Born Still but Still Born

Saturday, January 24, 2009

We have been sick here. Really really sick.

Two weeks ago, Claudia got a stomach bug that lasted on and off for a week. I also got it. That was loads of fun. I only work 3 days a week, so I ended up missing two. One for her being sick, one for me. Craig also had to stay home one of those days because she was so sick.

Then this week, she ended up with a really bad cold. We ended up in urgent care on Thursday and then Thursday night/Friday morning in the ER. Her breathing was horrible, she couldn't stop coughing...it was just all around miserable. I ended up with the cold as well, so two more days out of work. (I am wondering when my work is going to get upset with me??)

We had really good ER staff, though. It was the same ER where I went when I called 911 that day for m miscarriage and things were 100 times better this go-around. But the ER doc? Awesome. I doubt there is anything in Claudia's file that said she had a sibling who died. I mean, he was stillborn so it wasn't like he had some family illness we need to take into consideration with her. She hasn't been seen in this ER before, and only once in the hospital right after she was born. But that was for a lactation consult.

But the doctor was asking us questions about her exposure to things and said "Are there any siblings living at home?"

We were just able to say "No." Without the whole explanation. Because if people ask if she has siblings, or if we have other kids: I do not lie. My answer may be a simple "yes". It may be a more complicated "Yes, but he passed away." To a "Yes, he would be two and a half but passed away." To a long explanation if someone asks what happened.

Maybe this doctor has learned over his time as a doctor to phrase things like this. Maybe he has offended blended families or maybe he has dealt with patients who has have lost children and just has learned how to phrase things over the years.

I don't know. Maybe it was just a fluke he phrased it like that, but after he walked out even Craig said "I loved how he asked if there were any siblings living at home. Just made everything so much easier when it came to answering."

It really did. Because in my state of mind at 4am in the ER; had he asked and had I answered I probably would have burst into tears. So, thank you doctor. That simple-easy to answer- question meant a lot to grieving parents.

She doesn't have a sibling living at home.

But she does have a sibling.

Tuesday, January 20, 2009

Today marks 2 years from the day I had my d&c with my miscarriage.

I was going back into my livejournal (another blog community where I had more of a private online journal back then)and read through my entries from that time all the way through Curtis' first birthday in May of 2007.

Wow. It is so....raw. And angry. And raw some more.

Warning: Bad language ahead. I should probably take it out since this is a public blog and I don't want that judgement... but it is how I really felt and when I am hurt and angry, I swear. These are some excerpts of my journals from Jan to May 2007.

I don't even know how other stillbirth/loss moms feel. Because everyone grieves so differently. Sometimes you do feel so isolated. Soon, it marks 9months without him. Pretty soon I will be without him longer than he was with us. All the memorial walks, websites, memorial candle lightings, ceremonies...well, honestly, they are nice but I don't want to be a part of them. I want to be part of the group that gets to bring my baby home, not have to decide to do with his little body. I want to be part of the group that talks about poop explosions and teething and being too exhausted. But, none of that is my life. My life is forever marked as "Before Curtis" and "After Curtis". My child died. My child died before I could ever hear him cry. I don't even know WHEN my child died. How sad is that? The best they could estimate was Monday night or Tuesday. What kind of person doesn't even know their child is gone?

I sat in his room Sunday and looked at those tiny newborn diapers. Diapers that should be in a landfill, screwing up the environment right now. Because, he should be 9 months. Not sitting in an urn.

Who the hell did I piss off? What did I do wrong? Graduate school? Graduate college? Work with children with special needs? Wait to find the right guy to marry? Nice to my parents? Kind to animals? Never took an illegal drug/never smoked a cigarette? Why was my child taken? What did _I_ do????? I had to have done something. Because this pain, this torture has to be for a damn reason. Why can people WHO DON'T EVEN KNOW THEY ARE PREGNANT AND GET NO PRENATAL CARE have a healthy baby? (The 420 pound woman from last week comes to mind. Who said she never felt the baby kick because she was so heavy. UM, babies kick from the INSIDE.)The injustice of it all pisses me off. So, not only do I have to be jealous of people who get knocked up by accident or really easy, I have to be
jealous of other stillbirth moms who get pregnant months after their loss. So many have a baby just a year later. Not me. It is freaking MARCH. In two months he will have been gone a year. A full year. And I am still stuck, in my house, where my baby didn't come home. No closer to adding to our family than we were a year ago. No closer to seeing my husband hold his living child. How stupid is it? To be jealous of someone who has had their child taken away from them? But I am. Jealous that their bodies WORK. Their eggs pop out like good little eggs, and implant like good little eggs and the cells divide LIKE THEY ARE SUPPOSE TO. I don't begrudge anyone their kid. I really don't. I am very happy for you. I am just really really really fucking pissed off for myself. Pissed off at my body. Pissed off that it has been so long that my son is gone and I have to keep living day to day. I have no choice. No way out. I have to keep living. Anger is a nasty emotion. But sometimes I like it better than sadness

I was at lunch today at the bagel shop, and here comes a pregnant woman, with a shirt on that said "Due in May with a boy!" So, after I bolted out of the bagel shop, I went to Target. Into the baby clothes section. I have never allowed myself in that section since Curtis died. I looked at all the 12 month clothes, I looked at all the Easter clothes, I picked out an outfit I would have liked him to wear. It was so cute, little khakis, a little teddy bear on the vest, a little plaid shirt underneath... I pretended for a moment he was at daycare and I could pick him up for a few hours. Sometimes, I just pretend he is upstairs, sleeping. (I thought I was crazy until I heard another loss mom say she does the same thing.)I then went to my car and cried and cried. I just want my baby here. I don't know why this happened. And I am so flipping sick of feeling like this

We saw Reign Over Me today. That movie hit grief head on. Remembering is too painful. Moving on is too hard. So here we are. People giving me the little "poor you" routine. "It's okay to feel bad". Really? Is it? Thanks for the insight. You go back to your happy little life and happy family and quit fucking pretend like you give two craps about me

I really don't want to hear "you are still a mother! You are such a good mommy to Curtis. He is a lucky boy to have you s his mom."I am a mother is the sense that I gave birth, but I am not an every day mom. I don't get hugs and kisses and diapers to change. I don't have a kid to pick up from daycare and get holiday pictures with. He is not lucky. He got robbed of his life. Robbed of his first steps, his first Christmas, his first kiss, graduating college, meeting the love of his life. He is NOT lucky. He got robbed. And we got robbed of seeing him grow up. I am not an everyday mom. And I want to be his everyday mom.

There is no way I can be a good mom to Curtis. He isn't here. The things I do are in his memory. It isn't mothering him. Mothering a child is completely different than looking at his pictures and uploading things to his website. This isn't "mothering" it is grieving a little baby who never got to even take a breath or cry.

I really have a hard time believing anyone gets to bring a living baby home. Mainly because I have heard 1001 sad stories this year. It is all stillbirth/infant death all the time. I am sorry if those that are pregnant are bothered by me saying that, but ... I read your journals, your feelings, I have seen a lot of you bring babies home just fine and dandy. My story isn't like that, but my story is just as real. Except I know people don't read because I am that scary reminder. That you CAN go 40 weeks and not come home with your baby. Forty fucking weeks. I can still see Craig, two days before we lost Curtis, tell my stomach to "get the show on the road" he was ready to meet his son. It is one if life's cruelest jokes. To carry your child for 9 months and only get to hold their dead body for 4 hours.

Oh, at a wedding this weekend, I counted the number of times I was told "well, after you have kids it all changes...." "it is so hard with kids to..." 36 times between Friday and Saturday. Each and every one of these people know we lost a baby. But these words roll out and each are like a little punch. After I had a child, yes everything changed. But not in the way they are talking about. Once again, further proof people think I need to be over it. Even my SIL admitted she didn't realize the magnitude of our loss until that charity banquet. She, with a 2 year old, admitted she thought we should be over it. At least she had the guts to admit it. Our loss, is gigantic. It is Bah, I know I am just down because I think what this weekend or next weekend should be. It should be Curtis' first birthday party. I don't have a living child. In the past year I have been pregnant two times and two times I lost a baby. Once at 40 weeks, once very early. It is so hard. He should be walking and talking by now. We would be entering the crazy fun stage. Why was he robbed of his life?? What had that poor baby done? What had we done?

So, I am reading over this today. And crying. Feeling all of those emotions right at the surface again. Two years after the fact. Reading over all of this makes me realize how far I have come...but yet, haven't really. I know that makes no sense. Having Claudia here _does_ help. It really does.

But there isn't a day I don't cry for Curtis. Usually in the car, on the way home from work on my way to pick her up.I dream about that 2 and a half year old running to me. I get choked up in the injustice of it all. How I know that I am not alone. It has happened to far too many women to count.

I am still so angry. Bitter... one thing that struck me when I was reading over my old journals is this "Anger is a nasty emotion. But sometimes I like it better than sadness."

So true.

I hate knowing my family will never be complete. He is always missing, and I am always missing because of it.

Saturday, January 10, 2009

Our Story: Part 21.

Losing Hope

In November of 2006, we finally wanted to try again. Actually, we had been "open" to that option the whole time but my body refused. I was not ovulating on my own. I have a condition called Poly Cystic Ovarian Syndrome (PCOS) which can hinder ovulation. I was able to get pregnant with Curtis on our own, but I was still having cycles. They were irregular, but we got lucky with him. Well, as lucky as one can be when losing a child at 40 weeks.

Honestly, I was pretty ticked off at my body. The least it could do was ovulate for me! Geesh.

I went to see my old OB that I had with Curtis. I was planning on being done with him once I got pregnant again, but for the mean time, he was fine. They ran a few blood tests and said "You, you aren't ovulating". And offered to put me on a low dose of clomid (a drug that aides in ovulation) to see if that would jump start my body.

I remember when I got the call from the doctor that they were going to put me on clomid. I was in between clients at work, in my car. I felt this wave of hope! Happiness! I hung up the phone, cranked up the radio and sang along.

I was SO happy.

I took the first round of clomid and had little in the way of side effects. Thanks to ovulation predictor kits (OPKs), I knew when I was ovulating and everything was timed correctly.

Two weeks later, I got a negative on a pregnancy test, and a blood test, and my period came.

I was not that bummed out. We were headed to Vegas right then, I could have some drinks, the next round could begin. It would be okay. All that mattered to me was I had the chance to get pregnant again. All that mattered to me was I ovulated. That was big since I hadn't had a cycle since getting pregnant with Curtis.

I picked up my new round of clomid and headed to Vegas.

Now, the next part of this post gets kind of technical, women who have been down the obsessive trying to conceive world will get it. For others, I will try to explain it clearly.

I was using OPKs to try to figure out when I was ovulating. Starting at 7 days in to my cycle, my OPKs were consistently getting more and more positive. That shouldn't have been the case at all. I shouldn't be ovulating that soon. Usually you ovulate around 12 or 14 days in a cycle. Clomid can kind of muck that up, so that is why I was testing early. And if I was ovulating, OPKs should only be positive for a day, maybe two. Not for days and darkening on each day. OPKs and home pregnancy tests do measure one of the same chemicals. So a positive pregnancy test CAN show as positive on an OPK.

Something was weird.

On a whim, I took a pregnancy test.

Positive. Immediately.

Crap.

I knew something was wrong. Immediately. I did. I really did. But it didn't make the aftermath any less heartbreaking.

I had just finished my period. A full period about 10 days before. I had just finished my last clomid pill 3 days before. No way was I pregnant.

Little voices in my said "well, maybe...maybe something weird happened. Maybe you are pregnant. Maybe that period really wasn't a period. I mean, you hear about that stuff all the time...."

I knew that wasn't the case. I knew this wasn't right. I had taken a pregnancy test, it was negative.

I called Craig and told him. Him, not understanding the workings of OPKs and clomid and periods and things said "Well, if it is positive, you are pregnant." Yeah...but. But it wasn't right. I knew it wasn't.

I ran and had a blood test, but in the mean time I started to bleed. Nothing heavy, but something.

Yet, deep down, I still had hope.

I had a repeat blood test that showed the hormone levels were not rising. In the early parts of pregnancy, the hcg in a woman's body rises. The doctor told me to wait a few weeks to see if I would miscarry on my own.

I never did. I went in for one last ultrasound to be sure. There was nothing but some tissue. I was scheduled for a d&c the next day.

Laying on that ultrasound table just reminded me of the last ultrasound we had with Curtis. The one where his body lay still inside of me. No heart fluttering away.

We scheduled a d&c for a Saturday morning. I wouldn't have to miss work, Craig wouldn't either.

We arrived at the hospital and a chatty nurse did my pre-op stuff. She was kind and sweet. I was dressed in the gown at this point and she saw my Curtis tattoo. She started to cry when I said he was our son. Lost in May at 40 weeks.

Another nurse stayed with me while I was waiting to be taken back. "The doctor is running late! It is a baby boom up there!"

Great. Thanks lady.

She patted me on the head. (What am I? A golden retriever?) "I have had a d&c before. Don't worry, I went on to have other kids. Cheer up!"

"Well, I already lost one baby at 40 weeks and now this one. So I don't exactly feel like cheering up."

She LAUGHED and walked away.

Did she think I was joking?

At that point Craig was allowed to come back and sit with me. I didn't want him next to me. I couldn't stand it. I obviously couldn't give him a child. This pregnancy was different, it was pretty much broken from the start. Even though deep down we were hoping there was some little fighter in there, it was pretty obvious something was wrong. I honestly think Craig was much more worried about me at this point.

Later that night, I sat in our huge bath tub and cried and cried. I kept apologizing to Craig. I was so damn angry.

The following Monday, I got a phone call from a doctor (not mine) at 6pm that he was reviewing my reports from the d&c and was worried that I possibly had an ectopic pregnancy. Something the d&c would miss. He found no signs of conception in the tissue they took out of me. He said if I feel sick to my stomach, spike a fever, side hurts, back hurts, or any of these things, to go straight to the ER. If not, make an appointment with my regular doctor as soon as possible. I mean, if a doctor is calling you at 6pm at night, that isn't good, right?

I was pretty much on the ground sobbing at this point. I know what ectopic means. I know that is serious surgery. I know women die from ectopic pregnancies. I know women lose their fertility from ectopics.

I was a shaking nervous wreck.

The next morning Craig left for work and I called in sick. I had gotten an appointment for later in the day. Soon after he left, I started to shake, I broke into a cold sweat, I couldn't stand up. My stomach didn't hurt, but my shoulder and upper back ached. It felt like my skin was on fire. A quick google search said some ectopic pain can be diverted to the shoulder.

I was getting more and more scared. My eyes were going blurry. No one was around. In my panic, I called 911.

Yes, 911.

In hindsight, this was a MAJOR overreaction. But I had no idea what was going on inside of me. I was convinced my fallopian tube was exploding, I was never going to be able to have a baby and I was going to die. It seemed perfectly rational.

I was hyperventilating by the time the EMS guys came. They calmed me down and took me in to the hospital.

Where I was treated like absolute crap.

They ignored my "hey, the doctor told me to come in if I felt this way..." The nurse, boy you could tell I was annoying the crap out of her. I was scared. They ran a few tests, an xray of my neck. I know I was wasting space in the ER. I know the ER is for life threatening diseases. I know it isn't a walk in clinic.

But I was scared.

They said I had a virus. They said the burning skin was the number one sign of shingles.

SHINGLES? Are you flippin' serious?

I was discharged. My OB didn't even bother to come see me. Even though I heard he was in the ER at the same time because he needed to see another patient. Is it any wonder I dropped him?

I still didn't believe the shingles diagnosis. I was still shaking, feverish, and feeling miserable.

But they were right. I had shingles. The stress and anxiety from everything I had been dealing with caused the most painful sores to pop up all over my back and shoulder a few days later. Lovely. Just lovely.

On top of it, because I wasn't diagnosed "for sure" I had to go back to the doctor and get a prescription.

I never had an ectopic. My blood levels just dropped slowly, so I had to go for repeat blood every week until they were zero. Let me tell you, THAT was fun. They cannot explain the "no sign of conception" thing. Being that they can't explain WHEN I got pregnant. I had negative pregnancy tests before I had my cycle. AND my OPKs were not positive right away. It was just one of those "flukes" no one can explain.

The plan then was to go on birth control for a few months and shut down my body and then start a round of clomid again.

I honestly felt crushed. That day in my car, where I was first given clomid, I was SO excited. I liked having hope and now, hope felt lost.

I did too.

Wednesday, January 7, 2009

I was watching a new episode of Scrubs this week. It was on death/dying and the fear surrounding it. I was sobbing by the end of it.

I have such a fear of death since our daughter was born. I have known way to many people touched by unexpected and sudden deaths this year. I have heard too many horrible stories about people dying way too young, leaving their children behind.

I have a lot of anxiety about leaving Claudia behind. Almost to the point where there is probably something wrong with me because I have _that_ much anxiety about it. My fear about death isn't that I don't think she will be okay, but because I do not want to miss out on her growing up. I want to see the person she will turn into. I want her to have memories of her mom. My reasons are selfish, but I want to enjoy the child I worked so hard to give life to. I want those years with her and Craig. I want those years of us as a family.

One thing that on the episode was everyone admitted they were afraid of death, but one character mentioned that he just hoped his last thought was a happy one. That was an amazing statement. So simple, no big wrap up on life, but just that his last thought was a happy one.

Like I mentioned, my faith is shaky, at best....but striving to make my thoughts happy .... even while thinking about the little boy who so briefly entered my world could make all the difference in reducing some of the mind numbing anxiety I have had lately.

Monday, January 5, 2009

Well.

Today has been a horrid, no good, awful day.

Everything that could go wrong did. Work is a gigantic mess right now. It won't calm down until next month. I am talking total and utter chaos.

We had some freezing rain a few days ago. The roads are _still_ ice covered. They have't bothered to sand/salt or anything. We were bumper to bumper. It wasn't snowing or anything, just left over ice from days ago. I almost skidded off the road, granted I was only going 5 MPH, but still. This morning my normal 23 minute commute took over 70 minutes to go 18 miles! I got to work 30 minutes late. So, if you can do the math, I even left early to account for some traffic and some ice.

I have had a headache all day.

I am dieting, started a few weeks ago and not seeing ANY rewards for my work. I have lost weight before, I know the first few weeks are the "easy" weeks and you tend to lose bigger numbers right away. Not me. Despite exercising, and eating healthy.

Baby girl has been crabby. She has had a rough time at daycare which I always feel bad about, bad for her caretaker, bad for her. Bad for myself.

Days like this, you think I could brush off. You think I would say "well, don't let this stuff get to you because it isn't the worst thing that has ever happened." Icy roads happen. Work stress happens. Kids get crabby. It happens.

However...lately, for days like this, it just makes me ache that much more for Curtis. Days like this make me long for him, make me think that maybe if he was here life wouldn't seem so damn unfair. That I could manage the stupid little stuff better if I hadn't had to deal with the HUGE stuff too.

It is hard to feel like there is no justice. I had to deal with my kid dying! Why should I have to deal with icy roads? Why should I have to work so hard to lose one pound?

On bad days, it just adds to my underlying sadness. On some level, I am always sad. So, a bad day just multiplies that sadness. I sat down to journal about my bad day elsewhere and I ended it with "I miss my son."

That is what each bad, no good, awful day boils down to at it's base. Missing him.

Missing him so much that thse other tiny things finally overwhelm me until I crawl into bed and let the tears that have been threatening all day release.

Sunday, January 4, 2009

So. It is 2009.

It was really hard to say goodbye to 2008, as it was an amazing year. It was full of all of the "firsts" we had desperately longed for after we lost Curtis. I was lucky enough to be home with Claudia full time until August. And when I had to go back to work, it was still on a part time basis.

We, quite frankly, have had a blast. I know there are a lot of first to come with her. But...like Craig says "2006 was our sad year. 2007 was our stressful year. 2008 is our happy year."

And it was. That is not to say 2009 won't be happy, but it was a year straight of just getting to focus on the 3 of us and attempting that happiness thing. I know there will be some things in 2009 that will add a lot onto our shoulders. So saying goodbye to 2008 was very bittersweet.

Thursday, January 1, 2009

Tuesday, December 30, 2008

The last 3 days I have been going through the house, digging out stuff I have shoved places this past year. I am a notorious "saver". I don't want to throw out cards someone sent me. Or cards someone sent Claudia or Craig. I gathered all of the things we have done or were sent this past year in Curtis' memory and put them in his memory box. I filed all our paper work from this past year and so forth.

I also tackled Claudia's photo album. I had it completed through October but needed the last month of her first year done.

It is a red and white album that I just love. It says "Watch me grow" on the front of it. It has openings for photos on the cover that looks like leaves and a little caterpillar on it. It is one of those albums that holds both vertical and horizontal photos on the same page.

I didn't buy it for her. I bought it for Curtis.

It was one of those purchases I was SO excited about it. I got it the week before he was born at Target and was so proud of it. In fact, I frickin' took a picture of it and posted it to an online message board I was on during my pregnancy with him. I couldn't wait to fill it up. Even after his death I showed it to my mom. "Look, isn't this cute?" She just looked at me strangely.

It was one of the things, after his death, that drove me nuts. I would flip through that empty photo album and look at the mocking "Watch me grow!" on the front of it and wanted to light it on fire.

After I had Claudia, I searched in vain for another photo album I loved as much as that one. I couldn't find one. I wanted one to last her her entire first year (which, let's face it, is a TON of pictures). I wanted horizontal and vertical album...

I had this huge debate with myself for weeks. Use it or don't use it. I loved the album. But I bought it for him. But I also bought the crib and bookshelf and dresser for him and was using it for her. But I would reuse those things for the next child anyway. I wouldn't reuse a photo album.

There is a difference. He isn't alive. He never used the album to begin with so it isn't second hand like furniture would be, which is normal. The album wasn't technically used....

Ugh. In the end, the love of the photo album won out.

What a stupid thing I worried about for weeks. How stupid to even have a blog post about a photo album.

But this is my life. Focusing on stupid little things like a photo album that was bought for him but became hers. This is my life. That album has 300 photos of her first year of life. Every time I look at it, I know it was meant for him. Though, I love flipping through the pages and "watching her grow."

I just wish stupid things didn't haunt me. It is just a photo album! But it is tied to him.

In the end, I am glad I used it.

Saturday, December 27, 2008

Well, I made it through.

We made it through.

It really was such a nice few days, Christmas eve and Christmas. Craig gave me a beautiful Willow Tree Figure called "Guardian" I had never seen it before and asked him "Is it for Claudia or for Curtis?" He said it was up to me. I said I wanted it to be for Curtis and he said that is why he bought it. I then started to cry and he looked a bit horrified. ;) I mean, he is *so* used to me crying but he doesn't like to be the one to make me cry. It just means so much to me when anyone takes 2 minutes out of their day to remember him.... and to have something tangible? Amazing.

Here is the figure:

I will admit to being very hurt when I opened up an ornament from my grandparents that had our family names listed on it, and absent was Curtis. I just cannot hang that on my tree. He is forever my child and forever a part of this family. I know they don't get it, and quite frankly grew up in a different era of sweeping things under the rug.... but I don't care. I want him remembered.

It was hard with the Christmas pictures. The comments about "Let's get a picture of all of the grandkids together..." That just can never happen. In my eyes, that just can never happen.

My mom got us an ornament for Curtis' tree, but it was one we already had. She felt really bad because she had really looked hard and tried to find a special one. But I told her over and over how much it meant. She was able to return it and find another one we both liked. I am excited to hang it on his tree though.

Claudia was spoiled. But, Craig and I had a big hand in that. We didn't mind.

It was more December 26th when I broke down. That is the day I allowed myself to cry, that is the day I allowed myself to say how unfair it all is, how sick I am of grieving, of how life should be so different. How that the picture with the 5 grandkids should be a picture of 6. How if one more person says "look at all the granddaughters they have you think they would be one more boy..." I am going to go absolutely berserk.

But, Christmas itself was filled with joy and laughter. Happy kids, good food, and twinkling lights.

The good. December 25th. The bad, December 26th. You take the good with the bad, right?

Only because I have no choice.

Tuesday, December 23, 2008

Random things.....

1) The next our story post is going to be dealing with my miscarriage. That is something I still haven't wrapped my head around. That is going to be tough to write about. While the miscarriage wasn't the same as losing Curtis, it was about losing hope. I really haven't written much about the miscarriage, it was over before it really started, but the "over" part was a month process that effected me physically.

2) Curtis would be two and a half this Christmas. The magic, the sparkle...it would all be there. I have had to make a conscious decision to enjoy Christmas. I have a child now and I have every reason in the world to enjoy Christmas. But I never, ever, ever get rid of that "dark place' at the back of my mind. Telling me I should have a little boy running down the stairs on Christmas morning. I constantly picture him. A picture of the 3 of us? I see a blond haired boy next to Craig. A blue eyed boy walking between us at the mall. Him holding our hands and us doing "One....two....THREE" and lifting him up by his arms and swinging him.

Constantly. The image of what is suppose to be is forever haunting me.

3) With that, I am going to wish you Merry Christmas. We only get so many Christmases in our lives....so I am lucky I am at a place where I can enjoy it again, despite everything. This is my life now. I have her. For that, I am taking comfort.

I read something recently...."For nine months, I held a piece of heaven. Now, heaven holds a part of me."

While my faith is wavering (which is a post for another day....) I do like that sentiment. It gives me a small amount of comfort on a time I should still be holding my piece(s) of heaven.

Sunday, December 21, 2008

Our Story Part 20

Christmas 2006

Late in October of 2006, Craig and I made the decision to do something different for Christmas. I had been so looking forward to Christmas when I was pregnant. Christmas of 2005, I went a little nuts buying things on clearance related to Christmas and a baby. We didn't know the gender at that time, so I bought girl Christmas things and boy Christmas things. A little baby Santa suit. (Hey, everything was 75% off....).

I knew damn well all of that stuff was still sitting on a shelf in his bedroom while his ashes were on a shelf in my living room.

A self professed Christmas freak, I needed to skip it. I couldn't handle the thought of sitting with our families and forcing a smile. We have a lot of kids on each side and...well, damn it. It was suppose to be our turn. Our Christmas to have a child. The previous Christmas my parents had given us a "parents to be ornament". My mother in law had given me a book about being a first time mom and an Oh Baby tshirt. My parents gave us a video camera....

There was no way I was going to be able to fake my way through Christmas. Craig and I decided to take a trip, but we needed to make it inexpensive. It had to be short, he had just started a new job after all....so, that was that. Vegas was booked.

It did not go over well with our families. Overall, they were understanding, but for their own reasons they wanted us there. When, for obvious reasons that was the last place we wanted to be.

We needed Christmas to be different. In booking the trip to Vegas and looking at shows to attend, I began to look forward to Christmas. To get away with my husband. It wasn't going to me watching all of my nieces and nephews rip open their presents, it was going to be us eating, playing the slots, and relaxing.

It was exactly what we needed. I refused to set foot into a mall or Target or anywhere Christmas "threw up" for the entire month of December. I did shop for our nieces and nephews, but thanks to the Internet, it was easy. We donated money instead of buying gifts for the adults and asked people to do the same, but no one did. I didn't put up my Christmas decorations. I did end up putting up a small, artificial tree. Mainly because my mom had given us a Curtis ornament at the Angel of Hope ceremony a few weeks prior, and I wanted to hang it up. It became known as our memory tree, all ornaments for Curtis. We hung up that "Parents to be" ornament.

We left early on Christmas eve, and arrived in Vegas early in the day. Most of the trip is a blur of slot machines, funny comedy shows, and eating out. Christmas day I woke up and....it didn't feel like Christmas. Which is exactly what I wanted. Christmas night we went to a showing of Mamma Mia. Everything felt fine. It felt good. A friend who lives in California drove up to meet up with us.

The day before we left, sitting in a Chinese restaurant, Craig and I looked at each other and both of our eyes filled with tears.

"I cannot believe this. How can this be?"

"I don't know. I miss him so much."

We talked, and we talked, and we talked. We talked about our little boy and the weird turn our lives had taken. We talked until our tears stopped and we started joking about the weirdos crying, in Vegas, in front of our sweet 'n sour chicken.

While Vegas did not erase our grief, I have to say, it did make Christmas a heck of a lot easier. I still think our families have no clue how much we needed that trip. The next Christmas....well, Claudia was with us by then and life became much different. Always tears, always someone missing.... but Christmas 2006 will forever be our Christmas. The year we did what we needed to do to get through another day.

Tuesday, December 16, 2008

One of the things I try, really hard, to do is to include Curtis anyway I can. It is almost a desperate kind of thing with me. I know I will never forget him, but I don't want anyone to forget him, or to think I have forgotten him. Or to think they can never mention him.

Christmas is a time I get a bit creative with including him. We do a memorial Christmas tree to him. It started in 2006, I was so disgusted with Christmas (and I am a pretty big Christmas freak so it was a hard time) that I didn't want to put up a tree. I had a small one from my apartment living days, so I out them up and just put a few ornaments on it that reminded me of Curtis. One I had made in support group, one my mom gave me with Curtis' name at the Angel of Hope ceremony...things of that nature.

Last year, I put back up our big tree, but decided to continue to put up the little one in memory of Curtis. A friend has sent me an ornament each year in memory of Curtis as well some I had bought for him. Plus, we have a "parents to be ornament" we got as a Christmas present in 2005.

Last year on our card I included the verbage "and Curtis, who we hold in our hearts" at the bottom above three pictures of our new little family and our names.

This year, in addition to 3 other pictures this one was included:

It just gives me the warmest fuzziest feelings. She loves this stone and is constantly patting at it.

This is our "Curtis" tree. I just love it. Claudia does too. It has twinkling white lights. She constantly points at it and tries to say "tree". What is funny is she pretty much ignores the big one which is in the same general location.

I do worry about the coming years and how I can include him and keep him in people's minds.

Thursday, December 11, 2008

Our Story 'The Job'

Part 19

A few weeks into September 2006, I came home to find Craig sitting in our loft. He was at his desk, which he never sat at, on the computer, and a pencil in his mouth. He gave me a quick smile and said "How is your stress level today?"

Not exactly the way you want to be greeted when your life has already been shattered.

"Just give it to me." I responded.

"Well, my boss called me into the office. In the next few weeks I will be laid off."

"Oh, okay."

I took a deep breath. This thing would normally send me into a tailspin. I should be freaking out about money and debt and mortgage, but I didn't have it in me. This wasn't completely unexpected. Craig worked for a home builder and the market was starting to take a turn. And as computer guy he was going to be the first to go. Plus, we had a head's up.

Craig got to work on his resume and applying for jobs. Two weeks later, he was laid off. Was paid a week severance, his vacation, and came home.

Craig worked hard, studied the newest applications and coding (that is some computer stuff I guess!). He got a few interviews quickly and took a job just a week after he was laid off. We were cautiously happy, he wasn't thrilled about the company, but heck: it was a job. It was a pay cut, but it was a job. We felt like he had to keep looking but still take this chance.

His first day on the job was also his first night at a new bowling league. He had stopped bowling with a group of lifelong friends the previous season as the bowling league disbanded. Joining in with an old coworker, he took a chance on a new league.

He came home that Monday night, came up to bed and took one look at me and said "I want my old job back and my old friends back."

It broke my heart. Everything had drastically changed for us. We went from the couple who seemed to have it all, to grieving parents, to losing loved ones, to losing jobs....everything had changed.

Craig always seemed to handle it all much better than myself. Where I am high strung, high emotion, he is even. So for him to actually admit how bad it sucked just made me more pissed off at our situation.

His job continued to suck. He came home and said "A monkey could do what I am doing." Not exactly good for the ego.

Craig had gotten another interview at a much more desirable company a week later. It was a company he had wanted to work at for awhile, a company with a future. He went in for an interview on a Tuesday and was told he would hear within the next few days.

But noon on Wednesday he couldn't stand the anticipation and called. They didn't outright say he had the job but they would be returning his call later in the day.

He came home defeated because they never called back. I was crushed for him, but kept reminding him his interview was just the day before. It was around 8pm at night when he was on the phone with a friend. Someone tried to beep in, but he didn't recognize the number so ignored it.

When he checked the voicemail, and realized it was the HR rep, he hurried out the garage to take the call.

Yes, the garage. He said he couldn't stand the pressure of having me in the same room.

I couldn't stand the pressure of him out in the garage so I went up to our room.

He was gone for a long time. Was that a good thing? Was he on the phone talking salary? Was he upset in the garage, not wanting to come in and tell me the sad news?

I finally heard him make his way up the steps. From the doorway in our room, I saw a hand first, giving a thumbs up.

I jumped up and screamed. He had a HUGE grin on his face. We even drank some champagne that night. I think it was the first time we had truly felt joy since losing Curtis. We needed this so badly. I remember calling my mom to tell her the good news and she burst into tears. I know she was happy for Craig and his new job, but I know it was more that we were excited about something again. That something GOOD had happened for us in the wake of so much.

The job gave us a piece of happiness back. That good things can happen to us again. He started his new job the beginning of October that year and we agree getting laid off was the best thing for him, it pushed him to find a new, much better job. He has been there over two years now and is well liked and very valued.

So, in October 2006 he started a new job and that gave us hope. And with that hope, we started talking about trying again. Trying to get back some more joy. Trying to bring a child, a living child, in this world.

Monday, December 8, 2008

Our Story: part 18

The Memorial Walk.

The year we lost Curtis, 2006, I connected with the Missing Grace organization. My first real event was a 5K Walk/Run they do to raise money for this non profit. Over the years, I have gotten to know the founder well, and they were the ones who put me in touch with doctors who got Claudia here. I truly believe without them, we would have lost Claudia as well. That story will be told in the future, but cord issues can and do repeat. Claudia had a cord issue, the same one that took her brother's life.

So, in August of 2006, I found out about this 5K and contacted our friends and family to see if they wanted to participate. Our parents said yes, some of our siblings joined in and agreed to sign up.

I got the crazy idea I was going to make tshirts that said "Team Curtis" on them. On every one's tshirt I would put things like "Curtis' dad" on the front. I found a picture of Curtis to use.

I designed (and I do use that term loosely) the iron transfers. I went to the store and bought a stack of tshirts. I spent on Saturday night carefully printing everything out and ironing the tshirts. Because I am not talented in the ways of iron transfers, they were less than perfect. A few I had to redo (because I accidentally ironed on the words wrong and it said stuff like "Curtis Team" as opposed to "Team Curtis".

I spent hours, ironing each shirt, and crying as I finished each one. Each shirt was a reflection of something I could "do" for Curtis. I could not parent him like normal people parent. There was nothing for me to do for him. So this. This I could do.

I hadn't even told our families I was making these shirts. One day, a few days before the walk, I just got in my car and delivered the shirts. I was practically shaking when I handed them to people.

What if they thought it was stupid? What if they didn't want to wear them? I wondered all of this out loud to Craig. "Oh. They will wear them. They will have no choice." I almost threw them all away. I didn't want my feelings hurt. I didn't want all of my hard work, all of my parenting of Curtis looked at with disdain.

My sister in law held out the shirt I made for her son and gasped "I cannot WAIT to put this on him."

I can still see her face, her expression in my head. Those few words and her genuine joy in receiving that shirt still mean the world to me.

So, on a chilly day in September, we did the 1st walk as Team Curtis. It was a small crowd that year, their first year with the walk and all. I can say that in comparison because the future years have doubled in size each year. We were the only ones to wear team tshirts and therefore, got a lot of attention for them. The foundation even put pictures of our shirts on their advertising for the event for the following year and pictures up on their website.

In fact, in May of 2007, we were at our support group and I said something about Curtis and a couple new to the group said "Curtis? Of Team Curtis? We saw your shirts!"

I think I just got my 15 minutes of fame.

It felt amazing.

And, at the walk in 2007 and 2008, tons of teams made tshirts. But we were the first. We were the original. A lot of people get "fancy" ones made. Professional printing. Beautiful artwork.

Not me. I continue to make new ones for every member of our team each year. It is one of the very few things I can do for Curtis each year. So, I continue to iron (and continue to have to redo) shirts every year. Each year I cry. Each year I step back and take pictures of each shirt. Even though they don't change from year to year, they are just as important to me as they were back then.

At the end of the walk in 2006, we did a balloon release and I buried my head into Craig's shoulder and sobbed. Sobbed that everyone wore their shirts and were proud. Sobbed because I even had to be at an event like this to begin with... and because I missed my baby boy.

Monday, December 1, 2008

It still feels fake about 90% of the time. I have talked about this before, the whole "It was like I played a giant game of pretend for 9 months, everyone indulged me and then one day, we all stopped pretending."

Nine months. I was pregnant for NINE MONTHS. That is a really long time to think about something, and prepare for something. I did everything a pregnant woman, an educated, smart, pregnant woman does. I took my prenatal. I went to every doctor's appointment. I ate decent foods. I took a child birth class. (Okay. We skipped the second day. But it was seriously that boring.) My husband came with to every single doctor's appointment. We prepared a cute little nursery and bought newborn diapers. Happily married. College degree. Families who adore and love us. Families that were so excited about another grandchild.

For nine months we prepared and it was just....gone. In an instant. No time to prepare. Just....gone. How do you undo that in your mind?

I sit here and still think, two and a half years later "what the frick just happened here?"

I did go to therapy, starting in March of 2007. Right around the time I got pregnant with our daughter.

It didn't help. I am not trying to be mean, my therapist was very kind...but I had the feeling she just wanted to see me get my happy ending. She was so interested in my pregnancy and getting me through the end, she did little to help my anxiety, did little to help my guilt (which I got so much of I am running out of room to store it) and did little to help my grief. She just liked my story. The heartbreak of losing Curtis....trying again and miscarrying (which I will blog about in a "our story post" in the future) and then getting pregnant with our daughter. Then, the harrowing pregnancy, the complications we had with her heart and low fluid at 20 weeks. Meeting with the research doctors, the nightly monitoring .... she loved it all. She wanted the celebration and for us to go on our merry way.

Once again, I am not trying to rip on her, because she was kind. And let's admit: I enjoy talking about Curtis and telling our story. I like the attention surrounding him. Even if I am paying for it every 3rd week.

But therapy did little to actually help.

But when I think about it, I have to admit nothing is going to make me feel less guilty about losing him. I believe, hell I *know* it could have been prevented. I know I could have pushed harder, I knew I should and I chose not to. I chose to ignore what was going on inside of me. No matter how many people tell me it was not my fault (I know I didn't do it on purpose. I get that.) I will never let go of the roll I played in Curtis' death. Never.

So, while I think therapy can be helpful, I think in my case, it isn't. Because my guilt and my grief are ways of coping. Sounds odd, but it is true. How I cope is by knowing I could have prevented it and apologizing to Curtis for not doing more. I am sorry my mistakes assisted in his death. I am sorry I did not educate myself on kick counts, which would have saved his life. (See my kick counts post for more info). I am sorry that I worked so hard to get our daughter here and I didn't put the effort into him.

My guilt gets me through. Because if I didn't feel guilty...what would I have? A "well, it just happened" thinking? I can't do that. It isn't me. I am his mom. Moms feel guilty for the things they didn't do. They can't do. Didn't have the knowledge to do to make their child's lives better. Moms feel guilty.

So, while some days it still seems so surreal, I know he was in real. I have the stretch marks I wear on the outside and on the inside, a heavy heart full of guilt.

Curtis and his loss are all too real.