You may say I'm a dreamer...?

Recently, I had a pretty eye-opening conversation with my significant other (yes, I haven't officially posted about him...but there is one.  And there has been one for awhile now.  Awhile? Yes, at this point and at this stage in my life, I don't really keep track of months.  The girl who remembers just about every date doesn't remember how long it has been?  Nope.  And it's okay.  Because the point is, he makes me happy.  He accepts my life before.  Acknowledges my daughter.  And makes me want to be a better person.  I can see a future with him.  Sorry to be brief.  But it is an update, after all.  There will be more about him throughout this post, so stay tuned.)  But anyways, back to this conversation.  (Side note again: we have known each other for awhile before the "dating" was official, so he knows about this whole "grief" thing.)  We were on our way home from the Brewers game.  It has been absolutely sweltering in Wisconsin, so I think we both might have been a little on edge during this conversation; but nevertheless, the conversation took place.  We have been talking a lot about the future (again...time moves faster the older you are...and maybe the more you have lived).  Marriage.  Kids.  Money.  House.  Careers.  Etc.  This conversation kind of encompassed them all.  However, the kids part took precedence.  Mainly, because we both know it is our number one priority at this point (or at some point) in our lives.  I want a rainbow baby.  He wants to be a dad.  So, in talking about the future, he brings up buying a new car or house.  I am a little taken aback by this because I don't see the reasoning right now to do that, especially given our current working locations and financial situations.  He says, "I am just thinking about it...and wanting to talk it through."  I then go on to explain that if we really are planning to be together (which I know we are), then I don't know if buying a car is in our best interest at this point.  Although, I do mention that if a car is really needed (since I know so little about cars), then he does need to go ahead and start looking.  However before I can really stop my mind from starting to race the conversation evolves into the "What ifs?" then.  And they all came straight from my mouth.  What if we need money to take care of fertility issues?  What if I lose another baby?  What if we need money to adopt?  What if the baby is sick or needs extra care?  What if.....  What if.

And so it goes.  The big "What ifs?"  Seriously.  When did I become such a pessimist?  Or is that a realist?  I don't know.  Anyways, after all of those thoughts went through my mind and out my mouth, I could tell that his mind was now racing too.  But not in the way I thought it would.  He didn't look scared.  He didn't look angry.  He looked agitated.  Frustrated.  And then he looked at me and said, "When did you stop being a dreamer?"  WHAT?!!! I am a dreamer.  Right?!!  I dream about world peace.  I dream about the end to cancer.  I dream for all people to have food on their tables and a place to sleep. I dream about every kid getting a good, high quality education and live in a world where they feel safe.  I dream about people coming together, holding hands and singing, "Kum Ba Yah" or "We Shall Overcome."  And that's all people coming together.  So, see.... I am a dreamer.  Right?!!  And I do dream about me.  About what my life could look like.  But my significant other was right....in some ways.  The dreams about my life are skewed.  They are tainted with darkness and the "What ifs."  To realize this that day in the car stung a little bit.  Maybe it stung because I realized he was right.  Maybe it stung because I thought my significant other already knew this about me.  Or maybe it stung because my life has been made up of so much unhappiness (lately) that to imagine happiness is a little bit scarier than I ever thought it would be.  It was probably a little bit of all of those feelings combined.

We then went out to talk a little bit about what he saw when I talked about a future.  He said he hears me talk about children.  Even getting pregnant.  But then there is always the "if" or "but."  I then tried to explain to him how my naivety has been taken from me, especially when it comes to pregnancy and bringing home a take-home baby.  My odds right now are 0/1.   0%.  That is a terrible percentage to have.  I told him how I am scared, but excited.  Hopeful, yet cautious.  I really don't see it being any other way given what I have been through.  I have those feelings about everything.  Not only pregnancy.  Life.  Scared, but excited about what is yet to come.  Hopeful, yet cautious about what could happen next.  I express that as "realism".  But maybe it is pessimism.  Even if it is, so be it.  This is the way I am.  I cannot help it.  I am better than I was before.  I know this.  But I cannot go back to the way I once was.  And until you truly experience the loss of a child, I don't think you can ever really understand how scary it is, and how hurt and jaded you become because of the situation.

As we had this conversation that day in the car, I knew this was everything he knew already.  But I also started to see a different side to his argument or conversation point.  The part where he wishes things could have been different.  That the pain wasn't there.  That "if" there ever is a chance for us to have a take-home baby from a healthy pregnancy, it is going to be a lot of work.  This isn't something that he is scared of.  I know that.  But it's something that makes the prospect of having a child a little bit jaded for him too.  Unfortunately.  He's walked the road of loss with me, as a friend and now as my partner.  I just think he wishes that there were more dreams occurring in my mind than pessimistic thoughts.  That the idea of moving forward in my life wasn't marred by continued obstacles and the past.  I wish that too....but it was it is.  That's that whole acceptance piece that I have been experiencing lately.  I cannot change what has already happened, but I can move forward taking with me the lessons and moments learned from those past situations. Those lessons and moments brought me to this moment in time.   A moment when I can finally dream about a future.  A future with someone.  A future that may bring me a take-home baby.  A future that I have been waiting for.  Aching for.  Wishing for.  Somehow.  Some way.  Sure, it's got the obstacles...and there will be the many road bumps, maybe even more heartchaches.  But man...what a beautiful story it will be if everything really does come true.  I cannot even begin to imagine...but yet, I want to.  I want to dream.

You Are My Narrative

Dearest Kennedy Kate,

Just recently I attended a conference on Infant Mental Health for four days.  On a side note, sweet girl, your mama finally found something she is truly interested in to pursue post undergrad and it really makes me happy.  Plus, I have the support of many wonderful people (other than family) who are cheering me on and helping me out through it.  Okay...back to the conference.  So, it is Tuesday of the conference.  Day 3.  I have been overwhelmed by the stories, case studies, history of what mental health at the infant/early childhood level is like.  It shook me to my very core on Monday....almost to the point where I wasn't sure I could go back and do another day.  But nevertheless, Tuesday comes.  And off I go back to Milwaukee for the conference.

Tuesday morning starts off somewhat rocky again with the rollercoaster of emotions taking over until one part of the day.  The part of the day where someone asked about my pin.  The pin I wear in honor of you.  My pink rainbow ribbon pin that a very special friend of your mama's made for me and others like me who live their lives without their babies in their arms.  So, one of new friends asks about my pin and if it has significance.  I explain that it is a remembrance pin for babies who have died through pregnancy, stillbirth or in early infancy.  I then told them about you.  My little girl.  The little girl I lost at 22 weeks.  All three women were a little caught off guard about my story and then quickly apologized and showed empathy.  One of them even said that if things ever became too difficult during this program (specifically when we talk about pregnancy), she wanted to let me know that she was here to support me.  I appreciated the comfort talking about you gave me and how I was able to share your story so early on in my relationship with these new people.

As the day moved on, I thought about how quickly I had shared my story of you, especially with people I had only known for about 2 days.  Yet, it came so easily, Kennedy.  It just felt like another story of my life.  Like I was talking about a trip I had taken.  Typically, I hate thinking how rote it becomes for me to tell the story of your life.  Because it shouldn't be easy.  But it is.  It's easy because it's my life.  You are my life.  Which leads me into the next part of this blog post.

The nationally recognized speaker (who had rocked me to my very core) was leading a break-out session later on in the day.  My program required all of us "newbies" to sit in on his session.  During his presentation, he shared a story about a man who was from Poland who had been taken in by another family during the Holocaust.  The man (then a boy) lived in a wardrobe type closet for 18 months with only the man, woman and children bringing him food.  Everything was done in this closet.  The boy was never allowed to go out.  After those 18 months, the war must have ended and the little boy was given the opportunity to go off on his own and find other members of his immediate family.  According to the man, this family that he had lived with had saved his life.  Only his life had been quite terrible living in this wardrobe all day/all night for a year.  Can you only imagine?  This boy could have been scarred by the situation.  Actually, he probably was scarred.  And scared.  This was a traumatic event which probably gave him symptoms of PTSD.  Yet, the boy/man was able to move on past the event.  He lived through it and was given the chance to live again.  And he truly lived.  He lived to love and marry.  He lived to have a family of his own.  However, as he indicated in his video interview, this event was his story.  It was his narrative that made him who he was today.  He wished it didn't have to happen the way it did.  But because it did, he lived to tell about it, and eventually live out his life and be happy.

After watching this video and hearing this man's story, the speaker asked us to think about our narrative.  Our story.  A story that has changed us.  Or something that has made us who we are today.  Kennedy, I didn't even have to stop and think about it like others did.  You are my story.  You are the one person in my life who has completely changed it.  What happened to me, I would never wish on anyone else, yet it happened.  I have come to accept it.  And because of you, I am who I am today.  And I am accepting that too.  There are people who have come into my life who I would not have without you, yet I cannot imagine them not in my life now.  And there are people who have disappeared from my life because of you that I don't truly believe belonged in my life at this point anyways.  They played their role in my life, and maybe it's their time to bow out and make room for others.  That's another acceptance.  The other part of my life that I have learned to finally accept is the marriage to your daddy.  Kennedy, for as long as I live, I will never say that the ending of our marriage was due to the loss of you.  However, due to the loss of you, we became different people.  People who grew apart, and, unfortunately, were never able to find ourselves back to each other.  However, as I indicated before, special people have come into my life since then that have shown me how to be happy again.  And maybe even love again.

The story of you and your role in my life has impacted me more in the past three years than anything else in the last 30.  I cannot imagine my life without you in it.  You may not be here, but everything I do, I have you in my heart and mind.  You are never far away.  I truly believe I am a better, more thoughtful, stronger person because of you.  I think I am starting to find my place in the world again....or maybe just for the first time.  As I have posted before, there are parts/events of my life before your impact that are blurry.  I am forgetting that life.  And I am "ok" with that.  I cannot go back to that life, so why bother worrying about what it was like, who I was with, etc.  If those people and events are part of my life now, then that is the way it is meant to be.  If not, so be it.  I cannot change who I am.  I cannot change what has happened.  You are my narrative.  You are the story I want to share.  Kennedy, you will always be the missing piece to my puzzle, yet you are also the piece that I always want to miss because I don't want the complete puzzle without you being a part of it.

One of the quotes, the speaker at my conference brought up was similar to the one I am posting below.  "It is your REACTION to ADVERSITY, not the adversity itself, that DETERMINES how your LIFE'S STORY will develop, " quoted by Dieter F. Uchtdorf.  He brought this up when telling the story of the man from Poland and after we talked about our narratives.  It really is about how you react.  And in various circumstances, we react differently depending on who we are.  The loss of you, sweet girl, was my most traumatic adversity.  And, at times, my reactions were all over the place, which, in turn has caused other events to occur.  But, I believe my reaction to it now, is leading me down a path that I am comfortable with.  Maybe that is the path of acceptance.  It might also be the path of happiness.
 

Thank you, Kennedy, for being my narrative....a vital part of my story.  You brought me to the place in my life where I am now.  The clouds have parted.  I am breathing easier.  I see bluer skies.  Sunshine.  Sure, the tough days are there brought on by triggers that are completely out of my control.  But those are also a part of my life now too.  Those triggers are there because of that missing puzzle piece.  You.  And I wouldn't have it any other way.  My daughther, you are the most precious gift I have ever been given.  That is why you are my narrative.  The gift of your life will always have an effect on my life, and for that, I am truly blessed.

Love you always, baby of mine.
XOXO,
Mommy

The grief I feel for me

Just a couple of hours ago, I was able to catch up on recent postings of other babyloss mommas, which led me back to a consistent emotion of mine. The feeling of loss of who I was. The grief I feel for me. The me that was before. The me that will never be again. I know I have written before in various posts about this topic, but it rings so true to me each time I think about it. I think this is where I am now. This is the "stage" in grief where I look at myself and hurt for me. I obviously hurt for the loss of my daughter. I miss her. I miss the life that she would have here on Earth with me. And most of what I feel for me is because I miss her so very much, but it's a different feeling. This just isn't pain and aching for her. This is pain and aching for my life. The life I wanted. The life that I thought I had. The me that I wish I was.

On Reid's momma's post, "A minor epiphany in yoga class," she writes:

"All the babyloss books talk about dealing with the loss of a child but where is the book that tells me how to deal with the losing myself?
Where are the condolence cards for the loss of self?"

And she's absolutely right. Where is the book about finding your way to who you are? And how about those cards? Why isn't there one that says, "I'm sorry for the loss of your baby and for what you will go through because of it. I'm sorry that it will change your life immeasurably and never go back to the way it was before." Or maybe I just need the one that says something similar to what a high school or college graduation card would say, "Good luck on this next step in your journey called life." That one pretty much sums up the way it feels. The unfortunate thing about that last card is that when you receive it after graduation, it's typically because you chose to advance or make that change your life. This is not the change I wanted. I didn't ask for this life. I didn't ask for what has happened.

I think it hurts more when I look back and think about the simplicity of what life was like over 2 years ago now. I didn't really have a clue how everything (or so it feels) would just fall apart. I mean, sure...there were problems, especially with my marriage, but I was naive to it all. I was naive to life in general. Now, I sit here, and miss that. I miss that I'm not the girl who wants to spend every waking moment (or so it felt) with family and friends. I miss that I don't rejoice over every baby announcement that my friends make. I miss that there are people in my life that I just have no interest in spending time with anymore. I miss that simple, basic everyday joys don't have that safe effect on me anymore. I miss that I just feel heavy a lot of the time. Sad. Scared. Confused. Hurt. I miss that I'm just not "her."


Not the best pic, but look at that girl....she's happy. She's even happy-go-lucky. Who would have thought that about 4 years later, I would feel so different. Yes, time has happened. Life has happened. And maybe there's a level of acceptance that I just haven't reached yet. A level of acceptance of who I am today, instead of the grief I feel for the person I was. I can't go back. I have to keep pushing on. Living this life. Finding out what else is store for me. My hope is to keep finding pieces of that girl in the picture. And putting those pieces back together. I know I can't completely be "her" again. The picture will look different. Distorted. Blurred. Too much has happened. And like I said, life has happened. But maybe there will be a time when I don't grieve for "her" so much. Maybe there will be a time that I'm just happy being the me I am today. Maybe....

'Cause maybe in the future, you're gonna come back
You're gonna come back around
Maybe in the future, you're gonna come back
You're gonna come back
Oh, the only way to really know is to really let it go
Maybe you're gonna come back
You're gonna come back
You're gonna come back to me

-"Maybe," Ingrid Michaelson