An ugly post....for BLMs only

I hate to follow that post of such positivity with this one....but my blog has come to my aid countless times providing me with comfort and support from the only people in the world who truly can understand me and empathize with  me for being the social outkast because my baby died: other BLMs.  And so I share this....

I have not vented nor had the need to vent, about lost and broken friendships for several months.  Those doors are closed, or so I thought, and I am focused on what matters in my life: my family.  Not friendships that appear smooth on the surface while causing me pain underneath.  I no longer have room in this heart  of mine that has been slowly pieced back together, though one piece will forever be missing.  My circle has definitely shrunk.  And my family is really my center point and where I get all the love, nourishment, companionship, and entertainment from.  I just wish what was in my head was the same as what is in my heart.

I don't know if I have written about the doctor and his family leaving town but they did this summer and it gave me a small peace of mind knowing I don't have to worry about turning the corner and running into them or seeing them on the road, etc.  My guard was lifted a tiny bit.  And I probably have written about losing friendships because the doctor's wife is still friends with those in our old circle, while we are not.  I had "friends" tell me that we need to remember that this tragedy happened to TWO families in this town, theirs and ours.  Though it was our son who died while theirs get kisses and hugs from them every day.  As if it is important enough to mention, I was once very close friends with his wife, but our friendship fell apart about a year before I became pregnant with Chase.  I have never been able to decide if this severed friendship led to the demise of my patient/doctor relationship during my prenatal care or not.  There was nothing offered or received from her after the birth or death of Chase so all of it is neither here nor there in my mind.  The problem I had was the support my friends were offering her rather than me.  Why was it so important to them to remind me that she was not in the delivery room or that horrible operating room where her husband cut into me while I was screaming my lungs out and hitting him.....hours, hours, after he should have done something to save Chase, but was just too arrogant to admit that he might need to be concerned about the care he had given up to that point.  

This has surfaced once again because though the family has relocated, she apparently, is back in town...for a party.  A party with my former friends, whom I really wonder why I ever called them my friends or me theirs.  This is one of those "clicky" desperate housewife type parties that the invite list changes every year--depending on the party thrower.  I have never made the cut anyway, which is funny I know (pie in my face), unlucky me--whatever.  But this year, they went out of their way to invite her again.....so she could make a special flight back into town just for it.  Makes it sound like a pretty special party, huh?  I thought so, too.   These are the same friends who threw the doctor and his family a going away party this summer in a town three hours away bidding farewell to them with hugs and kisses and nice gifts.  Wow--that kind of support for the man who did all this to me?  Do they know that....or have they just forgotten?  From the people who were supposed to be my friends?  They never offered me that kind of support.  Unless you call coming into my home the second Chase died to break down my crib and remove all my baby belongings so I wouldn't have any reminders of him when I walked in the door.  Really?   LIke I was going to leave Albuquerque and forget about my dead son if the crib and his clothes were not in my room anymore?  At the time I tried to look into this with the best of intentions and understand these things as best I could.  But wow, 1 yr 7mo2wk and 2 days into this grief cycle and it sounds insanely absurd to me now.  If they would have truly known me and been my real friends, they would have known that that baby furniture had been in my bedroom far longer than it had not over the prior 5 years and removing it from my room under normal circumstances would have not even felt right to me.  It was definitely not going to be something to send me over the edge coming home from the hospital without my baby in my arms.  Quite the contrary, in all actuality, but again, how would they know that.  

My anger comes out again....not from my heart, but from my head.  A conflict so very difficult to mend....and will forever keep me out of balance.  But my heart is in the right place.  It is my head that still seeks confrontation and closure, which I will never get.  Not the closure I want.  When I ask what I could have possibly done to these people to make them so nonchalantly continue including this family in their lives and support them, someone said to me, "they just don't know what to say to you probably."  Not.  They feel guilty for supporting that family and not supporting ours.....despite over 30 years of knowing our family.  I'm only venting here because it is the therapy I need.  I don't seek their friendship or their comfort or their companionship.  I am a different person.  One they will never understand and will never know and I don't expect or desire that to change.  I am getting this anger and frustration off my chest (out of my head) so I can once again lay it to rest without being judged.....and just hope it doesn't ever surface again.  Because rest assured you'll hear about it here if it does.  *sigh*

Dark Times

Oh my....I'm back to my blog for therapy, once again. Journalling in this space has been sometimes the only thing that relieves my mind, gives me comfort. Once I purge onto this screen, I can rest my thoughts or shift to something else. I can release the burdens of what is going on in my head--and in my heart. My last post was a huge vent for me. And I received some of the most supportive, helpful comments and emails from this community. The words I read after I posted affected me in ways that I wonder if you have any idea what you did for me. But then I know that I have read your blogs and left comments, trying to help you along...because that's what we do. And I know you do know that you have touched me. Because you know. You know this awful road I am on. And you know all the obstacles, the diversions, the temptations, the hills and the valleys. So thank you. Thank you for being there and helping me through that moment and getting me past it. I took your advice and I held back. FB has not even been a temptation anymore. So, whew! It feels good to have it behind me.

I have really been in a dark place. Last week was really, really hard. Thankfully this week has been better. What is my "dark place?" Deep, deep sadness. Regrets. Wondering what ifs. Wishing... Missing.... Longing.... Hurting.... And withdrawing. I have really pulled myself in since that last post. I have not reached out to anyone. I have not had any contact with anyone, really, but my family. I know everyone else has moved on. I realized that my problems are not their problems. I wanted them to be and I wanted that kind of support....like it was their problem. But it's not. And I can't expect...or ask that of anyone. Life does go on--for them. Unless you have suffered this loss, there is no way of knowing. I would not want to know...I really wouldn't. I wish I didn't.

But life goes on for them, while mine is spiralling. Still, after nearly 10 months, I think about what happened every day. Several times a day. Every night, still, I go to sleep thinking about the day I had Chase. I think about the doctor. A lot. I wish I could have gotten inside his head. And what's worse, I wish I still could. It bothers me. I wish I could move past it, but I can't. It surrounds me. Daily I am faced with him, or some small degree of separation from him. In a small town I can't remove myself from his presence. And I can't face him. I feel like I need to meet him head on and talk to him. But I can't. He won't. It will never happen. No closure, no answers, no story. And for that I am labeled. By whom, I guess, is irrelevent. Because as I have said, I've withdrawn. That's the only way to protect my physical, emotional and mental well-being. I get the peace I seek from my family. I did have lunch with a friend this week and I really enjoyed it. She came to me, of course, and I am thankful for that. But what she doesn't know is how badly and why I needed that contact. I'm human. I am woman, for pete's sake. So as much as I would like to shut everyone out, I can't. I don't need much, but I do need a little. But the vast majority I am surrounded by can't provide that. She did, though, and I needed it.

But I don't look, act, or even feel, like the recluse I have described. I can tell that I have withdrawn, but I don't feel like a standout. I have the facade that we all know so well going on. I smile and converse and move on. But the tears are right there under the surface. A lot of phone calls this week about stuff we still need to take care of...and I talk, even laugh because it's the only way I know to get this thing done when you know the funeral home director personally, but wonder if they know that underneath that normal-sounding, jovial voice is an ocean of tears. Just waiting to hang up the phone so I can let them go.

So there is still a lot of pain. We talk of Chase daily with the kids. He even has a Mii so Reese can blay baseball with him on the Wii, morbid maybe to some but we love it. But there is not a moment that goes by that I don't think of him either being here with us, his things I still have in the house, the formula in the cupboard, the hospital I drive by all the time and the tragic events that took place there. And it has sent me in this very dark direction on my path. My heart litterally feels heavy sometimes with the sadness that I bear. I miss him so badly. He is growing up fast and he's not even here. I can't believe he'd be almost 10 months already. He was such a sweet, sweet boy and we would have been such a happy family. I remember being so unsure if we wanted to have another baby or not and then we got pregnant with Chase and were so excited to add on and complete us. Now I know that having a baby would be truly a blessing but I will never, never feel we are complete. I feel like my hands are tied. I can't fix it this time. And that is what hurts. It always will. I'm not sure what our family will be...but I know what it won't have. Because we will always miss him. He will always be a part of us, but never here.

Onward I push. With my family. We are strong, we are together, and we will live our lives with pride, joy and love. We pull each other along when one of us needs a little help. I am so thankful for that. They are who bring me out of the darkness that I seem to fall into. Chase, too. I cry for him, but I also smile about him. I love you, little man. While you are with us and we include you in everything we do, I still miss you every moment of my day.

The Struggle, Part II of ???

I can't believe Christmas is over. Well, the holiday is not over for us, but I just can't believe that this is the end of December. The year seemed to fly which is so weird because so often I don't know if I can make it through the day, or the minute or the second. The pain I felt going to bed on Christmas eve and then on Christmas morning was excruciating. As I lay in bed that night trying to fall asleep, I missed our baby boy so much. I had that dull ache, a nauseating feeling, deep in the pit of my stomach that was emotional and physical all at once. Just sick that he is not here with us. At eight months old, and with 3 older siblings, he would have so much fun watching and learning what to do on this special holiday. We would have had so much fun watching and learning what he could do. I cried myself to sleep eventually that night and woke up in a hurry as the other three yelled at us from their rooms. I rushed around to get the final preparations complete and then watched as they tore open gifts, handed out gifts and played with their new toys. Then I sat down by Chase's tree and read the kids' letters to him, read Karly's present she made for him and just cried. I was so confused. I looked at the three kids and Patric and thought about how happy I was to have them and be a part of their lives and how much joy they give me every day. But then I looked down in my lap at his pictures and could not stop crying because our little boy was not here and he really should be. Of course, it was that "inside", quiet-as-you-can-cry, but the tears were unstoppable. Karly gave me a hug and a smile and I smiled back at her and loved her right back. And I wiped my tears and put on my happy face, but kept crying on the inside.

I was told our first Christmas without him would be the hardest. But I had no idea. I did not expect the huge wave that would hit me. And I didn't allow myself to think that Patric would be having an equally painful time, in his own way, and not the same as mine. The question I don't have the answer to is where do you meet when you no longer grieve in the same way as your spouse, but you are both still in so much pain? After finally realizing this, I don't know how to fix it. How do I comfort him on his journey when I am on the same journey but in a different vehicle? I can't quite reach him the same way as when we were both riding side by side and he can no longer do the same for me, either. I know we are there for each other, but our needs are different now. I don't know how to solve this one, but I think that understanding that this is happening is a start. I can't explain this very well, but I'm just trying to say that I love my husband more than anything. And I know that he is going through the worst tragedy that anyone ever has to go through. There are times that I may be able to comfort him and there are times that I may not know what to do. The compounding factor of this is that I, too, am going through the exact same worst tragedy ever, but dealing/thinking/hurting differently because I am me and he is him. I am so sorry, Patric, for being so caught up in my sorrow and guilt and sadness, that I have somehow looked past yours. I should be the rock for you that you are for me. You know me, and you love me for who I am and I am the luckiest girl in the world for that. Just know that you mean the world to me and I am trying. Trying to cope, trying to live, trying to love all my kids with all my heart the best that I know how. And, with every breath, I love you.

***

Not any easier...

I know this journey is and will continue to be one of peaks and valleys; a rollercoaster of emotions; a few good days shuffled with a few bad ones. But when anyone asks, "does it get any easier?" the answer is NO. It will never get easier.

I think 6 months, wow. I can't believe it has been 6 months since we had Chase. I can't believe it because I think of him and my delivery all the time. Still. Every night I go to bed and every morning I wake up, I'm thinking about him. All of it. I can force my thoughts away from certain moments and focus on others if necessary. But the point is, I think of him all the time, in everything I do.

Last night was one of the worst nights for me since Chase died. I see his picture every night as usual, but I decided to go through the photos and pick some out for Patric's mom. I have seen them a million times. I have them on my blog, I have them in the house, I have them everywhere. But last night, for some reason, I couldn't handle it. It sent me so far back into the darkness that I wasn't sure if I was going to come out of it. I felt the pain as if it had all just happened. My thoughts wandered to what I wish I would have done with Chase those 3 days I was with him and I felt the weight of regretting so many things. I just felt a heaviness about me....like the sadness that I am carrying with me everywhere. I had gone to bed before Patric so I was alone for this episode. I know I can go to him with anything or for any need, physical or emotional. But I couldn't get out of bed. I felt so incredibly heavy. And I am thankful that my body takes care of my mind because at some point I drifted off into sleep, clutching Chase's blanket and holding Reese's hand (he was already very much asleep through all of this).

I know that this is my life. It doesn't matter how much I can hardly believe it, sometimes...I must live with it. I have always lived on the edge. But now I am on the verge. On the verge of tears. Though some days it takes a little more to get them to fall and even some days there aren't any. I know that they are there. Under the surface. Forcing me to be strong, smile, have joy in the things that make me smile and try to go on. I need to. My family needs me to. Chase needs me to...to be the happy mom that I so dearly want to be.

It is what it is

I have read several blog posts from other baby loss mamas who have lost several friends, friends of many years, and I have thought how crazy and ironic it was that this would happen. But it just takes a tragedy, more specifically a loss, and even more specifically than that, the loss of a child to quickly separate you from the rest. And this weekend, I joined my fellow baby loss family as my circle of IRL "friends" narrowed considerably.

My situation, though, is severly complicated. And I must also add that I use the term "circle" and "friends" lightly because I am not big into "the" social scene or any social scene, for that matter. I wasn't even before Chase died. But the by the nature of what happened to me and my family, my perspective on a lot of things changed. When my perspective changed, so did my friendships and my definition of friendships. And when my definition of friendship changed, so did the number. It got smaller, like many other baby loss mamas who are on my journey.

The complications come from several aspects. A.) I live in a small town. B.) I am pursuing some relentless litigation against my doctor for several things that happened under his care. C.) That doctor was, at one time, one of my closer friends in this town; so much that he is my kids' godparent. and D.) We are in the same "social circle" and have many common friends.

I am blessed for the friends that are not in the same social circle but the friends that made a choice this weekend certainly hurt. I have specifically explained the sordid details of this doctor's actions and behavior that have led me to taking action and I was under the false impression that this was enough "evidence" to lead these friends away, on their own accord, from any socialization with him. I didn't feel it necessary to verbally request this of them because remember.....my son is dead. My healthy, beautiful baby boy is gone and I will never get to see him play with his brother, read me a book, play a soccer game....nothing. His precious life was taken.

So I thought these friends realized this. I thought they understood the magnitude of my loss, or at least a fraction of it. These were not friends that I saw or even talked to every week. But they were friends that I could see and pickup where we left off without skipping a beat. My favorite kind of friend. Some of them have been friends of Patric for over 3 decades. And then I received a text from one saying that since we were planning on coming over, she wanted us to know that my doctor and his family might very well be there. That she didn't want anyone to feel uncomfortable or awkward.

Uncomfortable? Really? Why, because my son is dead and the doctor, your friend is, in my well-stated opinion, responsible for it? Why? Because he knows that we feel this way and our presense would be unsettling? Because our baby, his patient, died and it would make things awkward for him to be in the same social setting? Or is it because we are accusing him of something so absurd and the doctor that they all know and trust (for a total of 4 years now) would never do something like that or act that way; therefore, we must be crazy, looking for someone to blame for our grief?

I have to share a short story to help me understand all this so please bare with me. Patric & I had a very good friend years ago in Florida who is now in the state pen with over 30 counts of convicted rape. When Patric & I knew him, he was a cool guy, a great friend, fun to be around, someone I would have entrusted our kids, had we had any. We received a phone call about 3 years after moving to Ruidoso that our old roommate had been caught on an attempted rape and is being investigated for several rapes throughout the 10 years leading up to that. We were shocked. Not Dave. No way, no how. He would never have hurt anyone. I couldn't believe it. We were in denial. I kept telling myself, at least he didn't kill anyone. But I also thought at the time that if I knew any of victims, I would be forced into reality and I would have more empathy for them because without knowing any of those girls personally, I could not relate and moreover, I could not believe that our very good friend would be capable of something so awful and violent, while we were living with him. How could he lead a double life and we live so close to him and not know it?

So, back to my post..... I can understand, having trusted someone so dearly, how hard it is to believe that something bad has happened. I am not relating the viciousness or the violence of that story to this, but I am trying to understand why some people can go on like nothing ever happened. Where is the accountability? What about the consequences....you know....that which we talk to our kids about practically every day? Just because mistakes happen, doesn't mean you don't have to be accountable for them. Or that you don't have to own up to them. Even if you're a doctor.

And besides, the difference is that they know me. They know us. And yet their friendship with the doctor has not changed, apparently. Where is the empathy for us? All I can sense is them protecting him. This didn't happen to him. It happened to US. In fact, He. Is. What. Happened. I wouldn't normally say I know what I would do in someone else's shoes, but I know in my heart that if this happened to anyone of them, I would have no problem telling this doctor to go take a hike--that he was not invited to my parties, that I will not be coming over to his house, that I would have nothing to do with him because of what happened. That is the kind of support we need. Not tiptoeing around the subject like we are fighting over something trivial. This is about the death of my son. The support I need is that of the undying kind. The I-got-your-back kind of support that we are on your side. Because when people that we have known for years and years and years have to text me with a message that we might not want to come over because so-and-so is going to be there and they wouldn't want things to be uncomfortable for anyone, that tells me that they have completely dismissed Chase. That tells me that they have disregarded the trauma that I went through and they have forgotten and moved on. And so should I. Seriuosly, do you realize you are talking about the death of my son? I know if you really wanted us to come, and you were supporting us, you would have no problem calling the doctor up and telling him that he better not show up. You would warn him that we are going to be there. Not the other way around.

But no, it didn't happen that way. In fact, it all happened via text messages. That's the funny part. And I am guilty. But I wished I woulda twittered instead of texted because the message I sent could have gone to a broader audience. More should have experienced the "fit" I threw. But it's my son who died. Not theirs. And my nightmare continues on. I keep hoping I wake up some day. It is all so unreal.

So my circle is now quite small. It consists of five people and one angel baby (...and a few real friends) And that's all I really need.