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

She just doesn't "get it."

My plan for this post was totally different....I had other ideas in mind. And then I was shaken up by a Facebook message. A message that I awoke to this morning on a day with the sun shining and Earth finally looking a little friendlier in Wisconsin. I thought today would be a good day, and I still believe it could be. Just gotta get this off my chest first. I think?!

My message came from a really close friend of mine from college. A friend who I consider one of my best friends. A friend who I thought "got it." Let's call this friend "K" for anonymity purposes. K lives in Wisconsin, but is a little too far away that we don't regularly see a lot of each other. K is one of those friends that early on after the loss of Kennedy, she would regularly email or send cards just checking in on me. She would always say, "When you are ready, let's get together." So, we finally were able to meet up in June or July of last year. I think I was probably ready before that, but time just got away from us. K and I had dinner that night in a nice restaurant that allowed us to just talk and catch up on everything. She wanted to know everything related to Kennedy. And I felt very comfortable talking to her about it. We were even then able to discuss how things were in my marriage with K's father. She could see the pain in my eyes as I discussed both things....and really listened to me. I left that dinner truly believing that she "got it." That she understood how my heart was still breaking from the loss, the possible break-up of my marriage, etc. There was never a question in my mind.

Then, I saw K last September. Right around the time that I had decided to move out. She even had found a butterfly coaster that she had specifically purchased in memory of Kennedy. What an amazing friend! Again, K and I found time during the wedding reception that we were at to walk around and talk about life and how things were going. She was such a good listener and made me feel so comfortable to share all of my innermost feelings. I, again, left that night feeling secure in my friendship with her and knowing that she was on "my side." The side that supported what I was feeling and everything I was going through.

Which leads us to the present...well, kind of. K got pregnant in early October. She announced it right away....and was extremely excited about this event in her life. As she rightfully should be. And I was honestly excited for her. Yes, maybe a little jealous too, but truly excited and happy for her. K right away started sharing emails with me about her pregnancy....ultrasounds, doctors appointments, etc. I wasn't entirely sure I was ready for these emails, but I read them, and often would respond back. They were very difficult to read at times...but I wanted to be a good friend to her and show her that I could be supportive of her too. After all, this was the friend who had been there and showed me her support during some of my most difficult times. However, I realized that I would often talk to other babyloss moms or my grief counselor about these emails. I could see that they were harder on me than I thought. So, I think I stopped responding eventually, maybe right around the time that K found out her baby was a little girl. I remembered how I cried the night I found out. Again, not because I wasn't happy for her, but because I was missing my little girl.

I know that many new moms get into this "pregnancy bliss" time. Although, I'm not sure I was ever really there given the constant sickness I experienced throughout the entire time I carried Kennedy, I know that it's a little bit naivety that plays a role. This was the friend who was on the phone with me, 10 weeks pregnant, and was telling me how her husband had just put up the crib. She was excited...living the life of pure bliss....ready for this next step in her life....ready for her dreams to come true. How could I rain on that parade? The friend who had lost her baby girl 12 weeks from where she was. So, I joined right in. Talking about baby stuff, how she was feeling, etc. I genuinely wanted to know, but there was also a part of me that was putting on a "strong front." Guess it's probably easier to do over email and phone than if she had seen me "in real life." I'm guessing my face would have said it all, but maybe not. Maybe I am growing....

Well, as you have all probably figured out, the shower invite arrived in late February. Right around the time that I was sick and then was grieving for my grandmother. Yep, perfect timing, right?! I knew it would come. I didn't doubt it. Did I kind of dread it? Yes. But I had prepared myself....kind of. The beautiful "pink" note came sharing all of the events of a joyous occasion. An occasion that I knew I would not be able to attend. I knew this in my heart....yet, when K asked me about it in late March, I said that I wasn't sure yet. I believe she took this as a "yes."

Which brings us to this morning and the "message." Just a little lead up to the message, K had sent me an email a couple weeks ago wanting to get together on the 22nd. Unfortunately, I was not able to make that given other set plans for that day. After that email I sent back about a week and a half ago saying I couldn't make the 22nd and was not ready for the shower, I hadn't heard from her. I called her once, sent a couple text messages, etc. I figured something was up. So, finally, I receive a message from her. A message that made me cry. A message that brought up all of these feelings of wanting to move on. Or the desire to return back to the "old Alissa."

In the message, K writes how excited she was to see that I had RSVP'd "yes" (again...mistake). She thought it would be the perfect growing experience for me in taking that next step. She expresses that she cannot pretend to understand what I am feeling, but that she feels she has a better understanding since being pregnant with her daughter. Then, she went into writing about how she feels that I'm missing out on major events in my loved ones lives by not attending showers or meeting babies (in my follow-up email, I told her that I have met and held babies). She fears that if I cannot attend her shower then will I ever be ready to meet her little girl? (again...I have met and held other babies). She ends her message by telling me that I need to face my fears with the support of those around me. She wants to see me move through these rough times and maybe find some light at the end of the tunnel. She mentions that she wants to see me accept that maybe the things that are happening around me are for the better and are meant to be. She doesn't see me doing that right now, and thinks that I'm slipping away.

Sorry, if that was a little rough to follow. In other words, this is the way I took the message this morning, "I'm sad that I cannot be the one to help you through this enough for you to be ready to attend my shower. I wish that you were closer to being ready than you are. I worry that you are dwelling in the past and not realizing that 'everything happens for a reason.'" In many ways, it felt like she truly didn't get it. I know that wasn't her intention....or even to make me feel this way. BUT, it was a major letdown. Because I thought she did get it. I thought K accepted me and supported me no matter what. I thought she would be one of those friends (whom I have already had in my life) that would say, "It's okay if you don't come, but I had to send you an invite anyways." But she wasn't...and it hurts. And maybe it hurts more because I feel like I have been doing so well as of late. Like I'm stronger than I was two weeks ago, a month ago, 6 months ago. I feel like I'm connecting to people I had lost touch with in the last 2 years. I feel like I'm more comfortable talking about Kennedy and then leading into the break-down of my marriage. I do see a light, but then I get this message, and it worries me. It makes me feel as if I'm stuck. I hate that feeling. I'm ready to keep moving through this grief. I ready to find "healthy" ways to remember my daughter by setting up a Memorial Walk, creating a Face2Face group, etc. I felt like I was doing that. But maybe not to the extent that K wants to see...or maybe she's not seeing it since I don't see her or talk to her on a regular basis. Maybe she thinks I'm stuck just because I won't go to shower? I tried to express that in my message back to her, but I'm still worried she might not truly understand. But how can see? She hasn't experienced this. She can't begin to fathom what it feels like as she carries her healthy baby girl. She can try to imagine...but as we all know, it's much worse than you could ever even think.

It just sucks. There is no other way to put it. I think that I had put my heart out there for her to read and understand. And she can't. I get it... It doesn't make it any easier to accept...but I do get it. :(

100+ followers Giveaway

I can't believe how many days it's been since I posted about reaching 100 followers...and now I sit at 104. I promised a giveaway in honor of reaching that mark, and yet I still haven't posted anything. I am beyond apologetic for making a promise and then not following through.

So, in honor of reaching the hallowed mark of 100 and to make up for the lost time without posting a giveaway, I have decided to give away, not 1, but 2 prizes for this giveaway. After some long debate, I realized that I needed to find something to give away that was connected to what my followers mean to me. I had to figure out how to connect the stories and support of those who read my story and comment to something that has also helped me heal and grieve. After some help from a friend, I realized that one particular item that has helped me heal has been reading books by fellow babyloss mamas and/or people who have experienced loss or simply understand it better than others.

One book in particular that holds a special place in my heart is Knocked Up, Knocked Down by Monica Murphy LeMoine. In a recent post titled Somewhere to Belong, I had written about the "realness" of this writer and the connectedness I felt when reading her story. As a fellow blog writer herself, the author really knew what I needed to hear and how to make me feel less alone. She helped me have a place to belong and someone to belong with. This is what all my followers have done for me also. I know how much I hate that we are on this journey together, but honestly, there is no one I would rather be on it with. You all are so wonderful....and I am beyond blessed by you and what you have done to help me.

The 2nd option for a winner will be the book, Tear Soup, by Pat Schweibert and Chuck DeKlyen. This book was lent to me from my grief counselor early on after the loss of my daughter. This book was written specifically for grief after the loss of a baby, yet the loss felt very much the same. It's written from the eyes of Grandy, an elderly woman, who has experience a loss of some kind, although you are never actually sure whom she grieves for. Yet, as you read Grandy's story, she validates grief and she validates the time essence of grief. She and the authors make you feel that it's okay to "make tear soup" for as long as you need. This is another similarity to my followers. You have all validated me. You have made me feel important and loved. You have respected the time it has taken me....and continue to support me no matter what. I am eternally grateful to you for doing that. It's been a huge help to me.

So, please, comment on this post if you are interested in winning either one of these books to help you on your journey. Knocked Up, Knocked Down will make you laugh and to cry all in the same chapter and help you realize that we do get better....and things will get easier....yet never the same. Tear Soup will help you and others appreciate your grieving time. It will make you realize that there is no time limit to what you are feeling. Either one is a good choice and have definitely been huge supports to me...and I cannot wait to share one of them with you. Please indicate which book you would prefer when commenting. Thank you again. ((hugs))

*Winners will be chosen by February 12th, 2011.*

Rage and Resentment

A couple of days ago, I attended my once a month grief support group. It was a much larger group than I had ever been a part of...and it was nice to feel supported and connected to so many people, despite the circumstances. Listening to the stories of other babyloss mommies and even a daddy helped me to realize (again) how many there out there that are going through many of the same emotions I do on a daily basis. Each person shares a different story, but each person also shares a similarity that is unfortunate: the grieving of a baby that was lost never ends. I have come to the conclusion that there really is no time limit on grief and we all have to deal with it the way we feel is right for us. There is no right answer, despite what a family member, friend, co-worker, etc., may tell you. We are all different people....and we must handle ourselves with care and know that we are doing what's right for us.

Although, I believe in what I preach...I know that I have a hard time doing it sometimes. I fall into the awful trap of wanting to do right in the eyes of society (which may or may not include family, friends, etc.). People want me to be better....they want me to move on, so there is a real urgency in me to follow their requests. And, of course, I want to be better, but my "better" is different than theirs. My "better" is going a full day or week without feeling extreme sadness which may lead to me not feeling well at all. My "better" is being able to go to Target and walk by the baby aisles at a normal pace. My "better" is not feeling the twinge of guilt as one of my best friends is "oohed and ahhhed" upon as people see how big and beautiful she is getting carrying her little boy. My "better" is being able to attend my ten-year class reunion not wanting to run for the hills when everyone starts showing pictures of their babies. These are all things that I want to work on....but "better" for others is me being the old me. "Better" for others is almost to the point of forgetting that Kennedy was ever even a part of my life. This is where the resentment starts to creep in...

At support group, I talked a lot about the people in life who I feel haven't supported me the way I feel I should have been supported. These are people who play or who have played pretty major roles in my life. These are also people I once called family or even best friends. I do not understand how a family who celebrates just about every holiday/birthday/job/vacation, etc. can just "forget" how to remember a family member that lost her baby. Granted, I did ask for space....but what does it take to send an email/text/or voice mail indicating that they are at least thinking about me? What does it take to send a card that let's me know they care? This is the family portion of my resentment. So many people just didn't understand...so many people that I love and cherish rarely even acknowledge that I was ever even pregnant at all. It hurts more than I ever thought it could...

As to some of my friends....the resentment carries over to them too. Now, trust me...I do have some really awesome family and friends, but this is not that post, so I will make sure to mention them some other time. This is the post where I'm going to throw people under the bus. But my friends that have made little or no effort at all make me want to completely eliminate them from my life. Yes, I realize that everyone handles death differently, but this was my baby. My chance at a future...my dream....my desire. If you can't understand what I'm going through, then please at least do something similar to what I listed above....send an email/a voice mail/card, etc. Please just let me know that despite how long my grief is taking that you will still be around for me when I'm ready. And then when I am ready...please let me me talk about what has happened or happening in my life based on the loss of my baby. I know it may be uncomfortable for you, but this is my story, and you already know I like to talk, so you should expect that I would want to talk about the one thing I loved more than anything else in the world. Yes, including college basketball!

This is where my resentment lies 9 months later...I don't know what to do with it and I don't really know how to handle it. Again, it's taking one day at a time hoping that my anger goes away. There is a part of me that knows I will have to just let some of the anger go, but I also know that I may be letting go of friends/family too. Maybe not...but it's really not a pleasant thought either way.

And so vacation begins

It has been about two weeks since I left West Elementary and the 2009-2010 school year behind. It feels like forever ago since I was there, and yet, in some ways it feels like just yesterday that I was waiting for the school year to come to a close. At the end of any school year, there are bittersweet emotions as a teacher....the first one is the obvious, "Thank goodness it's over..." or "I'm so glad I only work 9 months out of the year!", however, in my profession I spend sometimes up to three years with my students ages three to six, and by the time, their final year in Early Childhood is up, it's usually pretty hard to say good-bye. Not only have I watched this child grow in many ways, including but not limited to, communicating, walking, controlling behaviors, etc., but I have grown to love who this child is and all the little steps he/she has accomplished to get to this point. I also tend to grown a very close bond with the family, as this tends to be the child's first experience in school.
So, typically, it is very hard to say good-bye to a school year for me, although I would have expected differently this year. I would have thought I would just be completely ready for a fresh start...the end of a horrific year, instead two and a half weeks have passed, and I miss my kids and families more than I ever have. I really feel that it has something to do with the level of support they have given me throughout the years of working with their children, but also what they provided me after the loss of my little girl. The majority of my families that I worked with knew that I had lost her and made every effort to give me encouragment and support throughout the grieving process. However, I even had families that knew very little about my loss, yet came up in big ways to give me support in areas where I needed it. I have never walked away from a school year feeling more confident, more energetic and more stable in my ability as a teacher than I do this year. My families and students gave that to me, and in some ways, it's one of the greatest gifts that any teacher can receive. It ultimately is a great "healing" gift to know that you are loved and admired for the work that you do on a daily basis, and it helps to know that despite my loss, I was able to overcome my grief in order to be successful and proud of the work I did with my students.
And so....two and a half weeks later after not accepting the "new" Early Childhood job, my plan is to return to my school district knowing that their are many "new" children and families out there that I will need to support and grow to love. Although, I am not ready for the school year just yet, I am excited for what is right around the corner...