so many facets of life to reflect. . .
the facet of Reproductive Drama: inspired by awesomeness, i made a spontaneous appointment with reproductive specialists. today is day 26, and I am waiting for my period. once i start, the doctors and staff will take magic pictures of my 40 year old ovaries, and from those pictures, as well as with some other data they collect in the coming month, they will give me some information about the likelihood of conception.
during my consultation, they already briefed me on things like
egg donors
and
ivf
but all i am really ready for right now is some data about the likelihood of conception. because i am sooooooo done with the emotional roller coaster of my menstrual cycle, and the heartbreak of no baby, every month. i don't know if i have it in me to go through ivf. but if the door of fertility is closed, i do have it in me to find closure, and start envisioning another life.
on the facet of The Farm: we have been harvesting birds. chickens, turkeys, and ducks. it has been a very real and cathartic process for me and my 18 year-old son. our freezer is full of meat. soon, we will repurpose a goose.
the vegetable garden and the fruit trees have kept our bellies full for months, and will probably continue to feed us all until january. currently, we get about 90% of our food from the farm, which was my goal all along. and i love that.
and.
we have eleven acres. my husband works full time. i have other things i want to do. we're talking about moving. again.
haha.
it's like one of those questions - what dramatic thing did you do when your baby died? oh, we bought a farm. and moved to the farm. and now. . .it has become clear that we may have been crazy when (six months after nathaniel died) we signed the papers.
on the facet of My Life: i'm still lost. no rainbow baby to ground me to a schedule of taking care of a wee one, and the way that tethers a person to the cycle of the sun and moon. of course, in a good way. but. . .
now, i am just trying to figure out what i want. my living, loving son will be going to college. my entire adult life has been about taking care of him. and if my reproductive door has closed, and i have the rest of my life. . .now what?
what do i even want?
i'm trying to figure that out.
my husband's work is flexible to the point that we could, really, live anywhere. on the planet. is that what i want? i don't know.
do i want to travel?
do i want to become a foster parent and raise kids that way? do we want to adopt? do i want to go and volunteer and do good things?
i do have a short and focused bucket list, and i'm trying to focus on checking those things off. but without my kids to take care of, what now?
Thursday, September 19, 2013
Thursday, July 11, 2013
memory
i remember nathaniel
in my fingertips
my armpits
my chest
every single cell
deeper
bones
mitochondria
marrow
everything
everything
if you cut off my head, i would still remember him.
in my fingertips
my armpits
my chest
every single cell
deeper
bones
mitochondria
marrow
everything
everything
if you cut off my head, i would still remember him.
Sunday, July 7, 2013
right where i am: 1 year, 11 months, one week, and five days
this post is part of angie's right where i am project.
last year's post is here
here's the gist:
a. i am terribly, terribly sad. still. and often. especially now that i'm closing in on nathaniel's second birthday. tomorrow was his due date, and i fear the echoing march between his due date and all of the days that passed before he was born.
maybe that is something to write about in the next few weeks.
b. and. i feel incredibly, breathtakingly lucky. my life is so much bigger than i ever imagined it could be. my path has taken unexpected turns, and as a result of our loss, we took the big leap of getting the farm. changing our lives completely. forging a new path. i have so much beauty in my life, and the opportunity to learn and explore and experiment and discover and create and play.
c. and. there is still a gaping hole in my heart. sometimes there is a dizzying light that comes from how much i love nathaniel. sometimes there is anger at how much it hurts. and sometimes, it pulls with the gravity and heaviness that he's gone.
last year's post is here
one year, eleven months, one week, and five days
i've started other right where i am posts this year, but i always get distracted before i am able to finish. and when i finally come back to it, so much time has passed that the writing is no longer right where i am.
here's the gist:
a. i am terribly, terribly sad. still. and often. especially now that i'm closing in on nathaniel's second birthday. tomorrow was his due date, and i fear the echoing march between his due date and all of the days that passed before he was born.
maybe that is something to write about in the next few weeks.
b. and. i feel incredibly, breathtakingly lucky. my life is so much bigger than i ever imagined it could be. my path has taken unexpected turns, and as a result of our loss, we took the big leap of getting the farm. changing our lives completely. forging a new path. i have so much beauty in my life, and the opportunity to learn and explore and experiment and discover and create and play.
c. and. there is still a gaping hole in my heart. sometimes there is a dizzying light that comes from how much i love nathaniel. sometimes there is anger at how much it hurts. and sometimes, it pulls with the gravity and heaviness that he's gone.
Saturday, June 22, 2013
the grotto on solstice
the grotto on solstice was so verdant, and clearly celebrated the longest day of the year. with love and honor i lit nathaniel's candle. with love and honor i lit a candle for precious babies gone too soon.
Thursday, April 18, 2013
remembering babies - yours and mine
i found a newly bereaved mama and sent her some messages of comfort and love. she is sweet and newly heartbroken, with all of the rawness and all of the despair. i remember. i remember.
she lives in paris. she gave herself a mission to light candles in notre dame for babies gone too soon and their mamas. she lit a candle for nathaniel and her own little sun, and some other babies she's learned about.
i was so touched. i was in paris, i walked by notre dame, early, early in my pregnancy with nathaniel. i was pregnancy brain foggy and nauseated, but i remember. i remember how beautiful the church was. i remember being close to the river. i remember being with nathaniel. . .
i wanted to extend that offer here on my blog: here in portland, we have a place called the grotto. it's also "the national sanctuary of our sorrowful mother." it's an outdoor sanctuary just outside of town, and it is very beautiful and very peaceful.
i'm planning a trip there in the next week or two to light a candle for nathaniel and for little sun, but i'd also love to light a candle for your baby. leave a comment and i will make sure to light a candle for your baby at the grotto.
Tuesday, April 9, 2013
40
i turned 40 last week. my husband and i went to berlin and prague for the week before my birthday. we walked around and ate our way through both of the cities. i spent most of the time thinking about people and the things that they create and destroy.
wandering around two large cities, i thought about people making more people. i thought about how people have babies who, most of the time, live, and grow into children who grow into teenagers who grow into adults who then make more babies. of course, i thought about me, on the edge of my reproductive years, about us, about our family, and wondered whether or not we'll have another baby. i thought about our living children who are both on the edge of adulthood, and wondered whether or not they'll have babies, and when.
life on the farm continues to unfold. we have a goose who is sitting on a clutch of eggs. i hope that at least some of them hatch. our ducks have started laying eggs, and i found two double yolk duck eggs last week.
being on the farm is not about people, and i think that is informing the way i view the world right now. a few months ago, i would leave my house and i was surrounded by other people things: other houses, other kept yards, streets, cars, shops, libraries, restaurants. here on the farm, i mostly interact with seeds and dirt, trees, plants, birds, and dogs. our farm is not people centered, and i am starting to experience the whole world so differently. the rhythms of my life are shifting.
i talk to nathaniel. i miss him with every cell in my body. my skin and senses keep looking for him, all of the time. it's exhausting.
wandering around two large cities, i thought about people making more people. i thought about how people have babies who, most of the time, live, and grow into children who grow into teenagers who grow into adults who then make more babies. of course, i thought about me, on the edge of my reproductive years, about us, about our family, and wondered whether or not we'll have another baby. i thought about our living children who are both on the edge of adulthood, and wondered whether or not they'll have babies, and when.
life on the farm continues to unfold. we have a goose who is sitting on a clutch of eggs. i hope that at least some of them hatch. our ducks have started laying eggs, and i found two double yolk duck eggs last week.
being on the farm is not about people, and i think that is informing the way i view the world right now. a few months ago, i would leave my house and i was surrounded by other people things: other houses, other kept yards, streets, cars, shops, libraries, restaurants. here on the farm, i mostly interact with seeds and dirt, trees, plants, birds, and dogs. our farm is not people centered, and i am starting to experience the whole world so differently. the rhythms of my life are shifting.
i talk to nathaniel. i miss him with every cell in my body. my skin and senses keep looking for him, all of the time. it's exhausting.
Friday, March 1, 2013
Thursday, February 28, 2013
Tuesday, February 12, 2013
back to work
i (finally) went back to the yoga studio where i was teaching through my pregnancy. i had exchanged emails with the main teachers there during my loss. i emailed them as we found out about nathaniel's conditions. we've had a few email exchanges in the last year and a half. but i hadn't been able to go back to the studio.
i have been mad at yoga for not saving me from the pain of my loss. before he died, i knew how to ground myself and breathe deeply. i have survived hard things before. i could sink my energy and breathe. but when he died i couldn't breathe. every breath was so, so painful. and my breath cycle adjusted to accommodate the pain. my nervous system was destroyed like i had survived a bomb explosion.
but in truth, my very sick baby boy died peacefully in my arms.
none of it makes sense.
my first class back as a student, i was held by friends who knew what happened to nathaniel. i sobbed for a bit, but i made it through the whole class without exploding.
my second class back, i ran into an old friend who didn't know what happend. the last time i saw her, i was big with nathaniel. she came up to me with a big smile and said how is your family?
i thought fuck. she doesn't know. i was hoping that she had found out through. . .someone else.
i had to tell her that my baby died. where do i even start?
*******
few people know his story. i have shame, or something, about the fact that he was sick and we didn't know. i'm absolutely embarrassed, even here, about the fact that i was 37 years old and i didn't have any kind of ultrasound or genetic testing. please know that i wanted to, but i didn't for complicated reasons.
the truth percolates down to the fact that my husband is afraid of doctors and the mainstream medical establishment. he has a degree in science from an ivy league school, so ignorance is not the issue. just fear.
in retrospect, i should have had the testing i wanted, the testing i knew was best practice, considering my age. considering his. but i wanted more to have a baby with him. i wanted for us to be together. and he wasn't going to get on my side of the issue.
so i agreed to a homebirth, for him. i agreed to no testing. and then at our 36 week appointment, when the midwife suspected our baby was breech, she requested that we get an ultrasound as soon as possible to confirm position.
and the story of our loss begins there.
and now i don't know how to tell nathaniel's story to my friends. the fact that he was sick absolutely colors the loss. the fact that he was sick somehow doesn't ease my grief.
it doesn't make sense.
*******
my third time back to the studio i talked with two different friends, both of whom knew about nathaniel. one of them had gone to nathaniel's service, and i hadn't seen her since. we hugged and kissed and hugged and kissed and laughed to see each other. the other friend was the photographer at my wedding, and i had run into him at the grocery store about six months ago. i told him there that my baby had died. i don't think he knows the details.
********
when i think about how to tell other people about the loss, i don't want the fact that he was sick to dismiss or diminish the loss. i don't know what details to include. i don't know what details to leave out. i don't know if i can show them his picture. some people think that a photo of a dead baby is morbid.
how am i supposed to talk about nathaniel? it's still so awkward and the narrative is pocked by vulnerabilities, shame, embarrassment, and challenges within my relationship. it's also marked with making difficult medical decisions. about life. about resources and statistics, about complex and controversial medical procedures. about severe, global disability. all of that is part of nathaniel's story as well.
how do i tell his story? what story do i tell?
i have been mad at yoga for not saving me from the pain of my loss. before he died, i knew how to ground myself and breathe deeply. i have survived hard things before. i could sink my energy and breathe. but when he died i couldn't breathe. every breath was so, so painful. and my breath cycle adjusted to accommodate the pain. my nervous system was destroyed like i had survived a bomb explosion.
but in truth, my very sick baby boy died peacefully in my arms.
none of it makes sense.
my first class back as a student, i was held by friends who knew what happened to nathaniel. i sobbed for a bit, but i made it through the whole class without exploding.
my second class back, i ran into an old friend who didn't know what happend. the last time i saw her, i was big with nathaniel. she came up to me with a big smile and said how is your family?
i thought fuck. she doesn't know. i was hoping that she had found out through. . .someone else.
i had to tell her that my baby died. where do i even start?
*******
few people know his story. i have shame, or something, about the fact that he was sick and we didn't know. i'm absolutely embarrassed, even here, about the fact that i was 37 years old and i didn't have any kind of ultrasound or genetic testing. please know that i wanted to, but i didn't for complicated reasons.
the truth percolates down to the fact that my husband is afraid of doctors and the mainstream medical establishment. he has a degree in science from an ivy league school, so ignorance is not the issue. just fear.
in retrospect, i should have had the testing i wanted, the testing i knew was best practice, considering my age. considering his. but i wanted more to have a baby with him. i wanted for us to be together. and he wasn't going to get on my side of the issue.
so i agreed to a homebirth, for him. i agreed to no testing. and then at our 36 week appointment, when the midwife suspected our baby was breech, she requested that we get an ultrasound as soon as possible to confirm position.
and the story of our loss begins there.
and now i don't know how to tell nathaniel's story to my friends. the fact that he was sick absolutely colors the loss. the fact that he was sick somehow doesn't ease my grief.
it doesn't make sense.
*******
my third time back to the studio i talked with two different friends, both of whom knew about nathaniel. one of them had gone to nathaniel's service, and i hadn't seen her since. we hugged and kissed and hugged and kissed and laughed to see each other. the other friend was the photographer at my wedding, and i had run into him at the grocery store about six months ago. i told him there that my baby had died. i don't think he knows the details.
********
when i think about how to tell other people about the loss, i don't want the fact that he was sick to dismiss or diminish the loss. i don't know what details to include. i don't know what details to leave out. i don't know if i can show them his picture. some people think that a photo of a dead baby is morbid.
how am i supposed to talk about nathaniel? it's still so awkward and the narrative is pocked by vulnerabilities, shame, embarrassment, and challenges within my relationship. it's also marked with making difficult medical decisions. about life. about resources and statistics, about complex and controversial medical procedures. about severe, global disability. all of that is part of nathaniel's story as well.
how do i tell his story? what story do i tell?
Friday, January 25, 2013
18 months
nathaniel would be 18 months old today. the only other person who acknowledged this - who remembered it - is my 17 year old living son. i know that it's unreasonable to expect other people to remember something like this. but had he lived, 18 months is a huge milestone in development. without the milestone, there is something else, and i don't know what to call it.
what do you call these days?
Saturday, January 12, 2013
move
we went through the move. i went through the move. there are days that i want to call the movers back to take everything home. but the day of the move was fairly peaceful.
all of nathaniel's boxes and things waited in the front room for the movers. a blanket draped over his car seat. a mover came in and asked, "is there a baby in there?" before he picked it up and took it to the truck.
i found a closet for nathaniel's boxes and oddly shaped baby things - his brand new stroller, his bouncy chair. i thought to myself, how can a dead baby have so much stuff? but here i am, still keeping it all. moving it from one house to another. i've wondered, if we end up having another baby, could i let the other baby use nathaniel's stuff? i honestly don't know.
it's a crazy babyloss moment, keeping all of his stuff.
so now the farm house is full of boxes. i'm taking part of my saturday to catch up with blogging, because isn't that better than unpacking? the farm is on an island called sauvie island. it's located about 20 minutes from downtown portland in the columbia river.
it's peaceful here. very dark at night because it's away from the city. my neighbors have cows.
we still talk about having a baby. whether to or not to. we weigh the many risks of age. we are both haunted by the truth of life and death and all of the stories of loss we now know. we fly around the lands of yes, no, maybe.
i dream about flying away.
Friday, December 14, 2012
stress
last year i bought a tree from the church lot up the block. i dried the roses from nathaniel's service and put the petals in clear ornaments, and decorated the tree with these. we put lights on the house. the energy of the grief pushed me forward. nathaniel was gone five months christmas day.
this year, the living room is full of boxes. empty and flattened, most of them right now. we've spent most nights these past months at the farm. i commute about 40 minutes to and from the city now.
i honestly don't know how i feel about it. most days i just feel confused and overwhelmed. we bought a farm. i moved my city chickens out there. the dogs. the cat. we have some furniture at the farm house. books. my art supplies. i bought and have been raising 10 ducklings. i bought 4 geese.
i like the birds. i hate the commute.
i'm trying to get the city house packed up but every time i try i get so stressed out. i don't know if it's going to happen. there's a deeper sense of inertia now - some leaden force that binds me in place.
i try to motivate my world by imagining some beautiful life that probably would have never been had nathaniel lived. 11 acres on an island. my own studio. but it feels like someone else's life that i'm trying to put on, like a jacket that looks great on the model but might not fit me. like some shitty consolation prize.
i don't know if it's just because of the holidays or if it's something else. if my body reacts to the moving with anxiety and pain, do i just then stay put? or do i push forward through the pain and try to imagine a different life? try to invent myself again?
i am still grieving in my body intensely. the pain is back in my breath today. i've actually had some success working with my breath for about the past month, which is amazing because i couldn't work with my breath for more than a year after nathaniel died, and my breath had been my number one coping skill for years. i've had some success with just slowing waaaaay down. walking very slowly. bringing mindfulness to my movements. but some days the anxiety just picks up and shakes my being, and it feels like my world could come apart with one or two sentences.
i know the stress is not good for my fertility. i know the stress is not good for me at all. but i can't seem to get away from it.
what do you do to manage the stress of grief?
this year, the living room is full of boxes. empty and flattened, most of them right now. we've spent most nights these past months at the farm. i commute about 40 minutes to and from the city now.
i honestly don't know how i feel about it. most days i just feel confused and overwhelmed. we bought a farm. i moved my city chickens out there. the dogs. the cat. we have some furniture at the farm house. books. my art supplies. i bought and have been raising 10 ducklings. i bought 4 geese.
i like the birds. i hate the commute.
i'm trying to get the city house packed up but every time i try i get so stressed out. i don't know if it's going to happen. there's a deeper sense of inertia now - some leaden force that binds me in place.
i try to motivate my world by imagining some beautiful life that probably would have never been had nathaniel lived. 11 acres on an island. my own studio. but it feels like someone else's life that i'm trying to put on, like a jacket that looks great on the model but might not fit me. like some shitty consolation prize.
i don't know if it's just because of the holidays or if it's something else. if my body reacts to the moving with anxiety and pain, do i just then stay put? or do i push forward through the pain and try to imagine a different life? try to invent myself again?
i am still grieving in my body intensely. the pain is back in my breath today. i've actually had some success working with my breath for about the past month, which is amazing because i couldn't work with my breath for more than a year after nathaniel died, and my breath had been my number one coping skill for years. i've had some success with just slowing waaaaay down. walking very slowly. bringing mindfulness to my movements. but some days the anxiety just picks up and shakes my being, and it feels like my world could come apart with one or two sentences.
i know the stress is not good for my fertility. i know the stress is not good for me at all. but i can't seem to get away from it.
what do you do to manage the stress of grief?
Saturday, December 8, 2012
mom face
recent conversations about faking it inspired this piece
mom face
nose to nose with a living baby
baby smiles
baby kisses
baby gurgles
baby face and mom face reflected together
this is how we both learn
love
raising a living child
face to face
smile
instruct
encourage
my son knows this mom face
is his mom's face
when my baby died
my mom face still
expected connection
first eye contact
but
absent
contorted
muscles involuntarily
twisted in a mask of pain
this revealed a new story
in my mom face
black eyes
broken teeth
swollen, beaten down
my living son witnesses his mom's face
confused
by his own brother face
wounded
*****
i try to smile
remember my mom face
the unbroken story
of childhood
and motherhood
i hide
can he see me? what does he see?
my body takes over and i cry out
stop.
i cannot be lost.
i am completely lost.
*****
peer closely and see
my own little girl face
wailing
her baby is gone
peer closer and see
his little boy face
lost without his little
brother
two lost children
playing mom face
son face
searching for baby brother's face
mom face
nose to nose with a living baby
baby smiles
baby kisses
baby gurgles
baby face and mom face reflected together
this is how we both learn
love
raising a living child
face to face
smile
instruct
encourage
my son knows this mom face
is his mom's face
when my baby died
my mom face still
expected connection
first eye contact
but
absent
contorted
muscles involuntarily
twisted in a mask of pain
this revealed a new story
in my mom face
black eyes
broken teeth
swollen, beaten down
my living son witnesses his mom's face
confused
by his own brother face
wounded
*****
i try to smile
remember my mom face
the unbroken story
of childhood
and motherhood
i hide
can he see me? what does he see?
my body takes over and i cry out
stop.
i cannot be lost.
i am completely lost.
*****
peer closely and see
my own little girl face
wailing
her baby is gone
peer closer and see
his little boy face
lost without his little
brother
two lost children
playing mom face
son face
searching for baby brother's face
Tuesday, November 6, 2012
run
i have a five minute break in the middle of drawing class. the coffee shop is a block away. i left class quickly and started a very slow jog, quick walk, down the hall. a toddler coming the other way saw me with my silly run and grinned. as i passed her, she turned around and copied my run, chasing after me. the *before nathaniel* brain kicked in, smiled at her, and said, come on! and we ran down the hall together, giggling.
my *after nathaniel* brain said don't ask. you don't want to know.
"how old is she?" i asked anyway.
"15 months."
i'm an idiot.
"cute."
i didn't get through the front doors before the tears hit and i was plotting to never leave my house again.
***
"get a goose," she said. "cut it up into 20 pieces, wrap each piece separately, and put the pieces in the freezer. use the whole goose. head, feet, everything. every day, make a little soup. put one piece of goose in the pot with some water, cook it up, and then drink the juice from the bottom. don't drink the top - that's all fat, and you don't need that part. drink it up from the bottom. just a little soup. you'll have a healthy baby. one month, two months."
this, in response to the sentence, "we're going to try to have a baby." a sentence i had never uttered before. words like marbles in my mouth. a new language.
i don't know if i believe it. i try to sense how i feel when i say the words.
we didn't really try, but we didn't prevent. i'm not pregnant, and that's okay right now. i think i have to wade slowly into the land of maybe baby. this month, i drank more coffee, more wine, and consumed more sugar than i've had in the last year. which isn't much, but i surprised myself with my behavior. what am i doing?
it's so complicated. so many layers of this and that. yes, i'd love to have a baby. i haven't held a baby since nathaniel. i've never been in a better position to parent a child. i've travelled the road from birth through high school already. but there are so many risks. many other factors to consider.
two living children graduating high school this year.
one of my closest friends from jr high and high school just became a grandmother. i'm 39. three of my older siblings are grandparents.
if we had a baby, he or she would have only one living grandparent.
i bought the goose. it did not come with either a head or feet. i took it apart with a big knife. i started making the soup every day - my family called it my goose juice. i made it for six days in a row. it was disgusting.
and then i stopped.
.JPG)
my *after nathaniel* brain said don't ask. you don't want to know.
"how old is she?" i asked anyway.
"15 months."
i'm an idiot.
"cute."
i didn't get through the front doors before the tears hit and i was plotting to never leave my house again.
***
"get a goose," she said. "cut it up into 20 pieces, wrap each piece separately, and put the pieces in the freezer. use the whole goose. head, feet, everything. every day, make a little soup. put one piece of goose in the pot with some water, cook it up, and then drink the juice from the bottom. don't drink the top - that's all fat, and you don't need that part. drink it up from the bottom. just a little soup. you'll have a healthy baby. one month, two months."
this, in response to the sentence, "we're going to try to have a baby." a sentence i had never uttered before. words like marbles in my mouth. a new language.
i don't know if i believe it. i try to sense how i feel when i say the words.
we didn't really try, but we didn't prevent. i'm not pregnant, and that's okay right now. i think i have to wade slowly into the land of maybe baby. this month, i drank more coffee, more wine, and consumed more sugar than i've had in the last year. which isn't much, but i surprised myself with my behavior. what am i doing?
it's so complicated. so many layers of this and that. yes, i'd love to have a baby. i haven't held a baby since nathaniel. i've never been in a better position to parent a child. i've travelled the road from birth through high school already. but there are so many risks. many other factors to consider.
two living children graduating high school this year.
one of my closest friends from jr high and high school just became a grandmother. i'm 39. three of my older siblings are grandparents.
if we had a baby, he or she would have only one living grandparent.
i bought the goose. it did not come with either a head or feet. i took it apart with a big knife. i started making the soup every day - my family called it my goose juice. i made it for six days in a row. it was disgusting.
and then i stopped.
Thursday, September 20, 2012
have you seen him?
Friday, September 7, 2012
baby stuff
we're packing up stuff in the city and moving out to the farm. slowly. a friend came over today to help pack for a couple of hours, and she ended up putting all of nathaniel's things in boxes.
all of his stuff from the corner of the basement. after he died, i lugged it all from the living room to the basement and draped baby blankets over everything so i wouldn't have to look at it.
the stuff out of his drawers. onesies, night clothes, diapers. hand-me downs we got from friends who are out of the baby phase themselves. i walked in the room and it just felt so different. i don't know why - the drawers are always closed anyway. but the energy of the room is different now.
my heart is so heavy. i know that at some point, i'm going to have to decide what to do with it all. if we have another baby, whether or not to use it. if we don't have another baby, what to do with it all then?
generally speaking, i'm not really attached to material things. i don't have a problem getting rid of clothes or household things that we no longer need. i don't know why i'm so attached to nathaniel's stuff, and why it brings up so many emotions for me.
maybe by putting everything in boxes it's admitting that he's not coming home. and that is truth that i still can't wrap my head around, and i don't think that my heart can ever come to terms with that.
all of his stuff from the corner of the basement. after he died, i lugged it all from the living room to the basement and draped baby blankets over everything so i wouldn't have to look at it.
the stuff out of his drawers. onesies, night clothes, diapers. hand-me downs we got from friends who are out of the baby phase themselves. i walked in the room and it just felt so different. i don't know why - the drawers are always closed anyway. but the energy of the room is different now.
my heart is so heavy. i know that at some point, i'm going to have to decide what to do with it all. if we have another baby, whether or not to use it. if we don't have another baby, what to do with it all then?
generally speaking, i'm not really attached to material things. i don't have a problem getting rid of clothes or household things that we no longer need. i don't know why i'm so attached to nathaniel's stuff, and why it brings up so many emotions for me.
maybe by putting everything in boxes it's admitting that he's not coming home. and that is truth that i still can't wrap my head around, and i don't think that my heart can ever come to terms with that.
Friday, August 24, 2012
13 months
had he lived, i'd say that he is 13 months old. 13 months tomorrow.
his one year angelversary was as peaceful as it could have been. he was born at 12:55am on july 25th, 2011, and he died about a half an hour later. this year, we went and sat on the beach during that time. i needed to be by the water in order to breathe through it and try to feel close to nathaniel. my living son sat on my left side, my husband on my right. the moon reflected off of the ocean, and we watched the stars. i breathed in the air and listened to the waves. it was warm outside.
a bit before his time of birth, i started crying, remembering labor, my experience of childbirth, and having him placed into my arms. but then i stopped, and i tried to remember him before he was born.
what came to me was how much he loved chanting. when i taught yoga during my pregnancy, we would chant at the beginning of every class, and i had the distinct impression that nathaniel liked the chanting. i would bring my breath deeply into my lungs, and allow the vibration of my voice to resonate through my whole body, especially through my chest cavity and my abdomen. nathaniel's little body would resonate as well, and my whole body would fill with a sense of pleasure.
during my pregnancy, my chanting took on a deeper quality. more resonant without being louder. another teacher asked me to lead the chants in her class, and i was happy to do it. before i was pregnant, i was always a little nervous when i led chanting. but with nathaniel in my belly, for some reason, i had a sense of confidence and pleasure when chanting.
when i have thought about certain chants or tried to chant since nathaniel died, i have immediately started to cry because of the pain of missing him. but in that window of time - around 12:55am - 1:30am pst this year - i chanted in my mind and i remembered how much it pleased nathaniel, and how his little body resonated with my voice.
when we left the beach, i went almost directly to bed. and then the day of the 25th was very low key. we spent most of it on the beach, just sitting there.
i made it through. my only intention was to just breathe through the day, and i did.
For sunset, we went to Polihale Beach, which is where the ancient Hawaiians would send off the souls of those who died.
My big boy. But he's still my little boy.
***
but a month has passed since then already, and there have been good days and there have been bad days. i've been on a stretch of bad days.
yesterday i was bawling for a couple of hours. i just miss him so much.
i am having a really hard time imagining what my life is going to be like now. i left my career teaching high school 3 years ago and i don't really want to go back. we bought this farm in january, and i thought at the time that i would love it. i drive out there now and think about how beautiful it is - the light, the agricultural space - but my heart is just not into it and i don't know why.
i can't plan for the future. i can't decide if we should try to have another baby or not. some days i think we should and then other days i'm not sure. both my living son and my stepdaughter are going to be seniors in high school this year, so it's not like we're starting our reproductive lives together. if we have another baby we would really be starting over. if we don't have another baby, i don't want to be a farmer, and i wonder if i could ever heal in certain ways. i know women lose a baby and they don't have another and their lives move forward anyway. but i'm stuck and i don't know if having another baby is the answer. i don't think i could survive losing another baby, and isn't that the risk you carry by getting pregnant?
i'm trying to see my life both ways and i'm having a really hard time with it.
i'm still just lost.
on the bright side. . .hmmm. i've been making a lot of jams from the fruit on our farm: plum, peach, and wild blackberry. i also made a plum gewurztraminer vanilla confiture that is pure bliss - it's one of those things that you put in your mouth and your toes curl. we've harvested figs and eaten every single one. i pick figs by putting two in the bowl and then one in my mouth, and that is heaven.
my dogs are sweet and need baths. my living boy is hilarious. my chickens lay beautiful eggs.
his one year angelversary was as peaceful as it could have been. he was born at 12:55am on july 25th, 2011, and he died about a half an hour later. this year, we went and sat on the beach during that time. i needed to be by the water in order to breathe through it and try to feel close to nathaniel. my living son sat on my left side, my husband on my right. the moon reflected off of the ocean, and we watched the stars. i breathed in the air and listened to the waves. it was warm outside.
a bit before his time of birth, i started crying, remembering labor, my experience of childbirth, and having him placed into my arms. but then i stopped, and i tried to remember him before he was born.
what came to me was how much he loved chanting. when i taught yoga during my pregnancy, we would chant at the beginning of every class, and i had the distinct impression that nathaniel liked the chanting. i would bring my breath deeply into my lungs, and allow the vibration of my voice to resonate through my whole body, especially through my chest cavity and my abdomen. nathaniel's little body would resonate as well, and my whole body would fill with a sense of pleasure.
during my pregnancy, my chanting took on a deeper quality. more resonant without being louder. another teacher asked me to lead the chants in her class, and i was happy to do it. before i was pregnant, i was always a little nervous when i led chanting. but with nathaniel in my belly, for some reason, i had a sense of confidence and pleasure when chanting.
when i have thought about certain chants or tried to chant since nathaniel died, i have immediately started to cry because of the pain of missing him. but in that window of time - around 12:55am - 1:30am pst this year - i chanted in my mind and i remembered how much it pleased nathaniel, and how his little body resonated with my voice.
when we left the beach, i went almost directly to bed. and then the day of the 25th was very low key. we spent most of it on the beach, just sitting there.
i made it through. my only intention was to just breathe through the day, and i did.
***
but a month has passed since then already, and there have been good days and there have been bad days. i've been on a stretch of bad days.
yesterday i was bawling for a couple of hours. i just miss him so much.
i am having a really hard time imagining what my life is going to be like now. i left my career teaching high school 3 years ago and i don't really want to go back. we bought this farm in january, and i thought at the time that i would love it. i drive out there now and think about how beautiful it is - the light, the agricultural space - but my heart is just not into it and i don't know why.
i can't plan for the future. i can't decide if we should try to have another baby or not. some days i think we should and then other days i'm not sure. both my living son and my stepdaughter are going to be seniors in high school this year, so it's not like we're starting our reproductive lives together. if we have another baby we would really be starting over. if we don't have another baby, i don't want to be a farmer, and i wonder if i could ever heal in certain ways. i know women lose a baby and they don't have another and their lives move forward anyway. but i'm stuck and i don't know if having another baby is the answer. i don't think i could survive losing another baby, and isn't that the risk you carry by getting pregnant?
i'm trying to see my life both ways and i'm having a really hard time with it.
i'm still just lost.
on the bright side. . .hmmm. i've been making a lot of jams from the fruit on our farm: plum, peach, and wild blackberry. i also made a plum gewurztraminer vanilla confiture that is pure bliss - it's one of those things that you put in your mouth and your toes curl. we've harvested figs and eaten every single one. i pick figs by putting two in the bowl and then one in my mouth, and that is heaven.
my dogs are sweet and need baths. my living boy is hilarious. my chickens lay beautiful eggs.
Saturday, July 21, 2012
upcoming first birthday
i don't know exactly where to start with this post.
in april i told my dh that i was going to hawaii for nathaniel's birthday. he was welcome to come with me, but he didn't have to. i gave that same message to my living son. they both ended up coming with me.
so here we are for the week, on the island of kauai. when we arrived yesterday, i was tired and hungry and ready for the world to end. but then i ate and had a nap. it's probably good that we came.
for the past couple of weeks, people would say things like "are you *excited* for your trip to hawaii?" and i couldn't fake it. i couldn't say "yes (exclamation point smiley face)" so i would just say no. when they asked me in person and my face would contort into grief, i wouldn't have to say anything. i'm not here on vacation. i'm here because i needed to get away, and i know myself well enough to know that i needed to get away.
i was talking to a dear friend and fellow blm the day before we left, and i told her how i was feeling a little bit anxious about the fact that i wasn't *doing* anything for nathaniel. like, some people take toys to the local hospital on their child's birthday. other people i know have had the memorial service on their child's first angelversary. she told me that since i've already had nathaniel's service, and i've done other "external" things in his memory, maybe this week i can just focus on my relationship with nathaniel.
when she suggested that i started crying, and i told her that it's just so painful. but it resonated like good advice.
when i've lost other people in my life, like my dad, it was hard, and it continues to be hard, but i always felt like he was there, just beyond the fabric of the material world, and whenever i needed him i could just "tune in" to his presence. and then i could talk to him and ask him questions. i used to say that i felt like i had more of my father after he had died than i had while he was alive.
but with nathaniel it was different. it is different. i had a *very* distinct sense that he was *here* and then he was *gone*. gone gone. i could get a feel for him once in a while, but not very often, and i had to try really hard. and it was just so painful. there were several months this summer when i would meditate with the mantra: in breath - nathaniel is inside of me, out breath - i am inside of nathaniel. and for many weeks, this was one of the only thoughts that would soothe my nerves.
so much of my faith and my felt "knowing" of the world has been completely called into question over the past year, and that has undoubtedly impacted my relationship with nathaniel. also, i have so much guilt and shame that it's hard for me to look him in the eye.
so i guess that's my task - to bring myself more wholly and more honestly into my relationship with nathaniel, if i can. but how to start?
*****
there was a little girl on the beach today - about 14 or 15 months old - not much older than nathaniel. i watched her for a while. she wore a red pocka-dotted sunhat and had sand all over her legs, arms, and belly. i watched her toddle all around. my dh caught my eye shortly after that and smiled. i felt like i was caught trying to be brave, trying to look at a baby without getting upset. And this made me crumble into sobs.
in april i told my dh that i was going to hawaii for nathaniel's birthday. he was welcome to come with me, but he didn't have to. i gave that same message to my living son. they both ended up coming with me.
so here we are for the week, on the island of kauai. when we arrived yesterday, i was tired and hungry and ready for the world to end. but then i ate and had a nap. it's probably good that we came.
for the past couple of weeks, people would say things like "are you *excited* for your trip to hawaii?" and i couldn't fake it. i couldn't say "yes (exclamation point smiley face)" so i would just say no. when they asked me in person and my face would contort into grief, i wouldn't have to say anything. i'm not here on vacation. i'm here because i needed to get away, and i know myself well enough to know that i needed to get away.
i was talking to a dear friend and fellow blm the day before we left, and i told her how i was feeling a little bit anxious about the fact that i wasn't *doing* anything for nathaniel. like, some people take toys to the local hospital on their child's birthday. other people i know have had the memorial service on their child's first angelversary. she told me that since i've already had nathaniel's service, and i've done other "external" things in his memory, maybe this week i can just focus on my relationship with nathaniel.
when she suggested that i started crying, and i told her that it's just so painful. but it resonated like good advice.
when i've lost other people in my life, like my dad, it was hard, and it continues to be hard, but i always felt like he was there, just beyond the fabric of the material world, and whenever i needed him i could just "tune in" to his presence. and then i could talk to him and ask him questions. i used to say that i felt like i had more of my father after he had died than i had while he was alive.
but with nathaniel it was different. it is different. i had a *very* distinct sense that he was *here* and then he was *gone*. gone gone. i could get a feel for him once in a while, but not very often, and i had to try really hard. and it was just so painful. there were several months this summer when i would meditate with the mantra: in breath - nathaniel is inside of me, out breath - i am inside of nathaniel. and for many weeks, this was one of the only thoughts that would soothe my nerves.
so much of my faith and my felt "knowing" of the world has been completely called into question over the past year, and that has undoubtedly impacted my relationship with nathaniel. also, i have so much guilt and shame that it's hard for me to look him in the eye.
so i guess that's my task - to bring myself more wholly and more honestly into my relationship with nathaniel, if i can. but how to start?
*****
there was a little girl on the beach today - about 14 or 15 months old - not much older than nathaniel. i watched her for a while. she wore a red pocka-dotted sunhat and had sand all over her legs, arms, and belly. i watched her toddle all around. my dh caught my eye shortly after that and smiled. i felt like i was caught trying to be brave, trying to look at a baby without getting upset. And this made me crumble into sobs.
Tuesday, July 10, 2012
limbo
caught between nathaniel's due date and his birth day and his death day. he was due on july 8. he was born july 25. he died that same day. god, he was so sweet and beautiful.
i don't know what is up for me - probably one of the horrible faces of grief. i'm so angry. sometimes i spend the bulk of the day fantasizing about a one-way ticket to india. that perhaps if i just go to india and wander around until i'm done wandering around, then i will be whole and healed and through the other side of this horrible nightmare. even if that takes me the rest of my life.
maybe i should move. anywhere. fly away.
i don't know what is up for me - probably one of the horrible faces of grief. i'm so angry. sometimes i spend the bulk of the day fantasizing about a one-way ticket to india. that perhaps if i just go to india and wander around until i'm done wandering around, then i will be whole and healed and through the other side of this horrible nightmare. even if that takes me the rest of my life.
maybe i should move. anywhere. fly away.
Thursday, May 31, 2012
right where i am 2012: ten months six days
my fingers tap and reach out through the ethers to try to connect. this internal landscape can be so isolating.
i breathe in and out. i can feel the mark of nathaniel's life and death in my lungs and heart.
i mourn. i wake every morning at 5:30 and journal for about an hour. i scratch out the anger and the rage and the jealousy and the despair and the gratitude and the grace and the fear and the love. i keep a close eye on the wound and probe it, try to keep it clear of debris. i treasure the honesty and truth nathaniel's life brought me. i hate the honesty and truth nathaniel's life brought me.
i take mourning seriously. it has seriously kicked my ass.
i draw almost every day to escape the limitations of words and sentences and to spend time with nathaniel.
i went to vancouver bc over the long weekend - just me and my living son. i laughed - honest, genuine laughter. i only cried a little, in the mornings. yesterday, on our drive home, i was struck at the realization that i hadn't been thinking about nathaniel, his life, his death, loss, or grief, for several hours. it was the first time that happened. i think about nathaniel all of the time.
i've planted hundreds of vegetable seeds this spring and nurtured them under lights. i reflect a lot on the miracle and wonder of what lives and what doesn't and why. my yard used to be lovely, but now it is an urban experimental farm.
i have not gone back to work. my work insurance coverage has lapsed because i don't have plans to go back to work. i don't know when i'll be ready.
i'm not pregnant, not ttc. many in my cohort of loss, both on-line and irl, are either pregnant or actively ttc. i go to real-life support group and there are all new faces. the other parents who lost when i lost have graduated to the subsequent pregnancy group. many of my internet pals are either pregnant or ttc, and their journeys are now informed by pregnancy and new babies. i feel like i'm stuck in remedial grief, and frankly, i'm afraid. there doesn't seem to be an easy way forward. . .
i am changed because of nathaniel, in ways that i can try to describe and in ways that i can't. i'm both more bitter and more loving, more open and more closed. i'm more agitated, and i am not yet more peaceful. i am changed in that i kiss more people. i am not afraid to take pretty much anyone in my arms and plant my lips on their face or their lips. i kiss more people than i did a year ago. i want to.
i breathe in and out. i can feel the mark of nathaniel's life and death in my lungs and heart.
i mourn. i wake every morning at 5:30 and journal for about an hour. i scratch out the anger and the rage and the jealousy and the despair and the gratitude and the grace and the fear and the love. i keep a close eye on the wound and probe it, try to keep it clear of debris. i treasure the honesty and truth nathaniel's life brought me. i hate the honesty and truth nathaniel's life brought me.
i take mourning seriously. it has seriously kicked my ass.
i draw almost every day to escape the limitations of words and sentences and to spend time with nathaniel.
i went to vancouver bc over the long weekend - just me and my living son. i laughed - honest, genuine laughter. i only cried a little, in the mornings. yesterday, on our drive home, i was struck at the realization that i hadn't been thinking about nathaniel, his life, his death, loss, or grief, for several hours. it was the first time that happened. i think about nathaniel all of the time.
i've planted hundreds of vegetable seeds this spring and nurtured them under lights. i reflect a lot on the miracle and wonder of what lives and what doesn't and why. my yard used to be lovely, but now it is an urban experimental farm.
i have not gone back to work. my work insurance coverage has lapsed because i don't have plans to go back to work. i don't know when i'll be ready.
i'm not pregnant, not ttc. many in my cohort of loss, both on-line and irl, are either pregnant or actively ttc. i go to real-life support group and there are all new faces. the other parents who lost when i lost have graduated to the subsequent pregnancy group. many of my internet pals are either pregnant or ttc, and their journeys are now informed by pregnancy and new babies. i feel like i'm stuck in remedial grief, and frankly, i'm afraid. there doesn't seem to be an easy way forward. . .
i am changed because of nathaniel, in ways that i can try to describe and in ways that i can't. i'm both more bitter and more loving, more open and more closed. i'm more agitated, and i am not yet more peaceful. i am changed in that i kiss more people. i am not afraid to take pretty much anyone in my arms and plant my lips on their face or their lips. i kiss more people than i did a year ago. i want to.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)