Bella's class has rotating weekly jobs -- you know, line leader, bell ringer, conflict resolution manager (remind me to tell you about that one some time, bless these Quaker schools!) -- and this week she's on calendar/date detail. Which means, oh, right about now, she's informing her class of 20-something kids and two teachers that today is her mom's birthday and she's turning 41. This after a somewhat serious conversation where I told her that not all adults like to talk about how old they are, so it's not always polite to ask them or announce it if she knows. But in Bella's world, birthdays are for cake! and celebrating and presents! and cake! and seriously Mom, what's the big deal?
:::
I've always been fairly low key about my birthday, save maybe for grad school where for some reason everybody loved birthdays and really got into them. There were big elaborate dinner parties and cake and shitloads of presents (how on earth did we afford all that stuff? I mean, they weren't big things, but somewhere out there is a picture of me a few sheets away wearing a brand new raquetball glove and holding a Sting CD) and maybe we just needed the excuse -- especially in winter, and March in Wisconsin was still winter, don't be fooled -- to drink and eat and have an evening off. I've always requested a locale where I can watch basketball because I'm riveted to the tournament, and in fact I'm now remembering that six years ago, pregnant with Bella, at my direction, I met a bunch of people at a sports bar for my birthday dinner.
My brithday fell almost a month to the day after Maddy's death and did nothing but remind me of time passing and how I had experienced massive fail at building a family in my thirties. I remember I made a cake, but requested no presents, and I'm pretty sure I ate said cake at the counter, like the song says. I also had this memory of telling my therapist that I made a cake and her eyebrows shooting up, as if to say, "Well hey now, that's impressive! Not bad, you grieving mom, you!" The following year was more or less the same, staring the big one in the eye and wondering if I'd ever get my life back.
Last year was bad. I spent the day -- a chilly, damp one -- moving my grandmother into a home. (She died five months later.) I think I passed on the presents again, but there was chocolate stout cake (or as Bella calls it, "Beer Cake"). I then sunk into a few weeks of 40-Funk. I remember going to New York shortly after my birthday and having our friend ask me at dinner how I was doing, and replying -- with a big nasty grin -- "Horrible!" And then having to explain to myself. Nothing like feeling an entire decade has slipped out from under your feet with very little to show for it. And my husband chimes in, wait a fucking minute, how about that little PhD thing? Or the, you know, getting married thing? Or buying a house thing? (And buying another?) Or having Bella thing? And I nod, but it all seems to get swallowed by the big ugly on the eve of 38. I guess I thought if that turned out ok, I'd have two years to get a great job and visit the pyramids and make up for it all. Or something.
Sometimes you need to hit bottom to give your feet something firm to rest on while you bend your knees and push upwards.
It's almost as if once 40 was in the rear-view mirror, and the mourning period was over, I felt like the monkey was off my back, without the big date looming over me. And a month or two later, I had this crazy idea that maybe we should try this project one more time. I think just the trying was good enough for me, because now I could use 40 as an excuse if it didn't work. I could try everything, but if it all failed and they came back and shrugged their shoulders and sadly mouthed, "Forty," I could shrug mine and say, "Well that's ok, I expected it." And go home knowing I tried but it was just too late. In retrospect, I really may have expected that to happen. Because I was a bit shocked and caught off guard when it didn't.
Today, in a departure from years past, my husband and daughter are taking me out to dinner at a very lovely restaurant (where we will all pray that my daughter behaves and finds something on the menu that she will eat). Again, I am making my own cake, but I love to bake and birthdays are great excuses so no pity there. And I know because I've seen the amazon boxes arrive that there are two gifts -- an electronic gizmo that you set on your counter and throw meat and vegetables in and by the next evening it has made your dinner and mopped your floors and weeded your garden; and a game for the Wii that starts with FIFA and ends with 2010 and makes me all giggly. There will be craploads of basketball in the interim. And it's absolutely beautiful outside, with an expected high of 72.
:::
A few years ago Niobe introduced me to Bishop Allen's The News From Your Bed. It became my song. It still is my song, especially today. In fact, back when you could make your own ringtones, I spliced this song so that my ringtone started with the verse "When Your Family Calls, You Make Nice to them all/Assure them you're fine and you're great." And then because every mac product melts into a pile of worthless dung when I touch it, I synced my phone and lost my ringtone along with a ton of notes and other stuff, and I can't recreate it. Just writing about it now makes my blood pressure skyrocket and my eyes brim, I get so angry. (My ringtone is now the tornado music from the "Wizard of Oz," which when you think about it is appropriate for just about any call I could possibly receive on my cell phone.) But it's still in my music mix, and I still cling to it like a security blanket. I may not have a lot of friends anymore to go crazy with, and I can pour my own cakes (and drinks) but I've got a few people still looking out after me, and that? Will do.
Friday, March 19, 2010
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Blather
I know I have less to say these days, and I'm not sure if it's because I don't have much to say about what's happening (wink, wink, nudge, nudge) or because I don't have much to say about grief. I'm not sure it's either, frankly, but some kind of realignment of mindspace and priorities and wordsmithery.
I have a post up on Glow In The Woods about being online -- and why I'm still here, though not as frequently as I once was. Hopefully it makes a bit of sense.
I have a post up on Glow In The Woods about being online -- and why I'm still here, though not as frequently as I once was. Hopefully it makes a bit of sense.
Monday, March 8, 2010
Wishes and Worries
Bella: Mom, what happens if Baby B[rother] comes home from the hospital?
Me: Then we'll be very happy.
Bella: What if he doesn't?
Me: Then we'll be very sad.
Bella: (after a pause) Is there another thing that can happen? Or is that it?
Me: Great question. At this point it's one or the other, I'm afraid. He could stay in the hospital for a bit, I suppose, but eventually even then he'd have to come home or not.
Bella: Oh.
:::
At some point since returning to school from Christmas break (I need to label it as such because we've had a plethora of mini holidays -- one consisting of a whole damn week -- since due to snow and previously scheduled days off) Bella's class made "wish clouds." I'm not sure what the impetus was here, but up they went hanging on a clothesline -- puffy clouds bearing the children's names and from each dangling a few smaller clouds with wishes, handprinted and designed by the students. I finally had a moment to check hers out last week, and found it illuminating. One stated, "I wish I could meet you" and had a picture of the big dipper on it. Huh. From what I gather, this is quite literal -- she would like to travel to space (she really doesn't know about constructs of heaven so I'm not alarmed. Yet). Another said, "I wish my campus was more beautiful," which I found a wee bit disturbing because for an urban campus, I do find hers quite beautiful. We had a longer discussion about this where I explained right now, sans leaves and green which only exposes trash and blocks of dirt-colored unmelted snow, her 19th century enclave replete with two graveyards isn't horribly attractive. But that I'm sure come spring, the same space will be exploding in bulbs and flowering trees and green and will look like a small oasis. I'm not sure I sold her on this point.
The third cloud said, "I hope my brother doesn't pinch me." Which is part of a long, long story that involves our collective family's initial disappointment with the sex of the current fetus in residence. Which I should probably expand upon some time. Which I also should -- at the very least -- note we've all gotten over and are fully on board with team baby brother. But -- cute I suppose. And a bit forward looking, even for her.
And dangling there was a fourth cloud, without a wish at all. It said, "I miss my baby sister." And it damn near brought me to my knees in the middle of a screaming, crazed bunch of five and six year olds.
***
Bella's class is currently in the midst of learning about the world wherein parents come in and explain some fun things about a certain country, and then they make the flag and locate the country on a map and partake in said "fun things" -- food, dances, more food, crafts, and food. Nothing says globalization like food. Last week she came tripping home excited to show me a very small box. "They're Worry Dolls, from Guatemala," she said lining up the matchstick figures on the counter from small to big. In her best lecture voice, she explained that you tell the doll a worry before going to bed, put the doll under your pillow, and in the morning your worry will be gone.
Where on earth have these been for the last three years of my life? I could use a whole fucking city of these things!
"Do you want one mom?"
"YES!" I practically shouted while (almost) grabbing one off the counter.
"What worry do you have?" asked Bella curiously, to which I stupidly responded, "Hahaha, I have so many! What will I choose?"
And then I noticed the slight look of alarm on her face. Maybe that wasn't a great thing to tell your five-year-old, that mom is worried about Haiti and Chile and global warming and whether her brother will live beyond May. "I mean, I worry that the alarm won't go off in the morning!" She seemed to relax at that.
That night she whispered her worry to her doll, and I missed it (slightly intentionally) only catching the last word: "Florida." Where, it turns out, she is headed for a mini-vacation over spring break with Mr. ABF and MIL while I bask in the glory of an empty house with loads of sleep-in and movie time for moi punctuated by ungodly early mandatory parents' meetings for things like spring t-ball. I digress: I wonder what on earth she's worried about? That Disney will inexplicably shut down?
I walked in this morning and cheerily said, "So! Did the worry doll work?"
"NO! I'm still thinking about it," she said rather pissed-off-edly, while pulling the doll unceremoniously from under her pillow. "Did yours go away?"
"Yes!" I said. (I didn't really play along. Way too tempting.) "I'm using your doll tonight," she decided.
Oh, if only there were enough dolls for all the worries. I think I'd resemble the Princess and the Pea, with a pillow stacked high on wee matchsticks.
But she's growing up, my little girl: some things you can't wish for, and some worries linger 'til morning.
:::
If there were enough dolls: I have somehow ticked up to the eve of "30w." I'm amazingly still balancing on that tightrope with the shark-infested "fear" tank on the one side, and the molten-hot acidic pot of "hope" on the other, my toes dipping in neither.
I've come to realize that a lot of people use the term "expecting," as in "Oh! Are you expecting?" (Which superficially is quite hilarious, seeing as I look as though I'm due next week. To hell, people.) And which I internalize as, "No. We're actually not expecting much of anything. I am pregnant, though." And usually leads to some awkward conversation that I try and shut down fairly quickly. I think a lot of parents from Bella's class either know the whole story or are really picking up on the vibe, because they've been remarkably and blessedly silent and free from dumb chit-chat and stupid questions . . . so far. Phew. But I'm wondering, when exactly did this turn of phrase come to enter the pregnancy lexicon? For some reason I find it hard to imagine that centuries ago they were using a similar turn of phrase when infant and maternal mortality was more norm than I'd care to consider, but they were big on euphemism. Maybe they were all expecting the other very bad scenario, so it was a pleasant surprise when it didn't happen.
The appointments are now going by in a blur, and I'm already up to every-other-week at the OB, and am on the cusp of my bi-weekly visits to the MFM. The theme of the last month has been "Spatial Movement," and while some days I don't feel kicking per se, I do feel as though someone is sitting on a desk chair and swiveling around in my midsection, occasionally tipping feet up or stretching up hands or falling out of the chair completely (not realizing that copy machine he thinks he's putting his ass on is really my bladder).
I have yet to purchase anything, nor will I. I learned from Bella that one really needs nothing, and from Maddy that one really doesn't want much to clean up should things go south. Diapers and a car seat do come in handy with live infants, and there's a big box store between our house and the hospital. If Baby comes home, Mr. ABF can stop on the way and pick them up. Sadly, I'm not very long for the name-game either -- it usually disintegrates fairly rapidly into "Haha, let's name him [fill in the blank name that sounds like something from Hobbit/Star Wars/generic WWII film/bad contemporary teen drama program]!" or finding alternative ethnic-sounding names for the dogs. After swearing up and down on a stack that I would not consider the boy names from either Bella or (especially) Maddy, they're back on the list because, well, we really don't have a list. I'm sure like the girls he'll be "Baby Boy" for 48 hours and then we'll land on something and hopefully it won't be too crazy. Like Angie said, it's very hard to imagine this guy. I can't see him, I can't fathom that he'll ever come home and be anything other than a pipe dream.
And I'm not so far gone that I'm going to wish for anything.
:::
Because February usually sucks in toto: We had a million snow days. February was an educational loss, unless there's something to be learned from Mario and please tell me what that might be. Max had ACL surgery. He's going great and his recovery is ahead of schedule. I had to do the Heimlich on Mr. ABF. For real. Please refresh yourself on this -- we were both calm as cucumbers and it worked like a charm (even with me very pregnant, and him quite a bit taller to begin with) and neither of us freaked out . . . until the next day. When we went through all the stupid things that could've happened, but didn't. Anyway, go look it up and remember. You never know. And finally, after experiencing some bizarro drops in heartrate and blood pressure (for someone with historically low HR/BP) my father is getting a pacemaker next week. I'll take whatever wishes/prayers you have to give, but really our main concern is hospital-induced infection because that seems to be going around and is likely what could go wrong with a minor, more-or-less "outpatient" procedure.
Hope you're well.
Me: Then we'll be very happy.
Bella: What if he doesn't?
Me: Then we'll be very sad.
Bella: (after a pause) Is there another thing that can happen? Or is that it?
Me: Great question. At this point it's one or the other, I'm afraid. He could stay in the hospital for a bit, I suppose, but eventually even then he'd have to come home or not.
Bella: Oh.
:::
At some point since returning to school from Christmas break (I need to label it as such because we've had a plethora of mini holidays -- one consisting of a whole damn week -- since due to snow and previously scheduled days off) Bella's class made "wish clouds." I'm not sure what the impetus was here, but up they went hanging on a clothesline -- puffy clouds bearing the children's names and from each dangling a few smaller clouds with wishes, handprinted and designed by the students. I finally had a moment to check hers out last week, and found it illuminating. One stated, "I wish I could meet you" and had a picture of the big dipper on it. Huh. From what I gather, this is quite literal -- she would like to travel to space (she really doesn't know about constructs of heaven so I'm not alarmed. Yet). Another said, "I wish my campus was more beautiful," which I found a wee bit disturbing because for an urban campus, I do find hers quite beautiful. We had a longer discussion about this where I explained right now, sans leaves and green which only exposes trash and blocks of dirt-colored unmelted snow, her 19th century enclave replete with two graveyards isn't horribly attractive. But that I'm sure come spring, the same space will be exploding in bulbs and flowering trees and green and will look like a small oasis. I'm not sure I sold her on this point.
The third cloud said, "I hope my brother doesn't pinch me." Which is part of a long, long story that involves our collective family's initial disappointment with the sex of the current fetus in residence. Which I should probably expand upon some time. Which I also should -- at the very least -- note we've all gotten over and are fully on board with team baby brother. But -- cute I suppose. And a bit forward looking, even for her.
And dangling there was a fourth cloud, without a wish at all. It said, "I miss my baby sister." And it damn near brought me to my knees in the middle of a screaming, crazed bunch of five and six year olds.
***
Bella's class is currently in the midst of learning about the world wherein parents come in and explain some fun things about a certain country, and then they make the flag and locate the country on a map and partake in said "fun things" -- food, dances, more food, crafts, and food. Nothing says globalization like food. Last week she came tripping home excited to show me a very small box. "They're Worry Dolls, from Guatemala," she said lining up the matchstick figures on the counter from small to big. In her best lecture voice, she explained that you tell the doll a worry before going to bed, put the doll under your pillow, and in the morning your worry will be gone.
Where on earth have these been for the last three years of my life? I could use a whole fucking city of these things!
"Do you want one mom?"
"YES!" I practically shouted while (almost) grabbing one off the counter.
"What worry do you have?" asked Bella curiously, to which I stupidly responded, "Hahaha, I have so many! What will I choose?"
And then I noticed the slight look of alarm on her face. Maybe that wasn't a great thing to tell your five-year-old, that mom is worried about Haiti and Chile and global warming and whether her brother will live beyond May. "I mean, I worry that the alarm won't go off in the morning!" She seemed to relax at that.
That night she whispered her worry to her doll, and I missed it (slightly intentionally) only catching the last word: "Florida." Where, it turns out, she is headed for a mini-vacation over spring break with Mr. ABF and MIL while I bask in the glory of an empty house with loads of sleep-in and movie time for moi punctuated by ungodly early mandatory parents' meetings for things like spring t-ball. I digress: I wonder what on earth she's worried about? That Disney will inexplicably shut down?
I walked in this morning and cheerily said, "So! Did the worry doll work?"
"NO! I'm still thinking about it," she said rather pissed-off-edly, while pulling the doll unceremoniously from under her pillow. "Did yours go away?"
"Yes!" I said. (I didn't really play along. Way too tempting.) "I'm using your doll tonight," she decided.
Oh, if only there were enough dolls for all the worries. I think I'd resemble the Princess and the Pea, with a pillow stacked high on wee matchsticks.
But she's growing up, my little girl: some things you can't wish for, and some worries linger 'til morning.
:::
If there were enough dolls: I have somehow ticked up to the eve of "30w." I'm amazingly still balancing on that tightrope with the shark-infested "fear" tank on the one side, and the molten-hot acidic pot of "hope" on the other, my toes dipping in neither.
I've come to realize that a lot of people use the term "expecting," as in "Oh! Are you expecting?" (Which superficially is quite hilarious, seeing as I look as though I'm due next week. To hell, people.) And which I internalize as, "No. We're actually not expecting much of anything. I am pregnant, though." And usually leads to some awkward conversation that I try and shut down fairly quickly. I think a lot of parents from Bella's class either know the whole story or are really picking up on the vibe, because they've been remarkably and blessedly silent and free from dumb chit-chat and stupid questions . . . so far. Phew. But I'm wondering, when exactly did this turn of phrase come to enter the pregnancy lexicon? For some reason I find it hard to imagine that centuries ago they were using a similar turn of phrase when infant and maternal mortality was more norm than I'd care to consider, but they were big on euphemism. Maybe they were all expecting the other very bad scenario, so it was a pleasant surprise when it didn't happen.
The appointments are now going by in a blur, and I'm already up to every-other-week at the OB, and am on the cusp of my bi-weekly visits to the MFM. The theme of the last month has been "Spatial Movement," and while some days I don't feel kicking per se, I do feel as though someone is sitting on a desk chair and swiveling around in my midsection, occasionally tipping feet up or stretching up hands or falling out of the chair completely (not realizing that copy machine he thinks he's putting his ass on is really my bladder).
I have yet to purchase anything, nor will I. I learned from Bella that one really needs nothing, and from Maddy that one really doesn't want much to clean up should things go south. Diapers and a car seat do come in handy with live infants, and there's a big box store between our house and the hospital. If Baby comes home, Mr. ABF can stop on the way and pick them up. Sadly, I'm not very long for the name-game either -- it usually disintegrates fairly rapidly into "Haha, let's name him [fill in the blank name that sounds like something from Hobbit/Star Wars/generic WWII film/bad contemporary teen drama program]!" or finding alternative ethnic-sounding names for the dogs. After swearing up and down on a stack that I would not consider the boy names from either Bella or (especially) Maddy, they're back on the list because, well, we really don't have a list. I'm sure like the girls he'll be "Baby Boy" for 48 hours and then we'll land on something and hopefully it won't be too crazy. Like Angie said, it's very hard to imagine this guy. I can't see him, I can't fathom that he'll ever come home and be anything other than a pipe dream.
And I'm not so far gone that I'm going to wish for anything.
:::
Because February usually sucks in toto: We had a million snow days. February was an educational loss, unless there's something to be learned from Mario and please tell me what that might be. Max had ACL surgery. He's going great and his recovery is ahead of schedule. I had to do the Heimlich on Mr. ABF. For real. Please refresh yourself on this -- we were both calm as cucumbers and it worked like a charm (even with me very pregnant, and him quite a bit taller to begin with) and neither of us freaked out . . . until the next day. When we went through all the stupid things that could've happened, but didn't. Anyway, go look it up and remember. You never know. And finally, after experiencing some bizarro drops in heartrate and blood pressure (for someone with historically low HR/BP) my father is getting a pacemaker next week. I'll take whatever wishes/prayers you have to give, but really our main concern is hospital-induced infection because that seems to be going around and is likely what could go wrong with a minor, more-or-less "outpatient" procedure.
Hope you're well.
Friday, February 12, 2010
Birth Day, III
This year was odd. There was very little of that anticipatory stress and lockjaw. This year I kept forgetting . . . . and then remembering at the oddest times. I'd be going to the bathroom late at night when suddenly, right there on the loo, bam -- tears. Uncontrollable tears. Flashbacks to holding her and being unable to; memories of leaving Children's on a frigid evening with the doors swishing closed behind me knowing I'd never see her again. And I'd cry for a few, and pull myself together and splash water on my face and open the bathroom door and go back to worrying about snow, and more snow, and rearranging schedules, and thinking of activities to occupy a five-year-old. Back to my television program, or the computer, or the dogs. Back to my book, my workout, dinner.
It's not unlike being pregnant. I can go hours -- literally hours -- and not think about it and suddenly realize that the jabbing sensation around my midsection means the baby is moving. And I have to catch my breath and remember that this crazy messed up shit is my life.
:::
Rather out of nowhere -- I think we were discussing what to bake on Snowpocolypse Returns: IceMan vs. SnowZilla (versus this week's Snowpocolypse III: Hell Freezes) -- Bella asked from the backseat,
When is Maddy's birthday?
Next Friday.
I want to bake a cake. A cake with a heart on it, since it's so close to Valentine's.
And I'm not remotely, even close to one of those people who bake cakes for their dead children but I realized this is what she needs to do. I need to cry in the bathroom (apparently), and order some flowers for me and Maddy, and light a candle at the time of her birth, and spend some time with my husband who can confirm that we did indeed have a second daughter for the briefest of times and Bella needs to bake and eat a cake. And I need to respect that, and honor that, and recognize that she's got one of the toughest big sister gigs around. If she needs to go crafty with the frosting and consume (more, lord this snowbound week has been awful on the all-around diet) sugar in order to remember and mourn on her terms, than that's what she needs to do.
The flour will come out today.
We had another conversation in the car about a month ago where she asked if we could visit Maddy's grave on her birthday, which of course prompted me to say rather chippily, "She doesn't have a grave. We cremated her. We need to figure out where to put the ashes and maybe you could help us." She was pretty adamant on internment, and while sometimes I concede her point -- it does seem nice to have a set place to visit -- I think I'd rather visit a forest or river or soccer field or sunset. I answered like I do when she asks for something wretchedly horrible for her for dessert before discovering I'm about to give her something drastic for dinner: "We'll see, Love. We'll see."
:::
I have spoken more about Maddy to strangers in the past few months than I have the last three years. Just last week I coughed up my history at the gym to a total stranger (hey, she asked) and tears welled up in her eyes and here she was a NICU nurse. We had a lovely, sane, germane conversation while a few people around us looked down and away, clearly wishing they could sink through the floor. It was one of the first times I realized that others were uncomfortable, and I was truly, remarkably, not.
:::
I'm amazed that three years later I'm still stunned by who remembers, and who does not. I'm still brought to tears of gratitude by my SIL who remembers and sends the sweetest note, and by a distant cousin of Mr. ABF's who gives money to Children's every year on Maddy's birthday, in her memory. I'm still perplexed that the phone sits quietly while certain other family members avoid the phone call and hence the discussion and the memory altogether. You'd think I'd be used to this by now.
:::
I am not angry today. I don't think I'm tired anymore, either. And yet today hurts like hell, the cruelest of days on the calender followed closely and only by Valentine's Day, when her heart stopped and we realized that the roller coaster had screeched to a halt and the worst was indeed here. The anniversary of her death seems quiet in comparison to these two points that still burn.
Mostly really I'm just sad. Sad that it ever happened. Sad for her, sad for her sister, sad for us.
You'd think three years in I'd have a game plan of sorts to get through today, but today is odd -- it's the third snow day this week so Bella is home for the first time on this day, and I realized making waffles this morning it's the first February 12 morning I've spent with her since '06. Three years ago I pulled away in the car in the dark of morning, sobbing, Bella still asleep to be greeted by my parents upon awakening. Sobbing that I missed her, crying because I was worried about how this new child would impact our lives, tears of absolute relief that this hellacious pregnancy would be over by nightfall.
Little did I know.
Today has begun in a crazy normal snow-day kind of way: waffles, video games, monitoring my injured dog (Max appears to have torn something in his leg -- canine orthopedist appointment on tap for next week), getting out my recycling. Mr. ABF's business trip has blessedly been put off until at least tomorrow. The usual walk my husband and I take on this morning is undoubtedly off; the place where we walk is assuredly closed and I'm not sure I want to risk the roads to get there even if it is open. I'm hoping I can navigate the slush in order to pick up some flowers. Tonight I'll mosey off to book club. I don't want her day forgotten just because we're in some abstract kind of schedule and the roads are impassable.
Perhaps the cake is a good idea, after all.
Today however will find me like I always am: sad. It's the day to be that, regardless of where the hours find me, and what they find me doing. Baking a cake, making a snowman, doing yet another load of soggy dirty laundry, walking Max on a leash around my arctic lawn, overseeing neighbor children in front of video games or the craft table, making umpteen servings of cocoa or grilled cheese. Or just staring out the window, remembering that day and how everything I ever imagined today would be went sailing over a ledge pulling me over with it.
I miss and love her so terribly much.
It's not unlike being pregnant. I can go hours -- literally hours -- and not think about it and suddenly realize that the jabbing sensation around my midsection means the baby is moving. And I have to catch my breath and remember that this crazy messed up shit is my life.
:::
Rather out of nowhere -- I think we were discussing what to bake on Snowpocolypse Returns: IceMan vs. SnowZilla (versus this week's Snowpocolypse III: Hell Freezes) -- Bella asked from the backseat,
When is Maddy's birthday?
Next Friday.
I want to bake a cake. A cake with a heart on it, since it's so close to Valentine's.
And I'm not remotely, even close to one of those people who bake cakes for their dead children but I realized this is what she needs to do. I need to cry in the bathroom (apparently), and order some flowers for me and Maddy, and light a candle at the time of her birth, and spend some time with my husband who can confirm that we did indeed have a second daughter for the briefest of times and Bella needs to bake and eat a cake. And I need to respect that, and honor that, and recognize that she's got one of the toughest big sister gigs around. If she needs to go crafty with the frosting and consume (more, lord this snowbound week has been awful on the all-around diet) sugar in order to remember and mourn on her terms, than that's what she needs to do.
The flour will come out today.
We had another conversation in the car about a month ago where she asked if we could visit Maddy's grave on her birthday, which of course prompted me to say rather chippily, "She doesn't have a grave. We cremated her. We need to figure out where to put the ashes and maybe you could help us." She was pretty adamant on internment, and while sometimes I concede her point -- it does seem nice to have a set place to visit -- I think I'd rather visit a forest or river or soccer field or sunset. I answered like I do when she asks for something wretchedly horrible for her for dessert before discovering I'm about to give her something drastic for dinner: "We'll see, Love. We'll see."
:::
I have spoken more about Maddy to strangers in the past few months than I have the last three years. Just last week I coughed up my history at the gym to a total stranger (hey, she asked) and tears welled up in her eyes and here she was a NICU nurse. We had a lovely, sane, germane conversation while a few people around us looked down and away, clearly wishing they could sink through the floor. It was one of the first times I realized that others were uncomfortable, and I was truly, remarkably, not.
:::
I'm amazed that three years later I'm still stunned by who remembers, and who does not. I'm still brought to tears of gratitude by my SIL who remembers and sends the sweetest note, and by a distant cousin of Mr. ABF's who gives money to Children's every year on Maddy's birthday, in her memory. I'm still perplexed that the phone sits quietly while certain other family members avoid the phone call and hence the discussion and the memory altogether. You'd think I'd be used to this by now.
:::
I am not angry today. I don't think I'm tired anymore, either. And yet today hurts like hell, the cruelest of days on the calender followed closely and only by Valentine's Day, when her heart stopped and we realized that the roller coaster had screeched to a halt and the worst was indeed here. The anniversary of her death seems quiet in comparison to these two points that still burn.
Mostly really I'm just sad. Sad that it ever happened. Sad for her, sad for her sister, sad for us.
You'd think three years in I'd have a game plan of sorts to get through today, but today is odd -- it's the third snow day this week so Bella is home for the first time on this day, and I realized making waffles this morning it's the first February 12 morning I've spent with her since '06. Three years ago I pulled away in the car in the dark of morning, sobbing, Bella still asleep to be greeted by my parents upon awakening. Sobbing that I missed her, crying because I was worried about how this new child would impact our lives, tears of absolute relief that this hellacious pregnancy would be over by nightfall.
Little did I know.
Today has begun in a crazy normal snow-day kind of way: waffles, video games, monitoring my injured dog (Max appears to have torn something in his leg -- canine orthopedist appointment on tap for next week), getting out my recycling. Mr. ABF's business trip has blessedly been put off until at least tomorrow. The usual walk my husband and I take on this morning is undoubtedly off; the place where we walk is assuredly closed and I'm not sure I want to risk the roads to get there even if it is open. I'm hoping I can navigate the slush in order to pick up some flowers. Tonight I'll mosey off to book club. I don't want her day forgotten just because we're in some abstract kind of schedule and the roads are impassable.
Perhaps the cake is a good idea, after all.
Today however will find me like I always am: sad. It's the day to be that, regardless of where the hours find me, and what they find me doing. Baking a cake, making a snowman, doing yet another load of soggy dirty laundry, walking Max on a leash around my arctic lawn, overseeing neighbor children in front of video games or the craft table, making umpteen servings of cocoa or grilled cheese. Or just staring out the window, remembering that day and how everything I ever imagined today would be went sailing over a ledge pulling me over with it.
I miss and love her so terribly much.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Maddy is Where?
(Scene: Me, in What-used-to-be-a-nice-department-store-back-in-the-day, but is now a store-spread-way-too-thin-that-always-looks-like-a-bomb-went-off-and-it's-quiet-as-a-church-and-impossible-to-find-people-to-give-your-money-to. But they were having an insane sale on something I needed for $20, so there I was looking imploringly at the saleslady who was helping someone else.)
Saleslady: I'm going to be a while. Why don't you go to Housewares? Maddalena is in Housewares.
Me: (out loud) That's Auspicious!
And I practically ran to housewares to see . . . her. Maddalena. This is the first time in almost three years I have ever, ever encountered another person face to face with her name. Sure, I've faced a boatload of Maddy's and Maddie's but none of them were derived from the whole which I carry around. I had a million questions: What did she look like? Was she Italian? Was someone in her background Italian? Or did the name come from elsewhere and if so where? Was she smart? Nice? Pretty? Intelligent? Old? Young? . . . .
She was . . . . Asian. Which brought up at least 20 more questions to add to my million. She was young, in her twenties, pretty enough but . . . .
Ohmygod, grumpy. Sour. Looked pissed off. My eyes bore a hole through her nametag (spelled with one "d", huh, how about that), and I wanted desperately to simply say,
"I love your name."
And couldn't bring myself to do it, because the look on her face said that she may very well respond with "I fucking hate it," and then where would I be?
I don't blame her remotely -- hell, I'd be a cranky beyotch if I worked in that place even for limited hours, and lord only knows what else she has on her plate (boy trouble? School to study for? Up late? Sick?), but I felt as though my opportunity to know a Maddy -- a real one, a live one -- was slipping through my fingers. Definitely not a person on which to lay my connection to her name. I fought the impulse to rip off my bracelet and show her the name engraved inside.
All within about 90 seconds.
"I'll put your receipt in the bag."
:::
Have you ever met someone in real life -- in a surprise sort of situation -- bearing your dead child's name? Did you say anything? Was it what you expected? Or kinda like something out of "Twin Peaks"?
Saleslady: I'm going to be a while. Why don't you go to Housewares? Maddalena is in Housewares.
Me: (out loud) That's Auspicious!
And I practically ran to housewares to see . . . her. Maddalena. This is the first time in almost three years I have ever, ever encountered another person face to face with her name. Sure, I've faced a boatload of Maddy's and Maddie's but none of them were derived from the whole which I carry around. I had a million questions: What did she look like? Was she Italian? Was someone in her background Italian? Or did the name come from elsewhere and if so where? Was she smart? Nice? Pretty? Intelligent? Old? Young? . . . .
She was . . . . Asian. Which brought up at least 20 more questions to add to my million. She was young, in her twenties, pretty enough but . . . .
Ohmygod, grumpy. Sour. Looked pissed off. My eyes bore a hole through her nametag (spelled with one "d", huh, how about that), and I wanted desperately to simply say,
"I love your name."
And couldn't bring myself to do it, because the look on her face said that she may very well respond with "I fucking hate it," and then where would I be?
I don't blame her remotely -- hell, I'd be a cranky beyotch if I worked in that place even for limited hours, and lord only knows what else she has on her plate (boy trouble? School to study for? Up late? Sick?), but I felt as though my opportunity to know a Maddy -- a real one, a live one -- was slipping through my fingers. Definitely not a person on which to lay my connection to her name. I fought the impulse to rip off my bracelet and show her the name engraved inside.
All within about 90 seconds.
"I'll put your receipt in the bag."
:::
Have you ever met someone in real life -- in a surprise sort of situation -- bearing your dead child's name? Did you say anything? Was it what you expected? Or kinda like something out of "Twin Peaks"?
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Noneventful
Bella: (in what could only be described as gay, sing-songy voice) I'm having a Baby Brother! I'm having a Baby Brother!
(5 second pause)
Mom, I want to go to the hospital to see my brother when he's born, even if he's going to die. I really want to go see him, ok?
Me: But of course!
And that's how I made yet another promise that I'm not sure I can fulfill, here after being so fucking careful on this whole baby business for months now. I read recently on Missing One's (who's home with the baby! Yay!) blog that her hospital is not allowing siblings in due to Teh Flu. I'm fairly confident that's not the policy here -- in fact, many of my appointments are in the hospital proper, and I see little kids all the time, albeit much of the time wearing masks. I'm not sure if that's to protect them from us, or vice versa, but in any event, there they are. And Children's seemed mighty willing to let Bella in the last time despite her hacking cough, so perhaps that's a point I need to consider before the big Where Do I Deliver Conversation.
Sighs all around.
:::
I'm not sure this qualifies for the "Mind Fuck" portion of the entertainment (tm Julia), but here's what's going on: I really only have Maddy's pregnancy to relate this one to. I cannot for the life of me remember boo about Bella's, other than it was "uneventful," and "she was a kicker." Ergo: This present kid has been kicking me to the point of waking me up since around 21 weeks, which I thought was rather unusual. At a 23w appointment, he kicked the Doppler off my stomach. Which is well and good, I suppose.
The downside to gestating a kickboxer is that eventually even he needs a break, and I'll go through two rather mellow days, where I definitely feel stuff but no kicking and think, "Well that's that." Because this is around the time things in Maddy really began to head downhill according to pathology (even if she had been born predisposed; her spleen, for example, only measured 25w or so and shortly thereafter is when they discovered the echogenic bowel). The problem is, there is no reassurance here: I know he's alive, so a Doppler does me nothing (I've decided not to do that this time around. It was nice during Maddy when I started bleeding so I could decide whether it warranted a trip to the ER or not; here it's rather useless information) nor does an ultrasound. We'll know if it's meaningful or significant when he's born. So all I can do is add to the record for the future, when we look back and figure out what was an important sign post, and what was just a slow day at the gym.
And shortly after announcing this potential downshift to my husband, just so he knows what's going on, I get a signature Chuck Norris Roundhouse move that about sends me off my feet to the left. And it continues another hour. Bella never needed kick counts; she was in constant motion. I mentioned to the doctors that Maddy -- although she met her kick counts -- was much, much slower than Bella, and they thought it unusual. One even said that subsequent children tend to be more mobile, not less. And after the fact, we all determined that it was a sign of neurological damage, and probably a lot of the sporadic "kicking" I felt from 32w forward were actually seizures.
No way to know.
I sigh and resign myself to a May outcome, yet again. Not much I can do in the meantime. I have not yet succumbed to either the Hope Train or the Fear Parade, and I consider that an outstanding feat. Remarkably, I feel fine. I'm still running three times a week, still pulling on oversized t-shirts and my husband's fleece, and getting through my days.
:::
Today was my 24w scan, which puzzled the tech a bit because apparently there really is no good reason to be wasting their precious imaging machinery around 24w so we told her. Ahhhhh. And Dr. Hotshit apparently was not in the office, because in walked an associate trailing a neonatology resident behind and they were a bit perplexed too until we told them. Ohhhhh. And it suddenly became a very Maddy moment -- not in a bad way mind you, just in a weird way, what with her brother impressing everyone by opening and closing his mouth on the screen in the corner. ("Pay attention to ME!")
I told Mr. ABF on the way back to the car that these appointments used to be reassuring, pauses where we used to catch our breath, moments that let us relax briefly before careening toward the next milestone. And now it's . . . . it's . . . . it's . . .
Mr. ABF: A Nonevent.
That's it exactly.
:::
Today only reiterated how amazed I am at how central a role Maddy has played in this pregnancy, and how much she comes up in conversation. If nothing else, this pregnancy has afforded me a milieu in which I can finally -- Finally! -- talk about her without it seeming incongruent. I told my hairdresser. Mr. ABF even told his. Even though my initial doc said I wouldn't have to repeat the story every time I go in even if I see another doctor, it comes up, and it's just easier to refer to pregnancies by name than number. There she is, in the room, and I'm not crying and my blood pressure isn't up. I even blurted out "third" to a sales lady who couldn't believe I was buying maternity sweaters for me ("Ohhh, you're one of those who carry high and in front." If by "high and in front" she means "all over my ass and thighs and boobs" then I concede her point. Who cares what pregnancy this is anyway?) People who have found out sideways, who have found out in conjunction with our past and have come to me bearing both pieces of news and have been remarkable -- some have asked pertinent and compassionate questions about Bella, others have held long discussions about what the birth process will likely be like this time around. One guys' guy sans children even asked about my recent testing and I thought he was being polite, but it turns out no -- he really was interested in details. Nice that someone is concerned and interested, I suppose.
I have not relocated joy or hope or any sense of contentment I didn't have coming into this, but I am surprised and grateful that my current condition has afforded me the comfort of speaking about my second child. I didn't expect it. If this is what I gain from this experience, so be it.
:::
It's that time of year where I can be sitting at the counter and completely out of the blue, suddenly see myself in my old kitchen, hunched and sobbing on the floor in front of the old refrigerator (now an open doorway), and wonder why . . . why . . . oh yeah. The tension begins to mount a bit, made no less easy this time around as Mr. ABF will be away on business for a good portion of that week, including Maddy's birthday. I'm wondering how I'll do without the other person who can single-handedly assure me that that she happened, she was here, I gave birth three years ago to a child. A child! With my only witness gone, it will be up to me to do something -- anything -- to celebrate and grieve what might have been. A real If a Tree Falls in the Woods sort of moment, where I'm left holding the axe.
(5 second pause)
Mom, I want to go to the hospital to see my brother when he's born, even if he's going to die. I really want to go see him, ok?
Me: But of course!
And that's how I made yet another promise that I'm not sure I can fulfill, here after being so fucking careful on this whole baby business for months now. I read recently on Missing One's (who's home with the baby! Yay!) blog that her hospital is not allowing siblings in due to Teh Flu. I'm fairly confident that's not the policy here -- in fact, many of my appointments are in the hospital proper, and I see little kids all the time, albeit much of the time wearing masks. I'm not sure if that's to protect them from us, or vice versa, but in any event, there they are. And Children's seemed mighty willing to let Bella in the last time despite her hacking cough, so perhaps that's a point I need to consider before the big Where Do I Deliver Conversation.
Sighs all around.
:::
I'm not sure this qualifies for the "Mind Fuck" portion of the entertainment (tm Julia), but here's what's going on: I really only have Maddy's pregnancy to relate this one to. I cannot for the life of me remember boo about Bella's, other than it was "uneventful," and "she was a kicker." Ergo: This present kid has been kicking me to the point of waking me up since around 21 weeks, which I thought was rather unusual. At a 23w appointment, he kicked the Doppler off my stomach. Which is well and good, I suppose.
The downside to gestating a kickboxer is that eventually even he needs a break, and I'll go through two rather mellow days, where I definitely feel stuff but no kicking and think, "Well that's that." Because this is around the time things in Maddy really began to head downhill according to pathology (even if she had been born predisposed; her spleen, for example, only measured 25w or so and shortly thereafter is when they discovered the echogenic bowel). The problem is, there is no reassurance here: I know he's alive, so a Doppler does me nothing (I've decided not to do that this time around. It was nice during Maddy when I started bleeding so I could decide whether it warranted a trip to the ER or not; here it's rather useless information) nor does an ultrasound. We'll know if it's meaningful or significant when he's born. So all I can do is add to the record for the future, when we look back and figure out what was an important sign post, and what was just a slow day at the gym.
And shortly after announcing this potential downshift to my husband, just so he knows what's going on, I get a signature Chuck Norris Roundhouse move that about sends me off my feet to the left. And it continues another hour. Bella never needed kick counts; she was in constant motion. I mentioned to the doctors that Maddy -- although she met her kick counts -- was much, much slower than Bella, and they thought it unusual. One even said that subsequent children tend to be more mobile, not less. And after the fact, we all determined that it was a sign of neurological damage, and probably a lot of the sporadic "kicking" I felt from 32w forward were actually seizures.
No way to know.
I sigh and resign myself to a May outcome, yet again. Not much I can do in the meantime. I have not yet succumbed to either the Hope Train or the Fear Parade, and I consider that an outstanding feat. Remarkably, I feel fine. I'm still running three times a week, still pulling on oversized t-shirts and my husband's fleece, and getting through my days.
:::
Today was my 24w scan, which puzzled the tech a bit because apparently there really is no good reason to be wasting their precious imaging machinery around 24w so we told her. Ahhhhh. And Dr. Hotshit apparently was not in the office, because in walked an associate trailing a neonatology resident behind and they were a bit perplexed too until we told them. Ohhhhh. And it suddenly became a very Maddy moment -- not in a bad way mind you, just in a weird way, what with her brother impressing everyone by opening and closing his mouth on the screen in the corner. ("Pay attention to ME!")
I told Mr. ABF on the way back to the car that these appointments used to be reassuring, pauses where we used to catch our breath, moments that let us relax briefly before careening toward the next milestone. And now it's . . . . it's . . . . it's . . .
Mr. ABF: A Nonevent.
That's it exactly.
:::
Today only reiterated how amazed I am at how central a role Maddy has played in this pregnancy, and how much she comes up in conversation. If nothing else, this pregnancy has afforded me a milieu in which I can finally -- Finally! -- talk about her without it seeming incongruent. I told my hairdresser. Mr. ABF even told his. Even though my initial doc said I wouldn't have to repeat the story every time I go in even if I see another doctor, it comes up, and it's just easier to refer to pregnancies by name than number. There she is, in the room, and I'm not crying and my blood pressure isn't up. I even blurted out "third" to a sales lady who couldn't believe I was buying maternity sweaters for me ("Ohhh, you're one of those who carry high and in front." If by "high and in front" she means "all over my ass and thighs and boobs" then I concede her point. Who cares what pregnancy this is anyway?) People who have found out sideways, who have found out in conjunction with our past and have come to me bearing both pieces of news and have been remarkable -- some have asked pertinent and compassionate questions about Bella, others have held long discussions about what the birth process will likely be like this time around. One guys' guy sans children even asked about my recent testing and I thought he was being polite, but it turns out no -- he really was interested in details. Nice that someone is concerned and interested, I suppose.
I have not relocated joy or hope or any sense of contentment I didn't have coming into this, but I am surprised and grateful that my current condition has afforded me the comfort of speaking about my second child. I didn't expect it. If this is what I gain from this experience, so be it.
:::
It's that time of year where I can be sitting at the counter and completely out of the blue, suddenly see myself in my old kitchen, hunched and sobbing on the floor in front of the old refrigerator (now an open doorway), and wonder why . . . why . . . oh yeah. The tension begins to mount a bit, made no less easy this time around as Mr. ABF will be away on business for a good portion of that week, including Maddy's birthday. I'm wondering how I'll do without the other person who can single-handedly assure me that that she happened, she was here, I gave birth three years ago to a child. A child! With my only witness gone, it will be up to me to do something -- anything -- to celebrate and grieve what might have been. A real If a Tree Falls in the Woods sort of moment, where I'm left holding the axe.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
'Splaining
Biojen, a relative newcomer to these parts, asked a salient question at the end of the last post, which was essentially: How did I decide to try and have another? After all that crappy news and no answers, how on earth is it that I find myself pregnant again? Spoiler: It was NOT an accident. Well, not really.
I have a post up about deciding to try again today on Glow in the Woods. Like any post there, your comments and contributions would be extremely helpful to others who now find themselves on this path.
I have a post up about deciding to try again today on Glow in the Woods. Like any post there, your comments and contributions would be extremely helpful to others who now find themselves on this path.
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