I've been reading some of the comments people have been leaving on the blog, and it is truly one of the only things that makes this awful place livable. I feel fortunate (?) to know people, if only via the internet, who are also on this hell-path. It calms me. I think I often get a little panicky that I'm suffering alone here, that there's no one to really talk to about it, to bare my soul to, without qualifying it all first. Or trying to describe everything I'm going through to people who want to be helpful by listening (bless them), but can't understand. I always feel I have to end my sadness on a happy, hopeful note with them because I know they're sitting there feeling so worried, or so hopeless for me, and I can't stand that. I can't stand the pity. When people ask 'how are you doing', what they really want to hear is "fine" or "getting better". Not "well, today has been absolute shit, and I wish the ground would open up and swallow me" or "it's actually horrible, and I can barely open my mouth to speak the words to tell you about it". Nobody wants to hear that. I don't even like saying it. I hate the reactions. I mean, I understand, people are trying to be sympathetic, compassionate and everything, but if I really told them how I was doing, I get the feeling people might secretly be thinking "oh fuck, get over it already.. it's been x months.." I feel like Eeyore when people ask, and I'm honest about it, realizing I rarely say I'm doing "well". I'm often doing okay, which is a good day. Sometimes I'm doing pretty okay, but most often, I'm downright miserable, sad, angry, resentful, jealous and lonely. Not a lonely that is cured with company, but a kind of empty aloneness that permeates to the bone, and feels like I'm the saddest person in the world. It sucks.

So anger. Is this the time when the anger phase is supposed to begin? At 5 months? Because I've been angry like never before. I think I blogged about this last time, but I can't be bothered to go check. Besides, it's what's on my mind, so here it is. I can't seem to get through the day without being pissed off about something. And I'm not talking about being angry about hitting red lights all the way home. I'm talking about seething red anger, and feeling rage towards my husband for killing an ant with my notepad (though this was pretty stupid on his part). Totally irrational anger. I know anger is one of the grief phases, but I don't know if it applies strictly to the loss, or runs over into anger in daily life. Hopefully the latter; then I'm still somewhat normal.
I don't like myself much these days. I'm angry so often. Angry at my son, who is so damn argumentative and antagonistic lately. I seriously think he's somehow irreparably traumatized by it all. It's not an outward display of grief, or mourning though (or maybe it is. I have no idea what's going on in his 4 year old head). It's more like a reaction to our behaviour. He is aggressive, uncooperative, disrespectful and stubborn SO much of the time, it drains me mentally and emotionally by the end of the day. Completely. Sometimes, I just want to crawl into the bed, pull the covers over and leave it all behind. I really do. That sounds so amazing. But then, I'd be totally alone, and that's worse. Even when he's being an asshole (sorry, I really do love the kid) at least he's there, and I can reach out and touch him. He's real. Yeah, I'm a total head case, you're all thinking it, I'm sure. :)

So... for those of you who are reading this who've had infant loss, did you reach a point where you thought you just weren't coping? Where more of your day was bad than was good? What did you do? Did you talk to someone? Or is this just my new life, and I am yet to discover it? How long does this anger phase last? I am so sick of being me, I just want to be someone else for a while. Someone whose most difficult part of the day is a burnt casserole... or being stuck in traffic.
I am so beaten down from feeling sad. From grieving my little girl. From being on the verge of tears while everyone around me goes on with life, thinking I am too, when I am truly not. I am in a glass box, watching it all, in it all, yet so incredibly alone. I hate this.

Sorry this is so melancholic. I am trying to think of positive, hopeful things to say to stop those who read this from freaking out thinking I'm about to jump off a bridge. But it is what it is. Some days there is just no point in pointing out the positives. They just don't matter sometimes. I'm not just having a bad day. I still can't believe this happened sometimes. What a god damned rip off.

PS..
it feels really good to write again, and I'm sorry I stayed away so long. I don't know why I've avoided it. Maybe I thought it would all go away if I stopped thinking about it.
Silly girl. I should know better.

So, it's been a while since I wrote, and I can feel that I'm running a bit from it all. We've moved provinces, which has been an experience and continues to be, daily. We haven't unpacked Isla's things onto her cabinet yet, I'm not sure why. I think I'm 'waiting' for something, I don't know what.. for the house to be 'ready', or something... Either way, I'm feeling fidgety, angry, anxious, depressed, angry, sad, hopeful, lost and did I mention angry? It's been difficult. Evan's been a nightmare. I feel horrible saying that, beacause I should be grateful etc etc.. but he's been just awful. Disagreeable, antagonistic, argumentative, all of it. Almost all of the time. I think it's a combination of boredom, adjustment issues, possibly grief, though I don't really think so, except in a possible reaction to our grief. I feel wiped, spent and just Done. Capital D. I want very much to be grateful, for this opportunity to start our new life here in the Kootenays, which holds so many amazing memories for me, and feels like home no matter how long I've been away. I want to feel hopeful, that our future holds many good things, in spite of the awful blow we've been dealt. I believe these things are possible, yet every time I feel like I've progressed on this stupid grief journey, and that I'm healing, I seem to fall 2 steps back. I know this is the jagged reality of grief, and on paper and in studies, it makes perfect sense, but to be the actual person on the roller coaster, experiencing it, without knowing what's around each bend is so emotionally draining. It makes it so hard to enjoy a good day when it comes, because you just *know* that something awful could be lurking beyond... I realize this is all very pessimistic, and I don't care. It is what it is. I *am* in fact very grateful for what I do have. I touch Evan often, cuddle him constantly, and enjoy most of our time together. But it doesn't ease the pain I feel for Isla's loss. And it's been a wretched week there. We've just passed the 5 month mark on the 15th. We don't have our support group anymore to help us through these difficult milestones. Five months. Starting solids. Maybe having a bottle now and then.... hair bows and barrettes in what I'm sure would have been wavy brown hair. Cute Easter dresses, tights, and little shoes. How long will I go on recognizing these missed moments? Will it be forever that I think of Isla, and what she'd be doing? How old she'd be? What her voice would sound like? Probably. I'm supposed to believe that this is the way that I remember, and keep her memory alive; by imagining these things, etc.. and in fact, I think I even stated that myself once. But, really, what it really does is remind me of the enormity of my loss. The fact that an entire life of joy, love and potential has been washed away. We are left to forever wonder what 'would have been'. And that's awful. That's where the dreadful loneliness sets in. Where everyone has acknowledged what a tremendous loss we've endured, appreciated what they have, and moved on to ponder what to make for dinner, we are stuck. We don't get to just shake our heads and say the profoundly ignorant things people say, like "you're so strong, I couldn't handle it" and just go on our merry way. We must endure it daily, for the rest of our lives. And that's another thing that really pisses me off. When people say things like we're strong, and they couldn't handle it I just want to shake them. Do you think I thought I could handle it either asshole? Or wanted to? I sure didn't ask for this. And what would you do exactly? Jump off a bridge? Leave everyone else behind? It's such a slap in the face to say something like this, as though it's a fate I've chosen. I'm not strong enough either, but somehow, I have no fucking choice. So stop telling me how strong I am. Nobody whose been through something like this appreciates a comment like that. Maybe after I've run a marathon, but not after I've experienced the death of my child. Strength has nothing to do with it.
I miss you sweet Isla. I know you'd have been the most beautiful 5 month old out there, and you'd have fulfilled us completely. We miss you so very much, every day, all the time. You were such a special baby girl, and we just wish so much you were here in our arms. How we ache for you my sweetheart.
xoxoxo
mommy.

I found the Baby Loss Blog Directory, and I'm flabbergasted. I cannot believe the number of baby loss blogs. If we assume probably about 5% of people who lose a baby blog (and I think that's probably a generous estimate), then the number of actual losses becomes astounding. It's not a new figure, but suddenly, when there are pictures, faces, families and lives put to each individual statistic, the volume of losses is staggering. I have been perusing several baby loss blogs, some I've found at my new favourite baby loss site, missfoundation.org, and some who've surfed their way over to mine, and left comments. I can't believe how often I find myself concurring, and nodding over and over in agreement with their comments, perceptions, new realities and such. It is a mixed bag really, because I am part of an exclusive club no one wants to join. It is pretty much the shittiest thing on earth, yet here are these women. They are amazing writers, insightfully narrating their own journeys, and trudging their way through grief, lending a shoulder to cry on and crying on mine, and I think "wow, how lucky am I to have all of this within my grasp?" I mean, I would trade it all in for another minute with Isla in a heartbeat, but what a strange thing has happened in having had her at all. I have been exposed to this new underground of suffering people, like me, willing to share my pain, while I share theirs. In the most raw and vulnerable of human states, we expose ourselves and are at the mercy of virtual strangers. And we embrace each other unconditionally, with compassion and empathy. It's a level of humanity that is sadly not often experienced in 'real life'. I have visited a few 'every day' blogs, where the bloggers write about a new recipe they've found, or some anecdote their husband told them. Sure, it's cute, but it seems awfully meaningless to me. There is no richness, no meat, so to speak. Again, I'd give it up in a second and have my own 'fluff blog' if I could, but I guess if I have to endure this, I am grateful for the company of some insightful, thought provoking, empathetic souls with whom to share the journey, in all its ups and downs.

Note: This was a really shitty week, PMS, the 4 month mark, full moon and all that...
This post feels really optimistic, so I'm sure I'll crash tomorrow. Ah, the joys of grief.

4 months

So. Today is 4 months since Isla was born and passed away. It still feels weird to write that.. passed away.. my baby.. yes, very weird. Very wrong. Most days I'm still mostly melancholy, thinking heavily about her, wishing so hard that I could just wake up from it all, and have her here with us. There are babies everywhere, and somehow, due to an environmental glitch I'm sure, everybody is having girls. I can't believe how I never see baby boys. And I do look, it's not like I'm just seeing the pink everywhere. It really is pink everywhere. And it's hard as hell. I want to walk up to these moms and tell them that I had a baby too, and I should be pushing a stroller with a carseat in it, and pink billowing out everywhere. I created a beautiful daughter too, even though she's not here.
I often feel like my body let me down. Not all the time, but it does cross my mind... that even though I could make this baby, I couldn't deliver her, bring her into the world safely. I wrack my brain for reasons this happened. I sometimes wish we'd had an autopsy to find out the real cause. But part of me was scared that we'd find out it was somehow my fault. This way, with a cord accident, we knew it wasn't.
Sometimes I think I'm doing so well on this grief journey, progressing appropriately through the stages and healing on schedule. Then I fall back into it full force, and spend a few days wallowing in it, feeling gutted all over again. I think in some ways, I'm grateful for these forays back into the black, because they remind me that I am still missing my daughter so much. I sometimes feel like I'm doing too well (I don't read back in my blog, but I'm sure I've mentioned this a time or two already) and not grieving, or making Isla's life meaningful. It makes me feel connected to her to grieve her, as I move on in my life. Because while she is forever a newborn to me, I will continue to evolve as a person. I need, as much as it hurts, to keep her alive to me, to keep her near my heart as I move further away from her birth. It saddens me that my memories are fading. I mean, some, I'm grateful for the encroaching fogginess, like the moment I asked if my baby was going to die, and no one said no. I'll gladly forget that one anytime. But, others, like remembering how she felt in my arms, her warmth, her little hiccup breathing sound, her sweet hair, her precious fingers and toes... all of her... is fading too, and I have nothing but her photos to remember her by now. I still sleep with the blanket she was wrapped in at the hospital, and who knows how long I'll do that. I just know that for now, I need to. Though the memories are fading and the intense grief has somewhat eased, I still miss my daughter so damn much it hurts. I think this will always be the case for me. And that is something I have a great deal of anger over. I don't want to be missing my dead baby for the rest of my life. I should be out pushing her in the swing, putting barrettes into her wavy soft hair, planting flowers with her. Not missing her, living my life while she is denied hers. It's an awful reality that I have to endure forever, and all the work I do to "keep her memory alive" is really in vain. It will not bring her back, and that's all I really want. I miss you sweetheart. I love you so much and we all wish you were here with us. You can't imagine how much you've impacted us, and just how very sad we are without you.
My heart hurts every second for you and I wish you were here in my arms. I love you. mommy.
Triggers are abundant, though I usually avoid them as best I can.

Ah, 2008. New Years was refreshingly good. We spent time away from our home, with friends that we don't get to see often, and it was nice. New Years Day, Evan got sick, started acting like he was having an asthma attack/allergic reaction, and I freaked. I realize I reacted pretty emotionally and probably overreacted, in some people's eyes, but I really don't care. I live in constant fear that something horrible will happen to Evan. Whether it's asthma, allergies, childhood cancer, horrific accident... whatever, I'm sure it will happen. I realize also, that I'm not being very rational here, and the fact that I *know* this probably makes it okay, for now. When I imagine something happening to him, I nearly lose my mind. I think it would not be possible for a tragedy like that to hit a family twice, and yet, it can, and does. A friend of mine who lost her 3 day old to a metabolic disorder nearly lost her 5 year old over the holidays to the same thing. I cannot wrap my head around that. I want to take her pain and fear away so much, I just ache for her, because while my fear may be somewhat unfounded, hers are not, and that's just wrong.
Religion is something that I've played around with throughout this whole thing. I had a lot of people pray for me, and my family, which I'm grateful for. But, only in the way you say thank you when someone blesses you for sneezing. I really don't think much of it. I'm glad they're thinking of us, but that's about it. I've had comments that stink, like I'm now living a blessed life (whatever that is) since Isla has died, and I'm keenly aware of the "real" meaning of life. Uh, yeah.. thanks, but I'll take blissful oblivion and a living daughter any day. So, I've tried to entertain the notion of an afterlife, or some sort of spiritual world beyond ours. I can't. I want to, believe me. If I could somehow convince myself that Isla is out there, waiting for me, playing on clouds, sliding down rainbows, I would gladly embrace it. But, I cannot. It is not something I was raised with, faith. I never had it instilled in me, never had any formal religious education, etc etc etc... So, it's pretty hard to up and decide to "believe" in God and some kind of other worldly existence. And believe me, if there was ever a reason to do so, reuniting with my baby would be it. So it's not like I haven't tried. I am pretty much resigned to the fact that this is it. My short time with Isla is all I will get. Maybe I'm wrong, hopefully I am.
So, 2008. While I'm glad to have 07 over with, because it puts a healing distance between me and trauma, I am sad too. Tim was sad because it was no longer the year our daughter was born, and that puts a sad distance between us. It's like a page in our lives has turned, and her name's not on the next page. Her character's been written out of the book. While I know that's not true, and she's only as obsolete as we allow her to be, I can't ignore the fact that time marches on, and it is doing so without her. And that hurts. Here go our lives, our move, our relationships, birthdays and holidays without Isla. That. Sucks. Large.
And that's all I feel like saying tonight. More on my mind, but I'm not feeling like putting it out there right now. Happy 08 everyone.
love you baby girl. xoxo mom.

The world really is a snowglobe at times. Everything seems so perfect on the surface, and only when you really pry, and look for it, can you find that there is actually a tremendous amount of suffering in the world. Tremendous. When Isla died, our doctor told us Isla was the third neonatal death that WEEK. At the first visit to our baby loss support group, the moderator told us they get a call A WEEK from families who've lost babies. How is this all going on under our noses, and no one knows about it? How are the pregnancy books SO able to avoid this topic past the 12th week? Why are families not at least cautioned to the possibilities of unfavourable outcomes in pregnancy? I am continuously stunned at the number of babies who die every day, that get no mention in pregnancy books. Lose a baby, and in "the underworld", others who've lost come out of the woodwork. Babies die. Lots of them. One book I bought had a death plan in it. It detailed in case of death, what your wishes were regarding the body etc. I thought, at the time, how morbid. Oh, blessed hindsight. I bet the author had lost a child. No one in their right mind can decide whether they want their newborn baby's body cremated, or embalmed for burial, within hours of giving birth. It's just not fathomable. Yet it happens. Who makes a death plan? No one, because babies don't die. If you make it past your 12th week, you're hoem free, right? You never hear about it, in public. No fundraisers ever make the news for neonatal death. There's lots of other, less devastating, dare I say more PC illnesses to support. October is infant and pregnancy loss month, but you'd never know it. Another pink cause is much my more trendy, and palatable to support (no offense intended). Baby loss is something so tragic, and so unbelievably sad and uncomfortable that society avoids it at all costs. When a woman loses a baby, many are isolated from their friendship circles because the bereaved mom makes the others uncomfortable. Why? Because they must then face the fact that this could happen to them too; that they and their precious children are mortal, with no guarantees for a long and happy life. They'd rather not face that. Sure, wouldn't we all? But guess what? Everyone dies. I think it's laughable that we think we can cheat death, specifically infant death, by not dealing with it. Living in a death denying society makes it really fucking hard to deal with death when it ends up at your door. Though we all *know* that eventually, we'll lose a loved one, we sure don't expect it to be our baby. When a baby dies in hospital, the mother is often kept at the far end of the unit, for her own sanity, as much as the other moms, who have their babies with them, and want to enjoy this happy time (which they deserve, don't get me wrong). When babies die in hospital, they are quietly escorted to the morgue in an isolette, "no one will know she's passed" I have heard. Well why not? Babies die. It's no secret. It's not catching for Christ's sake. Why shouldn't it be known that my baby died? It's not a dirty secret, I'm not ashamed. I could sure use the support, rather than the alienation. I hate that we deal with our dead this way. A friend of mine was kicked out of her scrapbooking circle because she chose to scrapbook her daughter's short 3 day life, and her death. It made the other girls "uncomfortable". Well fuck you, I say. Too damn bad. Her baby DIED, and YOU feel uncomfortable? Oh I can't even put my anger into words. I would probably hurt someone who said that to me

I have to be fair though, and say that before any of this happened, I would have been happily treading along in my own death denying existence too. I routinely shielded Evan from the topic of death, choosing instead to tell white lies, and skirt the issue. Case in point: my friend's dog. He was hit by a car, and when he wasn't there last time we visited, and Evan asked where he was, I told him the dog had gone to live with someone else. Save him the trouble, you know? Well, suffice to say, he now knows what happened to that dog, and anyone else whose life has graced ours, and since passed. We have books, he knows what death is, and though it's god damned awful that his baby sister died, I'm glad he knows what death is. It will help him deal with it in the future, instead of being broadsided and immobilized by it like me, and the rest of the death denying world.

I love and miss you sweet baby girl. xoxoxo thinking of you all. the. time.