what's on my mind

I had a dream last night - since losing Ryan it's rare that I remember them. But I woke up from this dream just as it was ending...all I remember was that I was in a plane, holding a baby (sex unknown) and the plane was going down...it crashed but we were still alive. Then I woke up. I wonder what this means. Fear of losing another baby? Although in the dream we were clearly still alive so how does that fit in? Anyway...the thing that stuck out to me was the baby...I was holding a baby. It was clear as day. It was a nice thing to see. Definitely something I wish for.

The 4th of July is coming ever so closer. Joe has to work that night...I think I'm going to go spend some time with him during the day and the do my best to ignore the festivities outside during the night. It can be just any other day, right? Not a day I was very much looking forward to spending with my son. I can make it just any other day.

Then next weekend is vacation. I'm looking forward to the relaxation - I'm just afraid it will be overwhelming, Ryan should be there in everything that we do. And he wont be.

I keep thinking about holidays. Valentines Day will probably permanently be ruined, seeing as it is a few days before when I lost Ryan and I will probably always blame myself for not getting to the hospital sooner. Thanksgiving and Christmas (especially this year) are things that he is supposed to be at. I think I will forgo them. At least the big family get togethers. I think I'll just stay away from them.

I don't know why I'm thinking so much about things so far down the road...but they've been on my mind lately...

no need for a babysitter

Sometimes I feel like I'm forgetting him. Which is funny because he's all I ever think about. But I try to remember his face and I don't see HIM I see my favorite picture of him. I can't picture him in the hospital, lying in the bassinet next to me or in my lap...maybe it's just a subconscious emotional block of a traumatic event. It probably is. Seeing as it was the most traumatic event of my life. Funny thing is I can play the c-section over and over in my mind though...that is what is stuck in my head. It replays like a bad movie a million times a day.


Speaking of movies, we went to the midnight Transformers showing last night. It was a great movie - but throughout it I found myself thinking about Ryan a lot. Since this was such a big movie the date it was coming out has been blasted everywhere for a long time...we used to talk about how my mom would have to babysit Ryan so we'd be able to go see it. Well, we didn't need a babysitter. Funny thing is...if I could go back, knowing what I know now and for some reason things turned out differently and I had him with me - I wouldn't want the babysitter...I wouldn't leave him for a second if it could be avoided. After the movie ended I just started crying and I had to get out of there - I was practically running through the parking lot. This, for some reason, pissed Joe off. I wouldn't stop and he just wanted to hold me and make me feel better - so he got frustrated when I wouldn't stop...which is understandable, I was acting a little crazy. But I just literally couldn't stop. I just had to get out of there. I got home and cried myself to sleep...

The incomplete me...

The shacks are up...the 4th of July is just around the corner. Fireworks will go on sale soon. Ryan should be anywhere between 3 and 7 weeks old that day...depending on when he had shown up. If he had shown up when he was supposed to. If I had chosen differently...choose to have the c-section earlier, and he had lived - he'd be four and a half months old that day. It just so happens that he just showed up a little too early. And a little too dead. Sorry to be frank. Sometimes I feel like people look at me like "the woman with the dead baby". They just never talk about him. Ever. I feel like his name, his life...everything about him is a taboo subject. I wish people would talk about him more...if people wanted to I'd probably talk about him and nothing but him forever. My favorite holiday has always been the 4th of July. When I first found out my due date - and knew that I'd definitely be recovered from giving birth by that day I was so excited. I couldn't wait to spend my favorite holiday with my little boy in hand. Now I think I might just stay in bed that day. Pretend I don't hear the fireworks, pretend there is nothing special about that day. Pretend my son shouldn't be with me. Everyone else seems to be able to do that just fine. Why cant they stop for just one day? Why cant everyone skip the fireworks for a year? Don't they realize no one should be celebrating??? My baby died. What is there to celebrate? Shouldn't everyone be as heartbroken and consumed by his death as I am? Shouldn't everyone realize that when they ask me how I'm doing...and I say "okay"...that I'm lying. That the truth is something they don't want to hear so I don't tell them. Would "my son is dead, how do you think I'm doing" really be an appropriate answer for that question? Or how about "I didn't want to get out of bed this morning, I dream about my son all night and occasionally I even think I hear him crying...also, sometimes I pray to be in a coma so I can sleep through the next year"? You think my boss wants to hear that when she asks how I'm doing? Probably not. My vacation is only 17 days away. I'm looking forward to it. Kind of. I'm looking forward to the relaxation - not working for eleven days. I'm scared of how I'll manage being up at that cabin though. Ryan was supposed to be there. I planned throughout my whole pregnancy how this was going to be our first family vacation. Every single thing I do that week will be something I'm supposed to be doing with Ryan. When we unpack the car, someone should be watching Ryan. When I put my stuff in my bedroom...it's going to seem empty without a crib and all of his things. A "family picture" will not be complete without my son in it. Nothing is complete. I feel incomplete. Maybe I shouldn't even be going...but I'm hoping its the relaxation I need. Maybe I'm just glutton for pain.

so frustrated

I am so frustrated, I want to just scream and scream and scream...and then punch something a few hundred times

First, AF was due yesterday - I had very little signs that it was actually coming and so when it didn't show its ugly head yesterday I let myself hope and believe for a split second that there could be a rainbow on the horizon. Of course I was wrong. AF always comes. It came first thing this morning. Yes, this is frustrating, but no it’s not the reason I'm so pissed off

After I came back from the bathroom and tried to go back to sleep my phone rang. Who calls at 845 on a Sunday morning? It was my grandma. She’s always been the uptight - mind set stuck in the 40’s kind of grandma. Anyway she asked to talk to my mother. Yes, I’ve been staying at my mothers (although most of the time I stay at Ryan’s dads). The plan was that I’d stay with my mother until a little while after Ryan was born - kind of get a nice nest egg before we moved out when Ryan was a few months old. But really staying here has kind of been a blessing in disguise. I’ve taken so much time off work and cut my hours back so not having to pay rent has helped - if I wasn’t able to take 10 weeks off and go back at part time I think I’d be literally insane at the moment. So anyway, I gave the phone to my mother and about five minutes later I came back in the room to see what they were talking about. Every summer we take a big family vacation - we have a cabin in the mountains and everyone stays up there. I have a room - usually I’ll share it with a cousin. Ryan’s dad has come up the past two summers for a few days and my grandma has insisted that he not stay in my room. This year was supposed to be different. Ryan was supposed to be there. His dad was supposed to take the entire week off. It was supposed to be our first family vacation with Ryan. And obviously there was little my uptight grandmother could do considering we had a child. I was looking forward to this more than anything else. It is going to be a very hard week knowing there should be a little baby there...the one thing that will make it tolerable is knowing Ryan's dad will be there with me for part of it. Well, like I said my grandma called this morning pitching a fit about whether or not he’d be there and where he'd sleep and the message it gives to the younger cousins who are there because we are not married. I wanted to rip the phone from my mom’s ear and scream at her. I did not. I simply told my mom to tell her if this was going to be a problem then I would not come. Ryan should be there - and because he’s not my grandmother reverts back to the old way as if nothing happened to change anything. Now, don’t get the wrong idea - my family actually really loves Ryan’s dad - they’re just old fashioned and I am not. I don’t care if we’re not married, it was never a big deal to me - we had a child! I sent her an e-mail explaining in further detail that he will be coming and we will be staying together, or I will not come at all.

I just wanted a peaceful vacation with time spent relaxing at the lake - I really, really need it. It may seem stupid to put my foot down about something so insignificant as where Ryan’s dad sleeps but to me it seems insane for her to throw a fit when we had and lost a child together.

There is no Rainbow...

I thought for a split second there was a chance for a rainbow. But I should have known better than to get my hopes up. I dont even have anything more to say...I just wish I could be writing that there was a rainbow today...

who is that girl in the mirror?

Yesterday was hard. I woke up telling myself I'd make it just any other day. But it wasn't just any other day. Yesterday was four months since I lost Ryan. I decided that I was going to get my kids some cupcakes. Even though they didn't know - no one but me knew - but they were for him. Instead of it being "four months since I lost him"...I tried to think of it as what would have been his four month birthday. A celebration instead of another memorial. It didn't really help as much as I thought it would - but it's always feels good to do something, anything, for Ryan. I finished something else for him this week. I had planned to paint the letters of his name to hang above his crib.....but his crib never got put together, he never slept in it, he never came home. I decided last week to paint them anyway. Now they're hanging in my room, next to his shelf where I have all of this things. Here is a picture:

So, yesterday morning I held it together pretty well. I didn't cry when I woke up. I didn't cry when I went to the store and got the cupcakes. So tell me why I cried when I had to change my pants??? BACK STORY: I got a pair of Khaki's when I started wearing maternity clothes - they eventually were too short because of the protruding belly, then I got another pair and right when I lost Ryan something got on them (weird stain, couldn't get it off)...so I decided to dye those pants when I went back to work (I've tried to dye them black about 10 times now, a few more dye jobs and maybe they will no longer be egg plant purple). So yesterday morning I put on my 3rd pair of Khakis and looked down and there's little spots all over the legs (bleach from mopping at work). I was pissed, took them off and sprayed them with stuff (hoping that even though I knew it was bleach it might have been something else that would come off). So then I put on my first pair of Khakis which fit better now because I no longer have a baby belly. I walked out the door, got in the car and looked down and there was a stain on these pants (it looked like someone drew on them). I'm not sure why but this made me start bawling. I think it was just the stress of the day and something going wrong. I cried for about ten minutes as I ran back into the house, put on black pants (I was wearing a blue shirt - I NEVER wear black with blue) and drove to work. Yes, I'm sure you are reading this thinking "so what" but I just didn't need something crappy happening. And it really bothers me when something happens to my maternity clothes - like they're linked to Ryan.

On another note, work this week was less stressful. Instead of 9-6 every day I'm now working 12-6 Monday-Thursday and 9-6 on Friday. Much easier. When I get to work they're already laying down...so for 2 and a half hours I pretty much just watch them sleep. The afternoons are easier than the mornings.

Only 21 more days until my vacation and only 13 more work days. Every summer we go to a cabin up in the mountains for a week. I'm almost hesitant to go this year - except less family will be there and I think the relaxation of just laying by a lake for a week might actually be good for me. The thing is, Ryan is supposed to be with me. We're supposed to have to take an extra car because were supposed to have so much baby stuff. I have the bedroom upstairs...I'm supposed to bring his playpen for him to sleep in, he's supposed to cry in the middle of the night and wake up my whole family. There will be no crying baby. This was supposed to be my summer. I was supposed to have 10 weeks off with my son. I was supposed to be able to spend my favorite holiday (4th of July) holding my son. Now I'm planning on hiding out in bed that day. I was supposed to bring my son on vacation...I don't know how I'm going to face the silence of that room without him there.

This is not my summer.

This is not my life. Or at least it doesn't seem like it. I feel like I'm living some stranger's life. You know how you sometimes hear people say they don't see themselves when they look in the mirror? Well that's how I feel. Theres some other person looking back at me. There's pain in the eyes of this person and tears that are always just on the edge of pouring down...there's anger written all over her face and you can tell she's withdrawn from everything around her - like nothing really matters much. That's not me. Or that's not who I was anyway.

Will I ever be me again?

remembering...

Remembering by Elizabeth Dent

Go ahead and mention my child,
The one who died, you know.
Don't worry about hurting me further.
The depth of my pain doesn't show.
Don't worry about making me cry.
I'm already crying inside.
Help me to heal by releasing,
The tears that I try to hide.
I'm hurt when you keep silent,
Pretending he didn't exist.
I'd rather you mention my child,
Knowing that he has been missed.
You ask me how I was doing.
I say "pretty good" or "fine."
But healing is something ongoing.
I feel it will take a lifetime.

Four months tomorrow...

It has been 17 weeks today. Four Months Tomorrow. 17 weeks ago I woke up pregnant. I went to work pregnant, I went to school pregnant...and then I after talking to the doctor who ultimately delivered Ryan I checked myself into the hospital just after 11:30pm pregnant. What if I had gotten myself to the hospital earlier that night, or even that morning or the day before.....would everything be different? What if we had decided to have the c-section earler...would he be in my arms right now? I wonder this each and every day. Only five short hours after getting to the hospital my son was ripped from me (quite literally). APGAR=0. As I was laying on that table I realized he should have been crying, but still I told myself he'd be fine.....you see it on TV all the time, it takes a second and then everything is fine.....It wasn't until Joe looked me in the eyes, tears streaming down the face of a man who never cries, and told me he had died that I realized he was really gone. As I sat there...staring at him, listening to the doctors and nurses talk as they sewed me up, it was as if I was having an out of body experience. I watched what everyone was doing but I wasn't a part of it. There is a quote I often find myself relating to..."Looking back, I've often thought the doctors should have written a death certificate for me as well as my son, for when he died, a part of me died, too." No...I'm not suicidal - I could never, would never harm myself. But that doesn't mean I don't sometimes think that if something had happened it wouldn't have been the worst thing. Not for me. It might have been better if I had, I could be with my son. It's true. I had a c-section. It's a serious surgery. I could have died. Even though I didn't, I still feel like I did. I live every single day feeling hollow - like there is something missing and without what's missing nothing really matters much anymore. Truth be told it is slowly getting better. I have to admit that. But it will be a long time before I can laugh without feeling guilty, a long time before absolutely everything doesn't make me think of Ryan (and I mean EVERYTHING...movies, laundry detergent, a pencil...EVERYTHING), and Im not sure that Ryan will ever not be the first thought on my mind when I wake up and the last thing on my mind before I go to sleep.

I wish I didn't have to work tomorrow...its going to be a very hard day...

grief is a dance...

I stole this from another bereaved mother's blog...couldn't have described it better myself...obviously for me it'd be "son" but I didn't want to change her writing.....

There is a lot of pressure that comes with grieving. Every day, we get watched, observed, sized up.

People are constantly looking to us to set the tone. We can hear them holding their breath, waiting for us to smile, or laugh, or cry.

We are also holding our breath, waiting to see how people will react to us.


If we laugh, will people think we’re being disrespectful to our daughter? Because sometimes we laugh.

If we cry, will we make people feel awkward? Because we cry, a lot.


If we smile, will people think we’re okay? Because we’re not okay. We’re not better, or fixed, or over it.

It’s this constant up and down, like a thermometer…rising and falling.


But most of all, we put pressure on ourselves. We get tired of crying, but we feel guilty if we don’t.

We miss hearing her voice, but just the sound of it can throw us into utter despair.


Our friends invite us to things. We want to be with them. But sometimes it’s just too much. We hope they keep inviting. We hope one day it won’t be too much.

Grief is a dance we don’t know the steps to, but we shuffle along, trying not to mess up.

I'm not sure I ever wrote this on here, but even if I did it might help to repeat it for the sake of the story..... about six weeks after losing Ryan I took my dog for a walk and walked past a park I had walked past about one hundred times before - but on that day something stuck out to me that brought me to my knees. There were swings...a few normal ones as well as baby ones. Ryan would never swing. I would never see his nervous but excited face the first time he sat in a swing. I cried an ocean full of tears and stared out at the park, which in that instant was one of the most painful sights I'd seen in quite a while. All of the sudden a swarm of butterflies were all around me. I'm not lying or being over dramatic, there were probably 20-30 butterflies. All I could think of was that it was my son trying to comfort me. Prior to losing him, if someone had told me the same story I'd be the skeptic...but I believe it was him, other things have happened prior to that and since than that also give me chills and make me believe he's looking over me always.

Friday at work we brought the chalk out for the kids to play with. While I was working on some paperwork and watching the children play one of the kids came up to me "Miss Jamie Miss Jamie you have to come see what I drew" he told me. I told him he'd have to hold on because I was busy. He then said "NO you have to come NOW!" I agreed, followed him, and asked "What did you draw?" He told me "A butterfly". I looked down and he had indeed drawn a butterfly. It took me a second to catch my breath and then I asked him "Why did you draw this" and he told me "Because butterflies like you". =)




On a separate note...

I was talking to my mom this morning and was telling her about some weird dream I had (I don't even remember what it was now) and then she told me "I had a dream you told me you were pregnant" All I could say was "I wish." Lets hope shes psychic...




I went to get my hair cut today. I went to the same place I always do. I sat in the same chair I always do. I talked to the same lady who always cuts my hair. The last time I was there I was pregnant. I had a baby on the way...I was so excited, I couldn't wait to meet him.....I had hopes and dreams. I have none of that now. I didn't cry (does it make me insensitive or less caring because I dont cry over things like this...all my angel mommy friends do) I just got very quite and thought for a long time about Ryan and how every place I go from now on that I haven't been to in a while will probably bring forward the same overwhelming sadness. The hair dresser who was doing my moms hair asked about the baby, I didn't hear it but my mom told me later. It's a good thing I didn't hear it. I have a feeling THAT might have brought about the illusive tears.

I dont cry every day anymore. This seems fast to me, like I should still be crying every day, all day. Most of the moms who lost their children around when I lost Ryan still cry multiple times a day. I think its just because thats who I am - I've never been a cryer. And when I do cry its always when I'm alone...unless its something I cant control (like my breakdown at work). Sometimes I even wish I did cry more. Im not sure why - who wants to cry??? I just feel like I cant do anything right.....I couldn't keep my baby safe...hell, I cant even grieve right.



My aunt asked my mom if I have been seen by a doctor and whether they think I might have post partum depression and told her that if I wasn't on depression medicine I probably should be. Because pills fix everything. Apparently my status updates on myspace make her think I'm having a very difficult time. WELL DUH. My baby died. I held him in my arms for three days (which apparently was wrong of the doctors to allow me to hold him if you ask my aunt or grandma)...I wish they could understand I would have stayed in that hospital room, in that bed, with him in my arms forever if I could have...I loved my baby more than life and if I could trade places with him, so he could be here and enjoy life, I would.

I would rather be his angel.