Monthly Archives: December 2017

Disgruntled Rantings of a Member of the Worst Club Ever

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Here’s the thing about being a member of the Infant Loss Club– it sucks. Joining is not a choice. No one wants to be here, and the entrance fee is incredibly steep.

Membership package includes:

  • A lifetime guarantee of ‘should haves’ and ‘what ifs’
  • Awkward silences from friends and acquaintances at the mere mention of your deceased child
  • Abrupt subject changes from others when you relate something to your loss
  • The plight of having to pretend you’re fine when you’re never fine
  • Burning jealousy of people who have normal things, for example: living children
  • Simmering rage and extreme sensitivity
  • A jaded view of the world
  • A potential reputation for being totally crazy
  • Inability to “get over it already”
  • Compromised relationships with people in various areas of your life
  • Constant disappointment
  • Frequent, unexpected triggers
  • Post-Traumatic Stress
  • Avoidance from people who used to talk to you
  • A heartache that never goes away
  • A warped body image
  • Allergic reactions to pregnancy announcements and newborn photos
  • Extreme irritation with society’s taboos on talking about infant loss
  • Discomfort in ordinary social situations
  • A penchant for being consistently misunderstood
  • Desire to isolate oneself from others
  • Acute anxiety
  • Phobia of grocery stores, home improvement stores, restaurants, or other random public places where there may be lots of babies
  • Insomnia
  • A kind of suffering you never imagined possible
  • Distaste for faith-based, godly advice that indicates your child is “in a better place”, their death is simply “part of god’s plan” or that “heaven needed another angel”
  • A low tolerance for BS
  • Overall hopelessness
  • A grief that is much bigger than you and completely unpredictable
  • A life sentence of being without your beloved child

…and much, much more!!

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I realize I’m coming across negatively right now, but come on, does anyone really think that there’s only good to be gained from the death of your child?? Does anyone really believe that?  Sometimes it needs to be acceptable for bereaved parents to shine a light on the ugliness that makes up the reality of infant loss. It’s hellish, and most of the time, it feels as if there’s absolutely nothing good to focus on, no matter how hard we want to. I honestly believe the ugly stuff needs to be acknowledged just as much as the strength and hope that eventually manifests from these situations. I can create a beautiful story from all of this… in fact, I don’t need to create it, because Lucy’s brief life IS a beautiful story. It holds a tragic, heart-wrenching, unfair ending, but it is still beautiful. What isn’t beautiful is the tendency of society to simply push the grief of the bereaved along merely because it doesn’t like sad things. Hurry up and grieve already, move forward, move on, live your life, inspire others, think positive, look for the beauty in the pain, share only goodness, don’t make us sad….  Heaven forbid anyone else should be uncomfortable for a few brief moments.

Though grief exists because there was first love, grief isn’t always beautiful.

Losing Lucy turned our world upside down; her death has impacted many people close to us. However, as time goes by, I continue to see so many bereaved parents’ broken hearts get swept under the rug by the people in their lives. The averted eyes, the uncomfortable shift of the energy in the room when it’s mentioned, the pure avoidance of the topic in general… it’s all a dismissal of that pain and experience. No, not every single moment of my life is defined by Lucy’s death, but much of it is. We’ve lost so much more than our baby, we’ve lost everything she might have been, and that continues to impact the very fabric of who we are every single day. I’m tired of feeling that my continuing grief is an inconvenience to others who can’t handle the truth. I’m not afraid to share it anymore, even if it makes someone else a little uncomfortable for a minute.

Am I like this all the time? No, truly I’m not. I do my best every day in this life after loss to be kind, to inspire others, to avoid causing anyone even the mildest discomfort, and to share the light and love that my Lucy left behind her. There is so much love, really there is. I see my blessings, I really do. Unfortunately, being authentic means that I end up sharing some of my pain and frustration sometimes because those things are part of my experience too, part of who I am. Even here, I am apologizing for being genuine about my grief. I’ve conditioned myself to do so, because even here, in MY space, I feel as though there’s something wrong with my expression of grief. This has to stop. Time to reveal the good, the bad, and the ugly. Time to be real.

 

Blue Christmas

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My dear sweet Lucy,

Hi little one. It’s another Christmas without you, and not much has changed since last year. Truthfully, I didn’t want to get out of bed today because all I could think about was that I didn’t get to get up, give you a good morning kiss, and show you all of the magic that Christmas holds for little tykes like you (should have been).  I’m sure you’d have been noticing so much this year. Not being able to experience it with you is torture.

Your mommy is pretty blue this morning. My heart is not quiet- it’s tempest-tossed and turbulent. There’s not a damn thing that’s fair about today, and I’m having a hard time being happy about anything today has to offer. Seems like everyone else we know is probably getting up to a happy, content Christmas morning, all on their best behaviors all day, appreciating the special moments they’ll share with their loved ones. It’s days like these I just wish I could press the fast-forward button on. Days like this make it hard for me to keep my promise to you that I’ll live well everyday. I’m working on it, but all I can think about is all the memories we’ll never get to make together.

No matter what, and especially today, you are always alive in my heart. You are loved beyond measure, and you will always be our precious child. I miss you with all of my being, baby girl, I just miss you so much.

Merry Christmas, Lucy. I love you.

Always,

Mommy

Latest Still Standing Post

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Here’s my latest post at Still Standing.

I really struggled with coming up with something I deemed “worthy” to write about for this article deadline. Like I’ve mentioned recently, not only was I struggling with writer’s block, but honestly, I also had nothing much to say. It seems that the writer’s block has since lifted. However, I’m frustrated because there’s never truly anything new to report these days. It’s always more of the same: sadness, frustration, jealousy, anger, disappointment, depression… not to imply that nothing good ever happens (it does), but never enough to balance those scales even a little bit. Chris and I are merely floating right now, and it gets old after awhile. Match all those feelings with job dissatisfaction, secondary infertility, and the holidays, and it’s the perfect recipe for the blahs. Things are just hard, and life’s a bummer right now. It’s been tough to be positive these days, as anyone who reads this blog knows. I haven’t exactly been an uplifting Miss Sunshine. How could I be? I really hate the holidays right now. It just feels like it’s another thing to fake my way through. I’m totally pissed off this season, and I miss Lucy so much; I miss everything that we’re missing, if that makes any sense. The Christmas thing just makes it even more glaringly obvious that life is so unfair… as if we needed another reminder.

Today, thankfully, is a snow day. One of the perks of being a teacher in the Midwest for sure. They’re magical mental health days for us, and they’re meant to be savored. I was joking with Chris earlier about how the only things that really seem to make us happy anymore are days in which we do not have to go to work! I was really feeling the need for a break from being Mrs. O. yesterday. I’m pretty much in the struggle zone all the time, fighting depression and heartache, and then to add to it, yesterday was the 11th, which is our 16 month milestone without Lucy here. I was really feeling the heaviness of it all. And then, to have a few students who act rudely, point out my mistakes (yes, I did accidentally skip #34 on the test numbering and went directly to #35, but it is not a tragedy), and then deal with the unbelievable neediness of the students (what is going on with that lately?! Holy cow)… I just felt like I was going to cave in. I can only put on the smiley face and be teacher/counselor/snack provider/ pseudo-parent/ listener/encourager/cheerleader/ energy giver/ paperwork guru/ “I Can Statement”-writing circus clown for so long. My job is hard, but especially hard when managing the anxiety, grief and depression that accompanies our situation. It makes it hard to be patient and paste on my fake happy face. I’m having a really hard time with it, and I’m not as good at being a teacher as I used to be. One more thing to add to the pile of guilt.  So- this Snow Day is so welcome in our world today.

The other day, I promised myself (and Lucy) that I’m going to start taking better care of myself and the things in my life. Back to exercising more regularly, being more aware of my needs and what my body needs, and practicing more gratitude. I’m also working on going a little easier on myself, because I’ve been pretty rough on her lately! Small steps. I can do this. I’ve been so frustrated with the stagnation in my life, and since I can’t change certain aspects of it, I need to work on the changes I can control.

 

 

Sixteen Months

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Hi sweet baby,

We’ve survived another month without you, but you are still missed and thought of constantly, especially by your Daddy and me. I’m sitting here in front of your Christmas tree as I write this, looking at the many ornaments dedicated to you, just wondering what it would be like if you were really here. I’m having a tough time getting excited about the holidays, because they just hurt.  Just like last year, I’m running all of the “should haves” through my mind, and that’s the hardest part. You should be toddling around now, with us making sure you don’t poke your little hands on the prickly Christmas tree, keeping you away from the fire, or watching as you pursue Waggs throughout the house, trying to get ahold of her tail… you should be doing a lot of things. I miss everything we never had together, Lucy, even down to the simplest, everyday things. I always will.

I’ve been having a pretty hard time lately, and I worry daily that I’m not living up to my promises I’ve made to you. I’m trying to crawl up and out of the deep depression I’ve found myself in, but I miss you extra these days, and it’s difficult to push that out of my mind when it sits upon my heart the way it does. But I’m trying, I really am.  It’s time for your Mommy to find her strength reserves and pull herself through this! I know you’re there, rooting me on, encouraging me, showing me the light in all the ways you know how. I love you so much, my little baby, and I know I’ve really got to get on with this living thing, for both of us.

Your Daddy and I are feeling so discouraged that we haven’t been able to give you a younger sibling… we’re starting to wonder what the next step is, but the world isn’t cooperating with us very well. We’ve been trying to do everything we’re supposed to by following the doctor’s orders, waiting for phone calls and all of that, but our patience is wearing thin. All of this on top of missing you the way we do has taken its toll on us. It’s just dawned on me though- I haven’t truly asked for your blessing yet. Would you like to be an angel big sister to a younger sibling? It’s an important honor. We would be so proud to have two beautiful little Orlaske babies. Oh, so many “should haves” here…

A year and four months is a long time to be without the one we love the most. I look back on this time since you took your last breath, and I don’t know how we’ve done it. Some things have gotten easier, but there’s always this tugging and pulling on my heart and the continuous ache of missing you. For as long as I live Lucy, I’ll never truly be able to make sense of what’s happened. You’ll be in my heart and I’ll find you all around me for the rest of my days- that’s a promise to you that I will always keep.

You are never far from me, and I love you so much.

Love Always,

Mommy

 

“What happens to a dream deferred?”

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Dream Deferred by Langston Hughes

What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry up
Like a raisin in the sun?

Or fester like a sore–
And then run?

Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over–
like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.

Or does it explode?
…………………

My Dream Deferred…

My dream? My dream was shattered. Our dream was obliterated.

This deferred dream sits, perched heavily upon my heart, pressing its weight into me, squeezing out my breath. It bears down, gnashes its teeth, and sets its vision fixedly upon my sanity. It chips away at my exterior, slowly, yet swiftly at the same time.

Who might she have been? We’ll never know. Who might I have been if she had lived? We’ll never know. I am the ruins of a sad soul left longing for the past and haunted by an unwritten book of memories never to be.

It’s Not Easy Right Now

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I’ve been having a hard time lately. We’ve been having a hard time lately. Coping with grief and dealing with disappointment on top of grief is so difficult. It’s hard for Chris and I to keep our chins up… we haven’t been dealing well with getting bad news each month. “More of the same” is a common phrase in our house, one we used to say in conjunction with the long winter parts of the school year (sort of like a “Groundhog’s Day” film reference, you know, the same day repeating over and over again…), but now, it’s used to describe our lives entirely. Only it isn’t funny anymore.

I’m starting to worry that there’s something wrong, starting to wonder if we’re not meant to have another pregnancy. I know, I know, I shouldn’t be thinking so “irrationally”, but the hope is running out. We’ve become conditioned to accept disappointment, and let’s face it, to expect the worst. It feels like I am completely out of control of everything in my life. I’m tired of feeling like I’m just a passenger on a runaway bus. From my job to my fertility (or lack thereof) to my sleeping habits to my entire life in general, I feel completely out of control. I don’t know how to feel better about any of it right now. I hate this existence. Grief touches all corners of my life, and it’s killed my motivation, my drive, my give-a-damn. I feel like a prisoner in my own life.

I miss Lucy, and lately, I feel so far away from her and that scares me. It’s hard to articulate how I’m feeling– I’ve had a serious case of writer’s block. I just don’t know how to say what I need to say. I barely made my deadline for writing my Still Standing article due out on the 12th, and even after finishing it, I am intensely self-conscious about it. I’ve been doubting myself, and I don’t know how to regain trust in myself. I am a lost soul these days.

I didn’t want to get out of bed this morning; my first thought was, “My life is legitimately a living hell”. I feel guilty for saying that, I do, but I just don’t know when it’s supposed to get better. I am so blessed in so many ways- I know this- but I am barely getting by. I thank my lucky stars daily for my husband… without him, I wouldn’t have survived this grief, no way. He’s been picking me up and pushing me through, loving me when I cannot love myself. I can’t imagine my life without him. I just wish I could be stronger for him so he wouldn’t have to carry so much of this burden. I keep trying to center my thoughts on how much I love Chris and Lucy, and it’s what makes me capable of surviving each day.

The holiday season is making things much more difficult… I can’t stand the idea of another Christmas without Lucy, but I have no choice but to deal with it. We did get a tree for her again; I love sitting in the glow of the tree lights, thinking of her. Mostly, I try to imagine all of the memories we should be making now.

But mostly, I’m just sad.