Right Where I Am: Three Years, Three Months

This post is in response to Angie's project, Right Where I Am. I apologise for the rambled stream of consciousness that follows...the truth is I dont really know how I feel 3 years out from the best and worst period of my life.


Sometimes it seems like a lifetime ago. Most of the time it feels like it happened to someone else. All of the time I feel like I am a different person to before.

My life now is divided into two parts. Before and After. The truth is, I can barely remember what life was like before. What was it like to live life in ignorant bliss? What was it like to not know how it felt to bury your child?

And recently all I have been thinking is: if Star had never died, Manny would never have lived. My baby's death is so closely linked with my other baby's life, the two can never be separated. This thought has been going around in my head for over a week now. The greatest joy in my life, could not have existed without the greatest sadness in my life. It hurts my brain just to think about it.

I do remember the early days. I have written about them before. About how liberating it was, the freedom to grieve openly. The freedom to hole myself up in my home and ignore the world. The freedom to lie on the floor and scream and sob at the top of my lungs regardless of who might hear me. I miss being able to be so raw - so openly bereaved.

As time marched on, and particularly after Manny's birth, the expectation was that everything was "better" now. I remember 8 months out, on the 27th of the month, my mother asked me what was wrong. I told her the 27th is a hard day for me. Her response was "what, every month!?!" I was dumbfounded. My own mother expected I should be "over it" after only 8 months.

Now, over three years out, I cry less. I think of him frequently, but I do not cry. I talk about him all the time, but I do not cry. I pull out his photos and stare at him, but I do not cry.

Some nights, late at night when everyone else is in bed, I think of him and cry. But the tears are no longer racking my body with sobs. They are silent tears that simply fall from my eyes of their own accord and soak my pillow.

Three years out, my eldest has weaved his baby brother into the fabric of his life. Every now and then he mentions his name in passing...and it reminds me. He was here. He left his footprint on this earth. He wasn't just a part of me, he is a part of our family.

We do not cry for him anymore. But we love him with every beat of our hearts.

Easter Therapy

Yesterday I went shopping, and ended up having an impromptu therapy session.

I was going to a department store to look for long sleeves for Manny as the weather is starting to get colder. I wandered into the Easter section to grab a couple of chocolates for Rocket. I figured that like usual I would just grab a chocolate egg and a small toy. Easter hasn't been fun for me for awhile now. As I am the one in the house who arranges all the parties, holidays, gifts etc, if I'm not into it, it doesn't happen.

Last year I tried. I did the Easter hunt thing, which took no effort really, but I really used to enjoy all the Easter palaver.

But then yesterday I stood there in the Easter section and looked around. And found something cute. A ceramic egg decorating kit for small kids. "My Rocket loves craft" I thought, so I picked it up. Then I spotted the coloured rabbit ears. Since he was wee, we've always called Manny 'Bunny' (yes he is the baby of a thousand names). "How cute would Bunny look in these ears?" I thought, so I picked them up.

Before I knew it I had filled a basket. Lovely baskets ready for the boys to decorate, and some pretty chocolate lollipops, little wooden baby chicks to paint, easter paper chains to make, soft bendable bunny ears to wear, little fluffy chicks in nests.

And then I was off to another craft store.

To look for Easter decorations.

I think this year might be different.

I think tomorrow I might even bake some hot cross buns.

some days I forget...and then I remember.

Most days, you would never know that my child died.
Most people, probably forget that my child died.

I don't walk around crying. I don't talk about him much. I do bring him up in conversation, but not all the time. I don't even carry my grief around with me like a security blanket anymore. It is tucked into a white box under my bed with some of my momentos of him. Every now and then I pull it out, I pull him out, I pull my grief out, and I cry. I cry, and cry and remember him. Remember how I ached for him, how I wailed for him.

But most days, most days I am not a bereaved mother. I am, but you wouldn't know it.

Some days however - like tonight - the realisation of what happened weighs me down like a thousand pound weight on my chest. And I remember. My son died. My baby died. My beautiful 3 pound 7 ounce boy died, and then he was born, and then he was buried. And we were left here on earth to muddle through the rest of our lives without him.

On Sunday, one week from today, he will turn three.

There will be no birthday cake, no balloons. No party with friends and family. No trucks to unwrap, no new books as gifts. There will be no games, no laughter.

There will be tears, and memories of love and loss. There will be pain. And more tears.

Absence.

You may have noticed I've been absent. Then again, maybe you haven't. Well here's your update: I've been absent. Not only absent from my blog, but I feel like I've been sort of absent from my life.

Things keep moving on around me, and I feel like I am standing still.

Everyone around me is pregnant (or so it feels. I am up to 8 pregnant friends now). If they aren't pregnant, they are trying. And here we sit, out of options. No more trying for us. Some days I can hardly bear it.

It feels like this immense failure has brought back some of the deep rooted sadness that losing my boy gifted me. I feel like I have been living with it lying dormant, just under my skin, and this current state of failure has brought it back out. Like a blanket it settles over me and I can't shake it off. I am close to tears most moments of most days. I feel like I am only now realising that I also lost two (three?) babies this year as well. I didn't let myself feel it before now because I was still moving. I was going forward, I was thinking "Right. Next step! Let's get going, time's a-wasting". But now there is no moving forward. There is no next step.

And I am a little over a week from the date I should have been giving birth to my first little lost one of 2010. A week. I would have had a baby by Christmas. It barely seems possible.

The Thirds

It has started.

All the third not-birthdays are rolling around. Which means it is only a matter of months before it is my Starbaby's third not-birthday.

To all the members of my DBMafia - whether you are here reading this or not - your babies live on in my heart. They all made a mark on me in such a profound way and they will always be loved. Those of you missing your little ones all about to "turn" three - I was there with you in the beginning, you saved me, you saved my sanity and my life - to know that I wasn't alone - to know that what I felt was ok - I cannot imagine how I would have passed those first months without you.

To my DBMafia...I remember. I love them too. Happy Third Birthdays, I wish we could see you all blowing out your candles and opening your gifts. I hope you are all partying together somewhere in the stars.