Monday, June 27, 2011

One Hundred Posts

This is my 100th post, about a subject I never wanted to write.  One that I know all too well, but wish more than anything I didn't. All about a little boy I am missing.

I've always wanted a blog. I like home decor, or more specifically other people's home decor. I loved planning my wedding, and gave serious consideration to blogging about that a few years ago. You're told to write about what you know, and what you love. And sadly, loving and losing Jack is both of these things.

When I started writing, I did so because I wanted somewhere I could go to start just word-vomiting until I had nothing left to say.  Because while my mind raced, my mouth couldn't keep up. Because it was hard for my husband to see his wife grieving so much, to keep rehashing about the one topic he couldn't bare to speak of. To attempt to console me while he was ripped open and his insides pouring out. He just couldn't do it.

I don't blame him at all.

I wasn't going to tell anyone about this blog when I started writing. It was going to be a journal of my trials and tribulations (and in many ways, it still is). The subject matter is so sad, and sometimes I worried people might think I was suicidal or depressed because of what I write, and how I write it.  It hurt too much to keep bottled up inside, and I fear that if I had, I would have imploded.

In the end, I told some of my girlfriends, because I just couldn't sugarcoat it anymore. I didn't want to try to word it any other way than this:

Our baby died, we are shattered, and no matter what happens from here on out, we will always be that much worse off for having lost him.

This blog exists only because I don't have a little creature sitting beside me, demanding my time and all my attention all day/night long. I can afford to spend the time necessary to have written 100 posts in just slightly less than six months, because Jack's not here.

I wrote because I wanted to know I was normal. That my thoughts of Jack, of losing him, to think of where he was and why, oh GOD why, this happened to us- all normal. I needed to gather as much information as I possibly could, to make sense of it all. So, where does that leave my six months later? 

He is still gone. We are still shattered, it's so very hard to be here. There is no making sense of any of this.  There just isn't an equation where Jack's death + our survival = the happiest life.

As the 6 month points (of his birth, then his death) quickly approaches, I feel a little weird. I know people are reading this, and they're hoping for a happy ending. I know this, because I too am hoping. But I really don't know if that happy exists anymore.

I know there are people who are reading, who are waiting for me to announce I'm pregnant, so they can close this chapter and know that I will have a happy life. I want to tell those people to stop reading, because even when I am pregnant, it won't be the end.  I know it's human nature to want people to succeed, to rally for the ugly duckling or wait for prince charming to save the princess. And in storybooks, happy endings do come- every time, without fail.  But this ain't no storybook folks, and if you're waiting for the happily ever after, well, that ship has sailed. It isn't stopping here.


I was speaking with my dad today. He asked how I was doing, 6 months later, and how Scott was. I told him that Scott and I are broken, and that we're doing the best we can. But how exhausting it is, to pretend to be happy. To plaster a smile on our faces when we're walking around with our hearts ripped out.  Dad told me that he knows one day soon we'll have another baby in our arms. That one day we will look back and have our own gaggle of kids and we'll always miss Jack, but one day we will wonder how we ever had any time for ourselves and our hearts will burst with love. And you know what, I get that. I get that one day, we will (hopefully) have our hands and hearts filled to the brim with love and babies. But Jack will always be gone, and that will never be okay. I don't think I'm quite able to see a life where my primary emotion is grief.

I realized the other day, I suppose as I reach the stage of grief where you begin bargaining, if I could have Jack back, I would never need another baby. Just him. I would give up all hope for all future babies for just him. I would take him, and run. Disappear forever- just Jack, Scott, and I. Crazy, right?

I struggle to find the words to stop writing this post. 100 posts too many, about a subject I loathe. 


Molly said...

I think about that too--i would love to have Hayes back and we could leave it at that. I wouldn't ever ask for another child or another thing. Ever. And i'd be thrilled! But the catch is that we'd have to aslo be able to go back knowing what we know now in order to appreciate it that way. Oh, if only.

My New Normal said...

I hear you. Who knew we would be writing blogs about our dead babies??? But thinking about it another way, how lucky are we to have this outlet for all our feelings of grief. Because of this platform we are truely not alone. We may be broken and sad, but we all have each other.

Darcey said...

I struggle with the purpose of Logan's death as well. Even the "happiest" moments today and when our rainbow shows up will always be shadowed by what is missing and what should have been. I think that is what gets me the most. I am sorry you have had time to write 100 posts in 6 months, but you have done Jack proud and shared with all of us BLM's the wonder that is your son.

lissasue3 said...

Happy exists. It will always just have a side of guilt or sadness served along side of it. In that moment or two of happiness you may not realize it at the time. The guilt or sadness might come later. And that's why it will forever suck to be us. Happiness will always be tainted.

Kelly said...

Agreed with lissasue--happiness will be tainted. I believe it will be there, but with all this grieving on the side. We'll always be grieving mothers. That doesn't sound too positive, but I definitely know I have better days now. Not everything is so dark. Adam is always in my head, and there's always a longing for him, but dark days are less. The rain cloud above me doesn't hang out as often. I'm sure you understand what I'm trying to say.

I often think about publishing my blog as a book. I don't know if anyone would read it, but I think it's important for others to know they're not alone (especially some of my unique circumstances). I tell Jim, I don't know where to stop, where the ending is. There's no happy ending, or an ending at all, to this chapter in our lives.

little vitu's mom said...

Today I met a girl who knew me when I were pregnant. She asked me 'how is your baby?' assuming I had delivered safely like all normal people out there. When I told her, 'my baby died' , she said a 'sorry'. Just one word. Her immediate question was where I stayed now. When I told her, she replied that she's moved into the building where i used to stay. End of the conversation and she goes off.

Blog is the only place where I really tlk what I want to. It's hard to live in this world filled with crappy people otherwise.

Tiffany said...

I think this is something that people who have never lost a child will understand- there will always be someone missing in our lives. There will always be that gap in our happiness. We will always think, yes, we love our family and are grateful for what we have, but we want our baby back too. We want our WHOLE family.
I do think that even though it's so hard right now, someday, years down the road, we will all look back and see how this was, and how far we've come. I know happiness is out there somewhere for all of us, even if it isn't until my family is all together again someday in Heaven. Thinking of you!

Keleen said...

I never thought I would be a blog reader or have my own blog for that matter...I mean what would I ever be able to write about that other people would want to read and now...I really wish for that boring life that NO ONE would ever want to read about! I hate that I have the time to write as well. Now the first thing I do each day is check the blogs and a couple tmes throughout the day. You ladies are my daily grief couseling and I love all our babies.

I do the bargaining thing all the time too. Just Addison and I could let go of the thought of having more children. I would be so beyond happy with just her. Shoot lets throw in my car, pets, jewlery, our house you name it you got it, just to have Addi back. I totally get it.

Sherri said...

"I know there are people who are reading, who are waiting for me to announce I'm pregnant, so they can close this chapter and know that I will have a happy life. I want to tell those people to stop reading, because even when I am pregnant, it won't be the end."

I feel the same way. We're in the process of trying again... but it won't make losing Kristen easier to deal with. It's just us trying to carry on with our lives, learning to live while grieving!
You're a wonderful writer, and I always read your posts, even if I don't always comment. So huge hugs to you on your 100th post. I wish that you didn't have to be blogging about this, and that I had never had to turn to blogging through pain either!

LookItsJessica said...

You are so very right about people wanting to read the "I'm pregnant" post. They think that the new baby means a fresh new start at this whole baby-making thing. We (your BLM friends) know that your second/third/fourth/tenth baby is just that... ANOTHER baby. Jack will always be baby #1 and his loss will always be totally unfair.

Brooke said...

Oh, yes. What I wouldn't trade for Eliza. I know people want to write a happy ending for us, but you're right. A new pregnancy is not the end. Another baby is not a cure.

Becky said...

Great post! I know I would have never had the time or felt the need to blog about anything until losing Liam. I am not the best writer about my feelings but have found it comforting to have a place to jot thoughts down, get feedback, and read other blogs like yours.

I know once I am pregnant and bring home a little one I will be happy to have made it that far but I will never forget Liam. I hope others will understand that and not assume that we can finally move on with our lives and get over "it".

Amy von Oven said...

I just found your blog...The six month mark was my worst. When I got dressed and went anywhere I felt like I was playing dress up, I hated it, because I was dying and melting away on the inside. I know so well how hard this journey is. I too started my blog to voice how I was dealing with my daughter's death. Take it minute by minute right now if that is what it takes to get through the day. i still can;t believe my daughter has been gone a little over 2 years...

B. Wilson said...

Amy just wrote... when I got dressed and went anywhere, I felt like I was playing dress up.

I seriously could not be more connected to that thought. It's all routine crap.

Post a Comment

Design bySmall Bird Studios | All Rights Reserved