Always like this

It's never a long period of time that passes when I don't read a post on one of my babyloss mom's blogs about a milestone that was reached. A year since the birth, the death, the due date....and I look at my calendar and see 1 year, 4 months 3 weeks and 2 days since Chase went to heaven. I can't believe it has been that long. A year ago I never thought of this day. I was trudging through each day as the sun rose, but I certainly did not have on my mind what my life would be like when Chase had been gone for a year and more. I didn't want to think of that time. I remember feeling like I was drowning because I wanted time to stop and because with each passing day, I felt like he was slipping further and further away from me.

This is the worst feeling, speaking from my experience, as someone who has lost a baby. When there are only so many memories to hold on to, and even fewer sweet, precious moments type of memories, to hold on to the legacy of your little one. There is an immense longing to see my little boy as a toddler. I wonder who he would look like, probably just like his big brother, but I will never know for sure. When I see babies that I suppose are near Chase's age, I always try to guess. First how old they are, then what my baby must look and act like.

I have not had the dreams I thought I would have had by now. I may have dreamt about Chase, though, and not remembered it. I had a dream a few nights ago....one that is fading because it was so.....real.....so...weird.....and so scary once I woke up. I can't remember much of it now but I remember having a baby, that I think was Chase, because it was Chase's age, but I don't remember the face. This baby was in a crib or bassinett or casket, or something, laying there, lifeless. There was another baby tinier, laying in another bed, too, lifeless. I'm sure the older one was Chase, because I had "kept" him. Somehow. Since he died. And eventually, he gasped and started breathing. And I just picked him up and held him and cried. And cried and cried. That's all I remember about my dream. I think the little baby took a breath, too, in my dream. They both "came to life". Right before my eyes. It was a very disturbing dream. I long so dearly to hold my sweet Chase, to feel him moving and hear him and touch him. And I got him back in this dream. I didn't get to "see" him really, I don't remember a face or any details...other than him coming to life finally.....after laying there this whole time....this past year plus. And I don't remember much about the other baby, either. Just that he, too, had started breathing.

And as I checkup on my BLM friends and read their stories, I realize that we are moving on, our lives continue. But then again, we are stuck. In a time when we try to remember our babies. A place where we forever will be.....until we are with them again some day.

I miss Chase as much today as I did the day he left us. I feel differently, my struggles are different, but I still ache for him. I look at his picture every day and though some times I just see the picture, there are other times when I take myself back to that very point in time....trying so hard to remember more than what is in the photograph. Wishing, still, I had more. Because as these days pass, I do feel further away from him. The pain not so sharp, but dull and everlasting. And maybe, maybe some day soon, I'll get a visit from him in a dream I can hold onto.

Dry Eyes

I had gone probably 4 or 5 days without shedding a tear and it was not because Chase was on my mind any less. And it wasn't like tears were not appropriate in the kind of week I had. But despite their being just below the surface, even welling up in my eyes, I was unable to cry...to let go and let the tears fall. It was really odd to me but I think I was dealing with things that I was simply too exhausted to cry about this week. We picked out our stone for Chase, but it was I who met with the funeral home guy (what's his job title?). He came over twice and, being a small town, he is very easy to talk to. In fact, I think in this town, in his line of work, he makes it a point to "talk" to his customers if that is something they so desire. There are times when I do think I need to talk to someone, but it's so hit or miss when I want this that it has never been worth my while to check into it. But it did help, a little bit, to talk to this man and share with him some of the difficulties I was having with my grief. It's also about "sharing my story" in this small town so that people know what happened, what happened to me and what precisely we are dealing with besides the loss of our child. But I never cried. I got cold and shivered like I always do when I talk about it, but I had no tears to share with this man.

I had some deep conversations with Emma about Chase this week. The kids go to a counselor and I talked to her about how that was going and we decided that it was time to end this. She feels much more comfortable talking to us about Chase than the counselor because the counselor doesn't know what she's going through. I understand. I feel her pain. I see her pain. I hurt because she hurts. But I shed no tears.

Patric has been working extremely hard and been away from us alot for the last week. All I want is to be alone with him. I want to be able to talk without distraction and since I stay home and our business is out of the home in his opinion, we have all the time in the world any couple would want together. But he is my everything. Besides the kids, who are my best buddies in the world, he is who I confide in, socialize with, share ideas with, dream with, grieve with and love with. And when we are not on the same page, things just don't feel right. I raise all these questions in my head and my imagination runs wild. Out of hand, as he would say. I had just ensured "the funeral home guy" that we were cemented to each other...stronger than we ever have been together. And then we have an argument and suddenly I don't know what page he is on, what chapter he is in or if he's even reading the same book. Fortunately, though, we are cemented. We are united. And we can talk (eventually). And then just like that, we're back on the same page again. We're on the same team. The one that has had some rough games, but the one that wins. Somehow. Because we have what it takes. And for that I am thankful. I need him to get through this. I need him to keep living this life we live with all the pain and sadness and the love and happiness, that is still to be had. I have changed, just as he has, and I no longer have the outlets I used to have to share my pain. It only makes sense that when you change, you have to start over with everything else, too. The five of us are different. And only we know who we are now. My adult relationships have changed....I have begun starting over that aspect of my life, as well. What I seek from adults is far less than what I used to. I have started new relationships, to replace the old. Or just left emptiness where there used to be something I needed. What I need is in front of me, in my reach. We lean on each other and we get through those hard days. And then we cry together, when the tears start falling again.

Dark Times

Oh my....I'm back to my blog for therapy, once again. Journalling in this space has been sometimes the only thing that relieves my mind, gives me comfort. Once I purge onto this screen, I can rest my thoughts or shift to something else. I can release the burdens of what is going on in my head--and in my heart. My last post was a huge vent for me. And I received some of the most supportive, helpful comments and emails from this community. The words I read after I posted affected me in ways that I wonder if you have any idea what you did for me. But then I know that I have read your blogs and left comments, trying to help you along...because that's what we do. And I know you do know that you have touched me. Because you know. You know this awful road I am on. And you know all the obstacles, the diversions, the temptations, the hills and the valleys. So thank you. Thank you for being there and helping me through that moment and getting me past it. I took your advice and I held back. FB has not even been a temptation anymore. So, whew! It feels good to have it behind me.

I have really been in a dark place. Last week was really, really hard. Thankfully this week has been better. What is my "dark place?" Deep, deep sadness. Regrets. Wondering what ifs. Wishing... Missing.... Longing.... Hurting.... And withdrawing. I have really pulled myself in since that last post. I have not reached out to anyone. I have not had any contact with anyone, really, but my family. I know everyone else has moved on. I realized that my problems are not their problems. I wanted them to be and I wanted that kind of support....like it was their problem. But it's not. And I can't expect...or ask that of anyone. Life does go on--for them. Unless you have suffered this loss, there is no way of knowing. I would not want to know...I really wouldn't. I wish I didn't.

But life goes on for them, while mine is spiralling. Still, after nearly 10 months, I think about what happened every day. Several times a day. Every night, still, I go to sleep thinking about the day I had Chase. I think about the doctor. A lot. I wish I could have gotten inside his head. And what's worse, I wish I still could. It bothers me. I wish I could move past it, but I can't. It surrounds me. Daily I am faced with him, or some small degree of separation from him. In a small town I can't remove myself from his presence. And I can't face him. I feel like I need to meet him head on and talk to him. But I can't. He won't. It will never happen. No closure, no answers, no story. And for that I am labeled. By whom, I guess, is irrelevent. Because as I have said, I've withdrawn. That's the only way to protect my physical, emotional and mental well-being. I get the peace I seek from my family. I did have lunch with a friend this week and I really enjoyed it. She came to me, of course, and I am thankful for that. But what she doesn't know is how badly and why I needed that contact. I'm human. I am woman, for pete's sake. So as much as I would like to shut everyone out, I can't. I don't need much, but I do need a little. But the vast majority I am surrounded by can't provide that. She did, though, and I needed it.

But I don't look, act, or even feel, like the recluse I have described. I can tell that I have withdrawn, but I don't feel like a standout. I have the facade that we all know so well going on. I smile and converse and move on. But the tears are right there under the surface. A lot of phone calls this week about stuff we still need to take care of...and I talk, even laugh because it's the only way I know to get this thing done when you know the funeral home director personally, but wonder if they know that underneath that normal-sounding, jovial voice is an ocean of tears. Just waiting to hang up the phone so I can let them go.

So there is still a lot of pain. We talk of Chase daily with the kids. He even has a Mii so Reese can blay baseball with him on the Wii, morbid maybe to some but we love it. But there is not a moment that goes by that I don't think of him either being here with us, his things I still have in the house, the formula in the cupboard, the hospital I drive by all the time and the tragic events that took place there. And it has sent me in this very dark direction on my path. My heart litterally feels heavy sometimes with the sadness that I bear. I miss him so badly. He is growing up fast and he's not even here. I can't believe he'd be almost 10 months already. He was such a sweet, sweet boy and we would have been such a happy family. I remember being so unsure if we wanted to have another baby or not and then we got pregnant with Chase and were so excited to add on and complete us. Now I know that having a baby would be truly a blessing but I will never, never feel we are complete. I feel like my hands are tied. I can't fix it this time. And that is what hurts. It always will. I'm not sure what our family will be...but I know what it won't have. Because we will always miss him. He will always be a part of us, but never here.

Onward I push. With my family. We are strong, we are together, and we will live our lives with pride, joy and love. We pull each other along when one of us needs a little help. I am so thankful for that. They are who bring me out of the darkness that I seem to fall into. Chase, too. I cry for him, but I also smile about him. I love you, little man. While you are with us and we include you in everything we do, I still miss you every moment of my day.

Another wave

This is my second post today....and it amazes me the range of motions in any given day. How I can go from being elated that I did a silly yoga pose, to cleaning the kids' rooms, to tidying up the baby dresser and crib, to sitting on my bed in shock and a wave of tears that I still can't believe my baby boy is gone--it's unreal. But then it's real.

I think I am in denial. I really do. When the magnitude of what has happened hits me, it is overwhelming. I can't believe one of our kids is gone. I don't want to believe it. I never got to bring him home, never got to dress him in his clothes, never got to....but yet I knew him so well. I remember how excited each of us was to meet him. I remember how blessed I was to be the one carrying him, growing him inside me, taking him with me wherever I go. To think that he is gone forever....I can't. I think I am still waiting for him to come home. I never had to clean out any of the baby stuff from the house. Being the fourth child, I had it down to the bare necessities what I needed set up. And it's all still there. I have not taken down teh crib, nor the dressing table and hutch. Several months ago I took the stroller and infant seat back out to the storage shed in the back yard, but it wasn't taht hard. I was just stowing it for later....when....what?

I went through the dressing table drawers this morning as I often do and there is all the baby shampoo, lotion, oil, some paci's, some nipples, burp cloths, nursing pads, tons of diapers and wipes...and I wondered how long some of that would "keep". Because in my mind, I'm going to use it. One day. I'm not sure when. Either when Chase comes home or we have another baby. But I'm not sure what I am hoping for more. And I have never thought about giving away any of it. I donated some opened packages of diapers that were handed down to me (disposables) to the church, but none of the new, unopened packages. I have not even considered it. And as I looked at them and wondered their longevity, I know that I still cannot even think about giving them to anyone. I suppose I could give it to my little sister--she's expecting. And that's about as removed as I can let Chase's stuff be. But I'm not even ready for that. And I don't see it anytime in the near future.

So I had that wave of grief hit me again. Sadness. Tears. The feeling of being punched in the gut. And I just miss him. I miss him. So. Much. I am sick, literally nauseous, that he is gone. I can't believe my baby, a human being, is missing from our family. That thought just shakes me to the very core. It's too much to handle some days. I still don't know how to sometimes.

And then one of my little yoga partners walks in. He gives me a hug and says, "Is it about Chase?" And I say, "yeah". And he gives me his signature 3 kisses....one for me, one for him and one for Chasey. So, yes, I guess I can handle it. With a little help. And some much needed sugar from my boys.

Times Like These

This has been an extremely hard year in the Pearson household and to say we have been untouched by the economy would be grossly false. Like many, the price of simple things as groceries has come to add up to a lot. Thankfully we have a superstore that makes some of those prices competitive but I can't believe sometimes how my mom is coming out in me. I remember growing up and saving everything. I would like to say that my packrat characteristics stemmed from this but I see my own daughter turning into a packrat and I know I haven't influenced this--if it's not put away, and it looks like trash, it goes in the trash! I'm talking about things like the ever growing tin foil ball (of RECYCLED tinfoil), making caseroles so the chicken goes further, putting unfinished glasses of milk in the fridge to be drank or used for cereal the next morning, pooring half empty glasses of kool-aid back in the pitcher, limiting the kids' toilet paper usage (or painfully telling my little boy that no, he does NOT have to use TP when he pees), shifting your schedule to make only 1 short trip to wherever, rather than going back and forth twice, filling your shampoo, Dawn or handsoap bottle with water to make sure you get ALL the soap out! This is all the kind of "moderation" I grew up with, and thus, was normal for me. Somewhere along the line, though, I lost a lot of my "efficiency". I stopped looking at prices in teh grocery store. I used 3 kleenexes when I only needed 1. I bought paper towels instead of kitchen towels, the list goes on.
These are priveledges to some, carelessness to others and completely foreign to even a few I'm sure, but growing up with 3 sisters in a midwest town with no stoplights, no curbs and 1 grocery store the size of my house, it was how we lived. As an adult, now, with both of us working from home, we are learning to adapt. I feel, sometimes, as though I'm going back to some ways way back when (I DON'T save my tinfoil, though!). I think of how my parents coped back then. Were they as stressed out as I am? Of course they were, but only now am I appreciating what it was exactly they were going through. Do I worry about my kids wondering why I monitor their TP usage? No, not at all. They are loved, happy, and feel very important in our household and that's all that matters to them. Knowing how to stretch a dollar is useful information for them, anyway.
I do feel, though, that in these times of uncertainty, not knowing what next week, next month or next year is going to have in store for us, make us closer as a family unit. Each year of my life gives me perspective. Things are relative. What is important is what makes us happy. And when it doesn't seem like we're very happy, looking at one of the kids and hearing "I love you, mommy" or just "hey mom, what's up?" puts everything in the right light.
Here's to us and here's to our future.......may happiness be our biggest accomplishment!