Right Where I Am 2013: Three years, Five months

I get a text once or twice a week about getting together for a play date. Simon is a few months older than G, and he can say her name now and screams when we drive by their house and don't stop. They get along as well as all toddlers do, and they hold hands occasionally. I try not to fast forward 12 years in my mind, when holding hands is something much more weighty.

G's mom, and I have a blast when we get together, even if it's just trying to tame the chaos that our children are together. We share current town news, upcoming events, and our hard dead baby days. The circumstances aren't similar in any way, until you get to the picking out a baby casket, and how to tend to a grave you no longer can easily go visit because you've moved.

We shared the other day how we watch children the age ours our supposed to be, and try to imagine what ours would look like, or how they'd act. And how it guts us to think on what we're missing. I draw and paint butterflies for her, and she participated in Dia de los Muertos with me back in October.

And I know that if we didn't have each other, the move to this town would be that much harder.
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When I'm not in charge of a my two year old and the normal responsibilities of running a household, I'm planning my next art project and what my next run will be. I'm surprised to say that running takes up a large chunk of my brain space now. An earlier post described my shame in forgetting a BLM holiday due to my anger in having had to miss a race due to illness. That forgetfulness is unheard of, until this year. I speak about Lyra, and miss her more than ever. But it's not always at the forefront of my thoughts like it used to be. I'm not sure if I can say that's a good thing, or if I feel like I'm losing the hold I had with that grief. I won't ever lose it all the way, if that scenario is accurate.

My running has allowed me breathing space to feel a sense of normalcy again. I'm a part of an online running/athletic community where we encourage, support and ask questions about whatever we're trying to accomplish. There are no politics, no religious questions or thumping, and for the most part, no one divulges much of their personal lives. To everyone there I'm just Rachel, a newbie runner who dabbles in strength training and crossfit. I've lost four toenails, my knee has been injured, and I had to miss my first half marathon due to bronchitis.

And it's kinda nice sometimes to only be known by those things.
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I'm learning who I am still. Who I am with her gone. And who I am without now feeling I have to tell everyone about her. Who I am as me, and not just me missing her. I suppose the two are synonymous. Just like with live children, you have to figure out who you are, separate from just being "Mom". But it's never questioned that you are still "Mom" and your heart would never love your child(ren) less. So I have to remember the same goes for Lyra, even though I don't have her here with me.

I think it's scary to look back at what we've come through. I don't ever want to go back to that kind of pain and hurt again. I hate thinking of Lyra's death as some catalyst for change that could not have happened otherwise. But the grief and pain and my experience of loving her still caused change. And for the first time in a long time, the hurt is not at the forefront of my thinking.
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Year One: Right Where I Am: One Year Five months
Year Two: Right Where I Am: Two Years, Five months

Add your "Right Where I Am" here.

"What I Mean When I Say My Daughter Was Stillborn"

This brilliant article is over at Still Standing Magazine...read to understand, to feel less alone, to learn or to continue grieving. Much love.

Right Where I Am: Two Years, Five months

We had a new couple over. And we never mentioned her name. Or her story. Or that aspect of our lives.

Not because she's not important. But because the last two couples we had over, we did mention her, and they never contacted us again. We run into them in town, but nothing ever happens again outside of polite chit chat.

So, last night we talked about high school, and college, and how we met and the big city. But we never mentioned how our hearts were broken and our world fell apart. Sitting here thinking about it, I guess I didn't feel the need to. Or maybe I was afraid to. I don't know if those are synonymous...or if the lack of need is somehow proportionate to the fear of rejection.

I'm lonely, with no friends in this new place. I've tried, and I seem to scare people away. I invite women and their children to events and playdates, and they don't show or respond. I wonder what's wrong with me, worried there's some great flaw that makes me the town pariah. So I scour for the flaws, seeking out what might catch people's eye.

We have pictures of stars, and me being pregnant with Lyra, and Simon...We have our candle and Lyra constellation with a Jizo set up in our home - easy to see if you visit us. Does this make us crazy? Does this make us unlikeable? Who flaunts their dead baby for others to question and squirm away from? Maybe we divulge our lives too quickly. Maybe we're the over sharers, who try too hard.

I don't have a large population to burn through, like in a big city. I don't have the luxury of saying, "to hell with them" when it doesn't work out. But I also can't pretend to be someone else. So, I hope that we'll have a chance to hang out with the couple from last night again, someday maybe sharing some more of our story with them.

Two years and five months out from her death, I'm scared to mention her now though.

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Consider joining in with where you are. Read where others are at.

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One year ago - Right Where I Am: One Year Five months

Streamers

We celebrated Simon's first birthday this last weekend. I made these streamers after searching for DIY homemade decoration ideas online. It's so simple, but incredibly festive. Cut strips of fabric, and tie them to yarn or string. Voila.

I hated taking them down, but they will be used again.

I made a chocolate cake, decorated with dinosaurs. I also tried my hand at homemade oreos and shortbread cookies. I'd recommend both recipes to anyone. The shortbread cookies go particularly well with a cup of good tea.

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I felt fairly emotional about Simon turning one. Everyone always barks at you how fast it flies by. And it's true. I look back at video snippets and pictures and wonder how he could change so much in one year.

But it makes me wonder about her.

Images of pinks and butterflies and frilly skirts vanish as I run a green J.ohn D.eere tractor over Simon's legs and up and over a chair. I love roaring dinosaurs and I look forward to catching turtles and making mud pies. I don't lament over anything to do with this sweet little boy that I'm lucky to have in my life.

The shadow babies that she would have been born with are coming up on two years this month. I guess they aren't babies anymore.

It's more subtle now, but echoes of her resound in every element of our lives.

And I'm not really saying anything new.

Just a phrase

"Just wait til you have a girl...you'll understand."

*Sigh*

Wrapped

I'm wrapping presents in brown paper this year. I've gathered paper bags from the grocery and have a roll of brown paper as back up. I use yarn to finish off the presents, penning a flourished first letter of the person's name in place of gift tags.

It feels simple. Which is just right. The smooth brown planes of paper wrap each gift without exuberance. Without proclaiming some magical time of year with bright colors and fabled old men flying with hooved creatures. It let's me feel a part of the holidays in my own time...decorating it as works for me.

When the nurses took Lyra away to be dressed, we requested she just be in a simple dress, or just the blanket. We didn't need her all dressed up. She was beautiful and perfect just as she was. She was brought back wrapped in her blanket, and a simple white dress spotted with pink flowers. I so wish we would have known it was okay to hold her longer. To unwrap her and see her. To rewrap her as all mothers do their babies.

Thoughts fall on her more often this month. More often than the daily thoughts I already have of her, that is.

Wishing you all peaceful moments this holiday season.

Updates

This past Sunday, Simon and I traveled with my family to my old college town. The choir was performing the Me.ssiah and it would also give us a chance to update Lyra's grave.

I never know whether I'm supposed to smile in these pictures. "Look how great I look in front of my daughter's grave!" I inevitably smile because it's just what I do when there is a camera. But it feels funny.

Simon was wowed by the Christmas decorations, and it was freezing. But it was nice to go back and see her spot. I miss her.

Tides of loss

I don't know when I noticed it. It's a gradual thing sometimes, like the tide going out. You're sitting there and you feel like you've been present and aware, but you look down and it's gone.

I'm tired of discovering nuances of grief...of baby death. There's the initial shock, the loss of self, loss of friends, difficulties of a pregnancy after loss, and then there's having a living child. And that in itself has created loss. Perhaps it's the natural direction of a community that is wrought with such varying degrees of emotion and grief, but I feel I've lost some of the community that I was a part of.

I still try to comment and follow and be present with many of you, but I look around, and my role in it has changed.

I understand it. I do, to the fullest extent. It's just hard. And it's just another step in this journey that I didn't necessarily foresee...though I'm not sure why. Time allotments changed with a rainbow baby, less time to comment and blog, and attempting to rebuild this life of ours.

Those in similar situations draw together. I moved passed some with Simon being born, never to really be able to sit or have them be comfortable with me being with them in a similar grief again.

I think I just looked around and noticed things had changed again. So, I move forward with adjusting to change, as we are to do in this life anyway. I have so much to be thankful for in this community and how much it has contributed, and still continues to contribute, to a healthier grief journey for me.

This brings up questions about this blog, and how or if it fits in this community. I will continue to write about Lyra and my grief. But I will also write about Simon. And art. And other things in our lives. I definitely don't see myself as a mommy blog. I don't know if it is fully a grief blog anymore either. I don't know what it is. I thought I'd do the "themed" days, such as Wordless Wednesday and what not, which is all good and fine for ideas, but it felt too pressured for me. I felt guilty if I didn't "produce" for the masses.

This is really just a meandering ramble that I've had in my head for a few weeks now. I wish you all much peace and strength as this week finishes out.

Wonder

I look at him and wonder how beautiful she would have been.

I mean, she was beautiful. I figure if the dead can be beautiful, then logically they would have been even more beautiful with breath flowing and blood coursing through their bodies.

And I imagine her little spirit adding to her physical beauty and ache for never having known it...never having seen the twinkle and gleam in her eye.

I'm without her in this life. It's still hard to know that...to feel that.

Random: The Park

Attended our first funeral since Lyra died this past weekend. A son, aged 51, was laid to rest and remembered by his family. Simon kept me distracted. I too easily make connections and feel things too deeply since Lyra...a lingering element of the selfish mode and self care that I was...or still am in sometimes. I had to continually remind myself that it wasn't about me.

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I still notice someone missing in all the pictures of the cousins or family. I suppose I always will.

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On a lighter note, Simon wore himself out watching all his cousins and wishing he could be running around with them.

Send some love

In the wee hours this morning, I saw LeLeIsMe tweet about losing her twins...again.
Send some extra love her way will you? 

Right Where I Am: One year, Five months

For the initial jump start for this post, jump over here.
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One year and five months makes it sound like a long time has passed since Lyra died. I suppose it kind of is. I now have Simon here...almost 4 months old. Things have changed. We've moved twice since she's been gone. We have a  house now. We have new neighbors...hell, we have a new town. That in itself changes everything. 


The rawness is gone, but the grief has left an indelible mark on me. I don't cry as often. But the tears are right below the surface some days. I think of her many times throughout my day, and as I discover new things with Simon, I sometimes faze out imagining how she would have been. It may be imaginary interest, but I feel good when Simon gazes at the stars I've put near the changing table or by his crib...or as he giggles at the mobile or pictures we made for her that he now enjoys. It feels like she is a tangible piece of our family and he's interacting with her, even if she can't be here.


But then I step outside the safe boundaries of our home, and re-enter the real world where it looks like we have just one child. And I try to interact with other moms and kids in a semi-normal capacity. Moving back to my hometown means some people know what happened. But even then, she's never really brought up. And those who don't know, ask about her tattooed footprints on my foot and to ease the silence after telling them, I change the subject to some newfound delight about Simon. It's just easier that way, and I'm ok with it. That's just how it will be.


I don't know what I expect from others still. You think I'd have figured that out by now. 


I've found myself falling back into my perfectionism state of mind. It may be the moving, or parenting a live child and fearing failure in that, or just my self critic popping up with a grand zeal again...but whatever the case, I've lost the ability to not care what people think. I feel I've lost a bit of what Lyra brought to me. I do hate that part of moving further away from the rawness of the grief. The raw emotion and grief gave me blinders to the expectations of others...to the fear of falling and failing. I did what felt natural and instinctive, and it felt good to be free. And I've slowly been shackled again. Maybe just because I haven't had time to do as much art. Maybe because I feel looked down upon for staying at home with Simon. So many reasons I could blame it on. But ultimately, I've allowed it to happen.


I feel like I just repeat myself. I have nothing new to offer to the already existing BLM's. The new ones, sure...they are looking for any and all bits of information that prove they can survive this. But I'm not good at interacting with lots of blogs and comments and I'm sure you've all noticed that. I feel like this blog saved my life...that this beautiful blogging community reached out and held me afloat on those hard days. But I don't feel like I'm contributing anything anymore. I'm feeling more disconnected, and alone. I'm not blaming the BLM community for that...but myself. I don't know what to write, and without posting any new art, what do I have? And sometimes what I feel like writing, I don't feel comfortable sharing with the real life readers I know stop by. I've considered closing this blog. But I haven't come to any solid conclusion about that. Maybe it's just run it's course in regards to being an external outlet for my grief. Maybe my grieving is more internal now...in a healthy way. Maybe it's not so healthy. I don't know.


I cringe internally a lot in regards to how grief in general is handled. When bad things happen to other people, and hearing what words are said and how easily it is swept under the rug. I have intentions of creating a FoLFoH group this way. And maybe signing up to help photograph for families...I don't think there's anyone in this neck of the woods who does that. It's heart-wrenching to think a family wouldn't get pictures with their child(ren). Of course I haven't initiated any of that though.


I know I tear up when I read another new story or hear from a friend about a miscarriage/stillbirth/infant death. It often make me flash back to certain moments in those days during and after her death. It doesn't wreck my whole day anymore though.


And because I do wear my heart on my sleeve, and because I believe and hope that maybe it may help another family or BLM feel less awful...I'm still angry and bitter. Mostly at God and religion. I hate to admit that. There are real life people who will be disappointed to read those words. I don't want to be fixed, or have a big, long, drawn out discussion about why I'm wrong. Or what I'm supposed to believe. Or whatever. But I'm not comfortable with the notion that God did this and has some great reason and plan for her death and for my life. And I'm not comfortable abandoning it all either. As I think I would have said before Lyra's death, I'm a life long student, and I'm still learning and figuring stuff out. 


I am "glad" to not feel so bogged down...the weight of it all seems less most days. It's more manageable. Course I'm lucky to have Simon to distract me and keep me busy. I don't know how I would look if I didn't have him here. I wonder how to tell him about her. Or his friends about her. Again, my tattoo is easy to point out, and I wonder how many kids or their parents I'll frighten by telling them babies die.


She's always here...right in my heart...In our home...In our family. I wonder how my grief will look in another year. And how we will continue to remember her.
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Thankfully Angie has brilliant ideas, and gave me an outlet to perhaps throw out something new here. I hope others will describe where they are at in their grief journey...it's important to see. As Angie stated:"Now, it's your turn. Where are you in your grief? Emotionally. Physically. Psychically. Title your post, "Right Where I Am:(Time since your child's death)". then come back here and link your blog post on the Mr. Linky. Click other participants and read about right where they are. Comment if you can. Just a thank you for telling me about right where you are. If you don't want to write a full post, why not just comment here and tell me the time since your loss(es) and anything else you want to share. Spread the word around the community by linking back to this post, so people can find out what grief is like on all stops on the road."

Random: Quote

"The depth of the feeling continued to surprise and threaten me, but each time it hit again and I bore it...I would discover that it hadn't washed me away." 


This quote is taken from Anne Lamott from her book "Traveling Mercies".  

Random: Easter

I've had two friends mention this past week that they know someone who has lost recently, or will inevitably lose their baby. It shook me a bit, tapping into those feelings I've compartmentalized since Simon has been here. Reminders of those moments of raw pain and grief...knowing that two families will suffer and everything in their lives will be touched by this event. One of my friends asked me if I'd do a family painting for the family she knew about.

I'm humbled when I'm asked to do a family painting for someone. I feel it's a small way of showing the world that the child is remembered...that they are a viable part of one's family. I had sold them on etsy, but that slowly ground to a halt during the stress of my pregnancy and grieving. I feel I'm getting back into a rhythm, or even a desire to be creative again. Simon takes a lot of time (which I'm more than happy about), but I want to be able to do these paintings again...it's a very small way to help families remember. If you, or someone you know might be interested, please check out my etsy shop.

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The frilly dresses and excitement for Easter still leap out at me. Having a boy, you don't get as excited as a parent in regards to what he'll wear to Easter family functions or church or whatnot. I don't know if it's a more religious based tradition, so it may not be something a percentage of people do...but in my life experience, each year little girls get dresses for Easter.

So, it's yet another bittersweet experience: Sadness in missing out on life with Lyra, and excitement for Simon's first Easter. We have a good friend coming to visit this weekend, so that will be enjoyable too. 

Wishing you all peace and calm for this weekend.

3.30.11

Well, we are moving ahead in our remodel of Simon's room. I've been working on the pictures for his room, and below are some sketchbook workings of what I think I'll do. He's got so many monkeys and frogs and land creatures on his outfits and toys, I thought I'd bring out some sea creatures for him to get used to. Just because we're land locked doesn't mean he can't know about the sea :)

L has been working hard on getting the walls ready to paint. He got the wallpaper torn off, which has been the easiest part since it was like vinyl. Next came scraping the glue off, which the following picture shows in it's clumped and gross looking form after being scraped off.

The next step we're on is finding any left behind patches of glue and smoothing everything out. Then I think we'll be ready to paint...hopefully this weekend or the following week. I'm working on a wall pattern as well...though I'm still in the brainstorming process right now.

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I wrote this to a friend the other day: "I do like being a mother. It's fairly inexplicable the emotions I have for him. They are so far expanded beyond what I felt for Lyra...just for the sheer fact that he's a continually changing child. She's forever a baby, a memory. He's learning and growing and now smiling. It's interesting and confusing how I feel about my two children." 

Some days it feels like she never existed. And I hate that. Like it was just a bad dream. And yet it's a relief too (which I also hate). Like there can be good days, and even some all in a row. And being happy to some degree. Being in a new house and the time Simon takes almost makes it possible to look normal again. ALMOST. And looking normal doesn't mean anything. Because ultimately I know I'm just compartmentalizing my feelings right now. I know I'm still broken. I know there is a part of me that can't believe I have a dead daughter. And angry that it is true. And as most any rainbow baby mama will write about, it sucks to know all that you missed out on with your dead child, while you watch your rainbow baby grow.

I keep singing the same song...Simon is a joy and I miss Lyra.

Random: new house

It's been forever since I've blogged...and I feel justified in all that's been going on. But when I sit down to list what I do on a daily basis, it doesn't seem like I'm really doing all that much. I can follow blogs on my phone now, but it's harder for me to comment. So please forgive me for being so quiet in response to all that is going on with your lives.

We are all moved and "unpacking" and settling in. I love the part where we get to reorganize and plan and decide where things should go and how things should look. It feels like a fresh start and both L and I like that. However, it's been slow going for me. Simon nurses long and loves to be close to me if he's not feeding. He's isn't 100% keen on the baby bjorn carrier, and so it makes it difficult to find two free hands to unpack during the day. I had my eye on a moby wrap when pregnant with Lyra, but am planning on ordering one asap as I've heard such good things about them. (Any other carriers or wraps out there I should consider before diving in with the moby?)

I realized I needed to reassess my mindset about Simon and "doing things". The other day I was sitting there nursing him, waiting for him to be done so we could go to the grocery store so I could mark it off my list of things to do...to accomplish. Some days it doesn't look like I've done anything...if I manage to make something for myself to eat, and throw on a new shirt I'm doing good. But he's the important thing right now*. The grocery store can wait. L can go later, or watch Simon and I can go later. Right then, I was providing nutrition and love for my son. And there's nothing shameful in that, even if I don't get everything accomplished that I had hoped to for the day. He's only this size and snuggly and in this stage for so long. There will be time later on when he'll not need so much attention and I can have snippets of time to do "stuff'. We're still working out a routine and how things look now that we're all together. But I won't wish this time away...or rush passed it.

I didn't get this with Lyra. So I'm going to cherish every second with Simon.

*I don't have other living children or a job, so I have the luxury of having such a low key approach right now. Don't hate me.
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The house is great. Lucas did a fabulous job picking a house out. It's a pretty standard ranch style house, but it's one of the nicer ones in town that was available on such short notice. Simon gets his own room now, for which I'm glad. Now the fun part will be painting the walls of our house! We love color, and have some ideas about what walls we'll paint what colors. I'll get some pics up sometime soon hopefully.

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Things are different. My grief is different. It's changed since Simon arrived. Maybe it's more masked because he takes so much energy. I've been told I seem happier. He does make me happy. I feel good about the move, and our new house, and life in general right now. That doesn't eliminate the grief/anger/sadness of Lyra being stillborn. I don't really even know what to say about it all right now. I don't have a solid explanation for how I feel, or seem, or how things are.

But a new friend gave us a gift for Simon. It was an outfit with 'little brother' on it. I hadn't gotten anything like that for him...indicating there had been someone before him. But I immediately loved it. And I have to post a picture of it...Lyra's little brother showing off his new outfit.

Random: Birthdays

Lyra,

This week is a big one for many of your friends as it's their one year birthdays. They've reached milestones, and created memories that will never be forgotten. Parties are being planned for them...cakes being made and candles bought to be blown out.

I haven't been a part of many of their lives...it's been really hard for me to see what we've missed out on. It hasn't been fair to their parents. Or to them. It's completely opposite of what we had planned. We'd all expected to watch our children grow together...to reach the one year mark together. You were to be due this week in 2010. You should be turning one. Instead, I've watched them all from a distance, and been selfish and fragile.

Simon is three weeks old now. I'm slowly working my mind around the complexities of the "should be's" with you, and what we literally have with him. He's been getting my undivided attention and care. We haven't been to your grave in two months. I'd like to go soon, and set up your new tiger guardian and put new flowers out. And introduce Simon to a very special place where we remember his big sister. You aren't forgotten even though he is here with us now. It's quite the opposite. Every moment with him shows me what we missed out on with you.

You are so very missed. I love you more than I can say.

Loving you always,
Mom

1.17.11

This post, paired with the last post, are perfect examples of the dual mindset I have right now. One shows a woman full and very pregnant...how lucky and grateful I am to be in this state of life again. Today is showing emptiness...a previous experience, or a continued experience as a BLM?

I know I've belabored this point, but I just miss Lyra. And despite the goodness of Simon, and our anxious waiting for him to be here, there's always a part of our family missing...a part of me that feels empty without her. This drawing is just a small aspect of a moment in my day...it's not a constant image. But it's there, floating around, as an experience that will forever be a part of my life.

I think life after losing your child is about duality, which this bit below perfectly describes:


"Do not judge the bereaved mother. She comes in many forms.
She is breathing, but she is dying.
She may look young, but inside she has become ancient.
She smiles, but her heart sobs.
She walks, she talks, she cooks, she cleans, she works, she IS,
but she IS NOT, all at once.
She is here, but part of her is elsewhere for eternity."

-Author Unknown-

Random: Bathroom trips

As I stumble to the bathroom for the fourth time in the night, the thought crosses my mind that this interrupted sleep is good practice for when the baby is here. I envision holding her and feeding her and rocking her back to sleep.

Then I groggily chastise myself for forgetting that it will be Simon, and not Lyra. I'd think an entire year without her would change that...that having seen his boy parts every week now would have brought him out from underneath her shadow. He is the reality that we hope to bring home within the next month, whereas she is gone.

I'm slowly getting excited as the concept of us bringing a baby home seems to get closer. I know there's still plenty that can go wrong. But I'm hoping nothing does...I want to meet my son and look him in the eyes and connect to him. To establish him as his own person.

I just really miss her though.

2010 Roundup

This is what we're supposed to do right? Reflect and acknowledge what this year gave to us? As if the clock turning 12am suddenly changes all the crappiness from the previous year to golden unicorn dust?

But it's obviously important, or else everyone wouldn't participate in it or wish for the next year to be better or set goals or feel renewed despite it taking 3 weeks to remember to write the new year correctly on forms, checks, etc.

Looking back on this year I see a lot of dreariness...a lot of grief fog, anger and anxiety. After hearing me wonder why I still struggle with _______ (fill in the blank with numerous options), my therapist gently reminds me that my baby died. That the grief from that will forever echo in my heart and my mind on a daily basis, though not always to the same depth of pain as the day after it happened....or 3 months ago...or today. Even 12 months out, she nudges me to face the grief still, and not sweep it under the rug like I feel like others are pushing me to do. I'm also not supposed to hide from the joys.

The joys have included finding other BLM's here in town, doing art and finding a community through Still Life 365 , participating in the Sketchbook Project , having family and friends mention Lyra's name or remember her, having a kitty who will cuddle up to me right when I need it, finding out Lyra would have a brother, and having a husband who has stuck with me despite the emotional roller coaster I've been (and continue to be).
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In a nutshell, giving space for both the joys and grief to be apart of my life, and not caring what other people expect of me, is my goal for this next year.

To ramble, I hope to continue to do my art. I hope to bring home a live baby in the next month-ish.  I hope to hold a special place for Lyra as a part of our family in whatever scenario we find ourselves...to not hide or be ashamed because it's a taboo topic. I hope to do what is best for Lucas and Simon and I, even if friends or family are disappointed or don't understand. I hope to become more comfortable with this new me.
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As cynical as I am at times, I do wish for golden unicorn dust...for this next year to be magically better for everyone. I know too many people who deserve it more than anything. So here's to 2011 and the hope that we can find ourselves less weighed down, and with so much more peace and strength than this past year.