That's what I was screaming yesterday at Brian. I may have been overreacting a little. Maybe not. But that's how it came out.
His youngest and my youngest are about 1.5 years apart in age. And, for the most part, they get along really well. When they don't, though, it's a weekend full of referring and dealing with the "but he did" and "but he said" and yada yada.
This was one of those weekends.
Brian was leaving the house to run an errand and said, as he walked out the door and with a bit of frustration and anger, "This week we're cleaning out the baby's room and separating the boys".
My ears instantly rang with blood flow rushing through. My palms were sweaty. My vision went blurry. I opened the door (as he'd already walked out) and screamed "Like hell you will".
I lost it. I started bawling. He came back in and we fought for a minute. I was telling him he can help me make the boys learn to get along but he cannot take Colton's room from me. I am not ready for it. I am just not ready and I don't know if I can survive that right now.
He calmed me down and left, yet nothing else was said about it. I don't know if he still thinks he wants to do that. I know that I just cannot. The nursery is all I have left of Colton here. It's the only place I can go and feel him, feel peace, and feel like there's still a chance I'll be a mommy again. If he takes the nursery from me he also takes hope and he takes the last bit of Colton I can physically hold on to. And I'm just not ready for that. And I don't know when I will be.
As I have said so many times about so many things, I know it's not logical or fair. I know that there shouldn't be two kids sharing a room while one sits empty for goodness knows how much longer, if it would ever be filled again.
But I'm just.not.ready. And rushing me and making me do it won't help. I feel like I have made so much progress, like I have done so much to try to heal and move forward that I should be afforded the chance to take time on other things ... like his nursery.
I am just doing the best I can, and packing up his nursery is not something on the 'can' list right now.
Monday, August 29, 2011
Friday, August 26, 2011
Soccer Season Begins ...
... which should be awesome and fun (which it is) but it's also the "I haven't seen you since last season ... where's the baby??" season.
*le sigh*
Last night at soccer practice a mom from our team last year ran into me. She immediately brightened and said "how's the baby?? where is he???". My niece was standing there, too, and yelled "NO don't ask her that!!!". I felt so bad for my niece; she had such panic in her eyes. I told her it was okay and explained to the mom what happened.
Luckily she was one of the cool ones. She said, "I would tell you that he's better off and that it'll get better but that's just bull shit. That just sucks." It was refreshing to have someone cut the BS. And it was nice to have someone ask questions and talk to me, not hear the news and run like a swarm of bees was attacking. (which happens OFTEN).
However, it sucks to know that over the next few weeks I will run into people who I haven't seen since last season. A time where my belly was huge, waddling was the norm, and the "my baby is almost here" glow covered me. Now some days it's a strain to smile and pretend I even care to function. Especially on soccer days, or any day I know the probability is high of facing someone I haven't seen since before losing Colton.
The reminders of how life should be sucks. I should have my moby wrap with my son tucked in tight while he sleeps through practice. Or hold his little fingers as he tries to walk with my help. Or laugh at his wonder of the feel of the grass. I should have my baby. And I don't. And it sucks.
*le sigh*
Last night at soccer practice a mom from our team last year ran into me. She immediately brightened and said "how's the baby?? where is he???". My niece was standing there, too, and yelled "NO don't ask her that!!!". I felt so bad for my niece; she had such panic in her eyes. I told her it was okay and explained to the mom what happened.
Luckily she was one of the cool ones. She said, "I would tell you that he's better off and that it'll get better but that's just bull shit. That just sucks." It was refreshing to have someone cut the BS. And it was nice to have someone ask questions and talk to me, not hear the news and run like a swarm of bees was attacking. (which happens OFTEN).
However, it sucks to know that over the next few weeks I will run into people who I haven't seen since last season. A time where my belly was huge, waddling was the norm, and the "my baby is almost here" glow covered me. Now some days it's a strain to smile and pretend I even care to function. Especially on soccer days, or any day I know the probability is high of facing someone I haven't seen since before losing Colton.
The reminders of how life should be sucks. I should have my moby wrap with my son tucked in tight while he sleeps through practice. Or hold his little fingers as he tries to walk with my help. Or laugh at his wonder of the feel of the grass. I should have my baby. And I don't. And it sucks.
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
ALMOST Punched a Pregnant Girl
As sad as it is to admit, and as bad I feel to admit it ... I almost punched a pregnant chick today.
I went to have some lab work done. As I am sitting there waiting to be called back a very noticeably pregnant girl walks in. I will say she was young, which is probably why I cut her some slack.
The tech asks how she's feeling and says "You only have a short time to go right?". The girl, very exasperated, says "Ugh, no, I am 34 weeks! I wish they'd just get her out now. I am so over it".
Blood.Boiled.
I took a few deep breathes to try and calm myself. It didn't work very well.
The tech called me back to draw my blood and I didn't say a word to her. I was steaming and didn't want to unload on this poor unsuspecting tech.
As I walked by this girl to leave I almost stopped to give her a piece of my mind. I didn't. I walked to my car ... and almost turned around, went back inside, and gave her a piece of my mind. Again, I didn't.
Had I, though, she would have probably cried. And I'd have felt bad. I wanted so bad to tell her my son died when I was 34 weeks. That I'd have given ANYTHING to have six more weeks. To have a healthy baby in my belly. To be miserably pregnant, swollen, tired, and "done". I wanted to yell at her and tell her to ENJOY this time with her baby.
And this one time I didn't care about her feelings. I didn't care if I made her cry. I didn't care. I was pissed and frustrated and I didn't want to hold back.
But I did. And she will get to continue to miserably bear the last six weeks of her pregnancy while I mourn the loss of mine.
I went to have some lab work done. As I am sitting there waiting to be called back a very noticeably pregnant girl walks in. I will say she was young, which is probably why I cut her some slack.
The tech asks how she's feeling and says "You only have a short time to go right?". The girl, very exasperated, says "Ugh, no, I am 34 weeks! I wish they'd just get her out now. I am so over it".
Blood.Boiled.
I took a few deep breathes to try and calm myself. It didn't work very well.
The tech called me back to draw my blood and I didn't say a word to her. I was steaming and didn't want to unload on this poor unsuspecting tech.
As I walked by this girl to leave I almost stopped to give her a piece of my mind. I didn't. I walked to my car ... and almost turned around, went back inside, and gave her a piece of my mind. Again, I didn't.
Had I, though, she would have probably cried. And I'd have felt bad. I wanted so bad to tell her my son died when I was 34 weeks. That I'd have given ANYTHING to have six more weeks. To have a healthy baby in my belly. To be miserably pregnant, swollen, tired, and "done". I wanted to yell at her and tell her to ENJOY this time with her baby.
And this one time I didn't care about her feelings. I didn't care if I made her cry. I didn't care. I was pissed and frustrated and I didn't want to hold back.
But I did. And she will get to continue to miserably bear the last six weeks of her pregnancy while I mourn the loss of mine.
Friday, August 19, 2011
Colton's Unbirthday
Yesterday was nine months since Colton left my body. Of course he had been gone a week prior in spirit. And that wasn't his due date. So yesterday it hit me that Unbirthday was the best way to describe the 18th of each month. It's not his birthday for a multitude of reasons.
One, that wouldn't have been his birthday if he had been born alive. Who knows what date that would have been. Two, birthday - to me - is the day you take your first breath and start your life here. He had the opposite. No breath to take. No life to live. And, most importantly, that term just makes the most sense to me.
It was said that it shouldn't be called his unbirthday because he was still born. While I get that I also stand firm that no one who hasn't gone through this can understand the thinking behind any decision made. For me, Unbirthday works. It makes me feel more ... settled ... about the date. I have had such unrest in my mind about the 18th. It's the only 'date' I have for him. But calling it a birthday just doesn't make sense to me.
Anyways. Ramble done. It's settled. November 18th is Colton's Unbirthday and that's how I'll celebrate it. Weird? Probably. Content? Yes. And really that's all I can hope for right now. Any further, deeper thought just boggles and upsets me.
I should be planning a birthday party right now. I should be browsing websites for party supplies, not writing on a blog about it. I should be planning the invite list and deciding cupcakes or cake. Not planning a trip out of town for his unbirthday weekend to escape from the reality that my son is dead. I said before I wasn't angry. Today I am. I am angry I was robbed of all the first. I was robbed of a little boy who I loved so much. I am pissed. It's not fair and in this moment I want to stomp my feet and throw a fit and say so. It's NOT FAIR.
It's just not fair.. .. ..
One, that wouldn't have been his birthday if he had been born alive. Who knows what date that would have been. Two, birthday - to me - is the day you take your first breath and start your life here. He had the opposite. No breath to take. No life to live. And, most importantly, that term just makes the most sense to me.
It was said that it shouldn't be called his unbirthday because he was still born. While I get that I also stand firm that no one who hasn't gone through this can understand the thinking behind any decision made. For me, Unbirthday works. It makes me feel more ... settled ... about the date. I have had such unrest in my mind about the 18th. It's the only 'date' I have for him. But calling it a birthday just doesn't make sense to me.
Anyways. Ramble done. It's settled. November 18th is Colton's Unbirthday and that's how I'll celebrate it. Weird? Probably. Content? Yes. And really that's all I can hope for right now. Any further, deeper thought just boggles and upsets me.
I should be planning a birthday party right now. I should be browsing websites for party supplies, not writing on a blog about it. I should be planning the invite list and deciding cupcakes or cake. Not planning a trip out of town for his unbirthday weekend to escape from the reality that my son is dead. I said before I wasn't angry. Today I am. I am angry I was robbed of all the first. I was robbed of a little boy who I loved so much. I am pissed. It's not fair and in this moment I want to stomp my feet and throw a fit and say so. It's NOT FAIR.
It's just not fair.. .. ..
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
And back down.
Today is a bad day. This week has been a bad week. I spent a large amount of my lunch crying. Bawling. For days I have been moody and not sure why. Once the tears started I couldn't start them. Brian asked why I was crying and I gushed "I just miss him so much".
I didn't even realize I had been thinking about him so much. I didn't realize how heavy my heart was and how much I longed to hold him.
The further away it gets the more panic I feel. I am terrified of losing all memory of him. Sometimes he seems like such a figment of my imagination with no real tangible proof he ever existed. I am paranoid that soon I'll be the only one that remembers him at all.
Even then I don't trust my memory. I don't remember things I feel like I should, I can't forget things I wish I could. Things I won't even subject others to know and remember themselves. I don't keep pictures of him around and now I'm frantic to print them and plaster them everywhere. I am so afraid of losing everything I have left of him.
He would be nine months a week from tomorrow. If he followed suit with his brothers he'd be walking with the furniture, eating solid foods, swimming in the pool, and as active and fun and full of mischief as could be. I wonder what his smile would look like. What color his eyes would be. How long would his hair be, and would it still have curls. I wonder if he'd still be nursing or just on a sippy. I wonder if he'd be a morning person or a night owl. I wonder, wonder, wonder.
Accepting that I will never know is easy. It's just fact. But wondering ... the what-if's ... I don't know if that ever goes away or will ever change. Well, it will change. It will morph to fit the age he's act, the developments he should me reaching. What would his little voice sound like? Which sports would he play or would he be into something else? ?? ? ?? ?
All I know is he left entirely too soon and I'll never know him the way I wish I could.
I didn't even realize I had been thinking about him so much. I didn't realize how heavy my heart was and how much I longed to hold him.
The further away it gets the more panic I feel. I am terrified of losing all memory of him. Sometimes he seems like such a figment of my imagination with no real tangible proof he ever existed. I am paranoid that soon I'll be the only one that remembers him at all.
Even then I don't trust my memory. I don't remember things I feel like I should, I can't forget things I wish I could. Things I won't even subject others to know and remember themselves. I don't keep pictures of him around and now I'm frantic to print them and plaster them everywhere. I am so afraid of losing everything I have left of him.
He would be nine months a week from tomorrow. If he followed suit with his brothers he'd be walking with the furniture, eating solid foods, swimming in the pool, and as active and fun and full of mischief as could be. I wonder what his smile would look like. What color his eyes would be. How long would his hair be, and would it still have curls. I wonder if he'd still be nursing or just on a sippy. I wonder if he'd be a morning person or a night owl. I wonder, wonder, wonder.
Accepting that I will never know is easy. It's just fact. But wondering ... the what-if's ... I don't know if that ever goes away or will ever change. Well, it will change. It will morph to fit the age he's act, the developments he should me reaching. What would his little voice sound like? Which sports would he play or would he be into something else? ?? ? ?? ?
All I know is he left entirely too soon and I'll never know him the way I wish I could.
Monday, August 1, 2011
I am always here, Mom
I feel like Colton, in little ways, tells me he is always here with me. Like at the airport and the butterfly on the wing of the airplane. The rainbow on a rainless day when I needed peace. Little things that calm my heart and make me feel as though he is saying "I am always here, Mom".
Yesterday we had a wonderful day, celebrating summer and family and life with our friends. We had forty people in our home, an equal blend of adults and children. People were in and out of the pool, 20 people at one point! There was wonderful conversation and laughter throughout the day. At one point I thought "this would be even better if Colton was here".
Just at that time a dragonfly fluttered into the back yard. He hoovered across the pool and circled around. For the rest of the day this dragonfly came in and out of the yard. Just one sole dragonfly making it's presence known and bringing with it the peace of "I will always be here". (If you are unfamiliar with the symbolism of a dragonfly please google it ... definitely a symbol of hope for me)
The peace of the dragonfly alone was all I needed, yet it didn't stop there. My friend brought her little girl over. She is almost five months old and such a good, sweet, beautiful little girl. I stole her for the day, playing with her, feeding her ... And finally in the evening she became very tired. There was too much noise and she was getting fussy. I asked her mom if it would be okay if I took her in and rocked her ...
I went into Colton's room with this little baby in my arms and I felt ... love. I felt peace and comfort. I sat in the glider intended to nurse and rock my son in and rocked this little girl to sleep. She so quickly fell quite and peaceful in slumber and it gave me time to just reflect and soak it in. Her mom came in to check and make sure I was okay. I was; but mom wasn't and left crying. She admitted that while I am doing okay she hasn't done well with his loss and it was hard on her. I appreciated knowing someone else grieves him, misses him.
Sitting there, though, rocking her little girl I felt at peace. I realized that I do want another baby down the road, but I'm in no rush. And if we can't have another baby, that'd be okay too. I won't change the theme of the room (which I'd been battling myself over) and I won't take Colton's name off the wall, but I'd add another child's name to the wall. Colton will always be part of our lives. That will always be his room, and maybe some day a little sibling's room. For now, it's his and it's okay that he isn't there physically. He is there, he is here, he is everywhere ... he is never further than a thought, a wish, a promise on the wind that he is okay.
The next three months are going to be hard. No matter how at peace I am, no matter how much healing I experience, his birthday will be difficult. I don't disillusion myself otherwise. However I am also confident that he will show himself that day and the days between now and then and the days after then when I need him most. And, more than anything, he will always be alive in my heart, where my love will always grow for him. He will never be more than a thought away. And that is comfort beyond reason.
Yesterday we had a wonderful day, celebrating summer and family and life with our friends. We had forty people in our home, an equal blend of adults and children. People were in and out of the pool, 20 people at one point! There was wonderful conversation and laughter throughout the day. At one point I thought "this would be even better if Colton was here".
Just at that time a dragonfly fluttered into the back yard. He hoovered across the pool and circled around. For the rest of the day this dragonfly came in and out of the yard. Just one sole dragonfly making it's presence known and bringing with it the peace of "I will always be here". (If you are unfamiliar with the symbolism of a dragonfly please google it ... definitely a symbol of hope for me)
The peace of the dragonfly alone was all I needed, yet it didn't stop there. My friend brought her little girl over. She is almost five months old and such a good, sweet, beautiful little girl. I stole her for the day, playing with her, feeding her ... And finally in the evening she became very tired. There was too much noise and she was getting fussy. I asked her mom if it would be okay if I took her in and rocked her ...
I went into Colton's room with this little baby in my arms and I felt ... love. I felt peace and comfort. I sat in the glider intended to nurse and rock my son in and rocked this little girl to sleep. She so quickly fell quite and peaceful in slumber and it gave me time to just reflect and soak it in. Her mom came in to check and make sure I was okay. I was; but mom wasn't and left crying. She admitted that while I am doing okay she hasn't done well with his loss and it was hard on her. I appreciated knowing someone else grieves him, misses him.
Sitting there, though, rocking her little girl I felt at peace. I realized that I do want another baby down the road, but I'm in no rush. And if we can't have another baby, that'd be okay too. I won't change the theme of the room (which I'd been battling myself over) and I won't take Colton's name off the wall, but I'd add another child's name to the wall. Colton will always be part of our lives. That will always be his room, and maybe some day a little sibling's room. For now, it's his and it's okay that he isn't there physically. He is there, he is here, he is everywhere ... he is never further than a thought, a wish, a promise on the wind that he is okay.
The next three months are going to be hard. No matter how at peace I am, no matter how much healing I experience, his birthday will be difficult. I don't disillusion myself otherwise. However I am also confident that he will show himself that day and the days between now and then and the days after then when I need him most. And, more than anything, he will always be alive in my heart, where my love will always grow for him. He will never be more than a thought away. And that is comfort beyond reason.
Don't ask, please don't tell
There are still triggers (and always will be, I am sure) that "get me". Things that stop me in my tracks, make me catch my breath, and leave me trying to find my footing again. One of those things is babies that appear to be around Colton's age. I can't help but look at them and think "that's what Colton would be doing now" .. "that's what he'd be learning, how he'd be developing".
I try to avoid these babies like the plague. I am okay with older or younger babies, however the babies right in his age range just ... get to me.
Friday night at softball my teammate had her granddaughter with her. A baby. That looked awful close to Colton's (would be) age. In my mind I kept saying "don't ask... just don't even ask". Of course, I asked.
Her response was November 18. I froze in place. Not only was this little girl "close" she was spot on the same age as Colton would be ... if he lived. They shared the day, one coming into this world and one leaving it. I said "she is adorable" and walked away. My knees were weak and my heart was heavy. I just went to Brian and fell into him.
I took a couple deep breaths, rejoined the group, and shortly thereafter we left. I was feeling sad. Just sad. Just "crap, I miss him".
I got home to an email from a friend who reads my blog and reached out to tell me how much it means to me and share with personal ways she relates. And I felt peace. I felt like God heard me needing reassurance and He gave it.
I miss Colton. I miss him so much. But - at least right now - it's getting easier to miss him and love him and not break under the weight of it.
I try to avoid these babies like the plague. I am okay with older or younger babies, however the babies right in his age range just ... get to me.
Friday night at softball my teammate had her granddaughter with her. A baby. That looked awful close to Colton's (would be) age. In my mind I kept saying "don't ask... just don't even ask". Of course, I asked.
Her response was November 18. I froze in place. Not only was this little girl "close" she was spot on the same age as Colton would be ... if he lived. They shared the day, one coming into this world and one leaving it. I said "she is adorable" and walked away. My knees were weak and my heart was heavy. I just went to Brian and fell into him.
I took a couple deep breaths, rejoined the group, and shortly thereafter we left. I was feeling sad. Just sad. Just "crap, I miss him".
I got home to an email from a friend who reads my blog and reached out to tell me how much it means to me and share with personal ways she relates. And I felt peace. I felt like God heard me needing reassurance and He gave it.
I miss Colton. I miss him so much. But - at least right now - it's getting easier to miss him and love him and not break under the weight of it.
Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. Not as the world gives do I give to you. Let not your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid.
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