “For ME?!? I love it!! Is it for my birthday?”

I love my kids.

Day 17

Posted: April 3, 2013 | Author: | Filed under: The Story of a Mother | 5 Comments

We did Easter baskets for the kids on Sunday, and they both got a little jar of bubbles. Guess what? Ender loves bubbles. He eats them. It’s pretty hilarious, and I was going to post a video of it, but then today ended up being so depressing that I thought I’d share my sad life with you some more.

It seems like Wednesdays and Sundays are the hardest days for me – Sundays because I see lots and lots of little babies at church, and Wednesdays because then it’s “x weeks until.” I hate finishing the sentence. Until I hold my baby. Until my baby dies. Until I leave the hospital empty-handed.

I don’t feel angry or like this is an unfair situation, but I do feel jealous of all the parents who are expecting healthy babies. If things had gone differently, and Tiny Baby had been a healthy girl, I was going to sew a blessing gown. Now we’ve had a generous offer of a handmade burial gown.

Most of the time it’s so easy for me to discuss the situation calmly and, to a large extent, unemotionally. But then the hurt catches up with me and all I can think is

I want my baby.
I want my baby.
I want my baby.

But in 3 weeks, my baby will be gone.

Day 16

Posted: April 2, 2013 | Author: | Filed under: The Story of a Mother | 8 Comments

Mika has already done a great post about things that people can do or say to be helpful.  People have been truly fantastic in how much they have been willing to help with everything from babysitting to steaks.  However, one of the hardest things for me is to answer the question, “how are you doing?”  It is such a simple question, and it frustrates me that the question is no longer simple to answer.

Half the time I feel fine.  Half the time I feel like I’m on the verge of tears.  Half the time I feel like I can almost forget that anything terrible is happening.  Half the time I am bad with fractions.

The truth is, I just don’t know how I am.

When we first learned that Tiny Baby wasn’t going to live, I was devastated.  It is true that simply thinking about the situation with Tiny Baby no longer brings the sharp, acute pain that it did only two weeks ago.  Right when we first found out, it seemed like the world had stopped; perhaps more accurately stated, it felt like the world had no right to go on.  Mika and I walked around and saw people living their lives: laughing, joking, and smiling.  As we looked at the various people walking around, seemingly without a care in the world, I couldn’t help but wonder what was wrong with everybody.  Didn’t they know that the world had ended?  Didn’t they know that our Tiny Baby was dying?

Now, the pain is still there, but is it just beneath the surface.  It has transformed from a sharp pain to a dull ache, that is always in the back of my mind.  In the past week, I haven’t had really had too many breakdowns.  And I wonder, is that OK?  Isn’t this something that I should be freaking out about? Didn’t I lose the right to ever feel normal again?  Even though I can sit down and logically think through how it is OK to have good days and bad days, I still feel guilty for having a good day.  Does that mean that I am not thinking about Tiny Baby enough?  Will people think I am heartless if I say that I am doing OK on a certain day?

Even on the days when I feel that I am not falling apart, I can always feel the pain just below the surface.  Instead of the sharp pain, it is a deep sea of turmoil just waiting to break through my facade.  I almost feel that I haven’t explored it fully, and I am terrified what will happen when I have no choice but to come to terms with what is happening.

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