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.
Friday, September 7, 2012
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.
Tuesday, May 22, 2012
a quote i like
"During mourning, we have the opportunity to strip away parts of our self-image that are not authentically our own, to bring clarity to our relationships and determine how strongly the deceased has influenced us. As we do this, we begin to reclaim our lives."
From Mourning & Mitzvah by Anne Brener
From Mourning & Mitzvah by Anne Brener
Saturday, May 19, 2012
trigger words
today, my trigger words have been pediatric hospice.
pediatric. hospice.
two words that do not belong together. a phrase that brings my mind back to some kind of breaking point. denial? bargaining? torture? comfort? relief? surrender? peace?
whatever happened to goonies never say die? don't we fight until the end and insist on fighting?
the choice was given to me while i was still pregnant. doctors nurses genetic counselors chaplain all nodding heads as i made, what i believed, the best choice. a path of nonviolence. a path of peace. ahimsa.
but the choice has haunted me. even though i'm more than nine months away from my loss, i still play the what if game. it's less torturous now, but still there.
i ask my mom, what if i would have taken a washcloth and wiped his face while he was still alive? made him open his eyes and try to look at me? i wish i could have seen his eyes. she says to me, sweetheart, we don't know if his eyes had even developed. if they were even there. what we did was right.
i ask my midwife, what if we would have suctioned out his mouth and nose and tried to get him to breathe? encouraged him a little bit more? she says to me, sweetheart, that baby needed a lot more support to start breathing. a lot more support. what we did was right.
we made arrangements for nathaniel's body while i was still pregnant. knowing he would likely die (but of course hoping hoping hoping he wouldn't, that he'd fight and breathe and live), we went to the cemetery while my belly was still full of him and made plans. picked out an urn. talked to the balding guy who was about my size and so earnest so earnest so earnest.
i thought that i'd have more peace about this, but i don't. my clinical brain completely understands. my heart absolutely does not.
pediatric. hospice.
making arrangements for nathaniel's body while i was still pregnant.
clocks melting. furniture twisting. time dripping.
pediatric. hospice.
two words that do not belong together. a phrase that brings my mind back to some kind of breaking point. denial? bargaining? torture? comfort? relief? surrender? peace?
whatever happened to goonies never say die? don't we fight until the end and insist on fighting?
the choice was given to me while i was still pregnant. doctors nurses genetic counselors chaplain all nodding heads as i made, what i believed, the best choice. a path of nonviolence. a path of peace. ahimsa.
but the choice has haunted me. even though i'm more than nine months away from my loss, i still play the what if game. it's less torturous now, but still there.
i ask my mom, what if i would have taken a washcloth and wiped his face while he was still alive? made him open his eyes and try to look at me? i wish i could have seen his eyes. she says to me, sweetheart, we don't know if his eyes had even developed. if they were even there. what we did was right.
i ask my midwife, what if we would have suctioned out his mouth and nose and tried to get him to breathe? encouraged him a little bit more? she says to me, sweetheart, that baby needed a lot more support to start breathing. a lot more support. what we did was right.
we made arrangements for nathaniel's body while i was still pregnant. knowing he would likely die (but of course hoping hoping hoping he wouldn't, that he'd fight and breathe and live), we went to the cemetery while my belly was still full of him and made plans. picked out an urn. talked to the balding guy who was about my size and so earnest so earnest so earnest.
i thought that i'd have more peace about this, but i don't. my clinical brain completely understands. my heart absolutely does not.
pediatric. hospice.
making arrangements for nathaniel's body while i was still pregnant.
clocks melting. furniture twisting. time dripping.
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