39 weeks

He was due in 7 days. He might have already been here by now.

I live my days in two worlds: what is, and what would have been. Split between the life I have to live, by no choice of mine, and the life I wish could be. Every moment has two views, every object, every emotion, every occurrence.

I could have been washing this towel for his first bath, instead of for me. The dishwasher might have been needing to be run for his bottles, instead of our dishes. I might have needed a quiet house for my sleeping son, instead of the work I am doing.

I live my two lives, hating one, and mourning the other.

I miss you so much little boy. My world is shattered without you, and will never be the same again.

As I sit and wonder what your birth day should have been, and what I would be doing right now in either preparation for you or caring for you, I am still thankful for your time here. Regardless of how surrounded in tears, grief, and turmoil that gratefulness is, it will always be there, and hopefully one day will be all that is left.

Disconnected

Feeling less than a part of the world lately. I'm going through the motions of the day to day normalcy, and I'm even starting to see people more, but I feel like I've reverted back to before I became pregnant with Matthew. Maybe it's because life had changed so drastically with him coming into my life, and now, with him gone, it feels like I've gone back in time a year. I feel like I've taken a huge step backward. The world doesn't view me as a mother, and in turn does not treat me as one. My heart is the heart of a mother, but my life is not.  I don't know what to do, what to feel, how to act lately. I have fallen back into acting the way I did before, even though I am not that person anymore, almost like an old habit.

I'm beginning to think I don't know how to cope with the person I am now. It's all such strange territory, none of which I know how to deal with or adapt too. When I see other moms talking about their day to day activities and responsibilities, all I can think is, that's what I need to be doing. That's the place I need to be, should be.

The empty shell of the present only echoes the diffused life of what has been lost. My entire existence is wandering, looking for the the road of before, looking for that place it belongs.

Less Time to Think

Working 2 jobs now, and I am so grateful for the opportunity. It fills my days with 8-12 hours of mindless business, and helps keep me from sinking into depression again. Weekends are no longer dreaded (the ones Jamie has to work were unimaginably hard), because I always have something to do.

I do have to remind myself that I am doing it for our own house, and for the things yet to come, but sometimes I miss being able to sit down for more than 10 minutes and just think about life without crying/sobbing/anger/bitterness (and the myriad of other emotions that occupy my brain when allowed too).

Between the extra work, 4 days of gym a week, and the constant tornado of animal hair that seems to follow me, the quiet moments of solitude are few and far between. Never thought I'd hate them and be glad they're gone.

Then, every once in a while, I allow myself to just sit and feel it all. Feel the rush of the tangled emotions and craziness that is always present up there, but that I keep walled up for fear of losing control. In public, online, alone, at work, driving....wherever I may be, that tangled, intricate, all encompassing mass is there to swallow me if I let it.

My unbidden passenger, the unwanted, yet clung-to roommate, the thing that will never be understood, never diminished, always tasted, and always changing.

Dream

For the first time since Matthew died, I dreamed last night. I dreamed all the time when I was pregnant, and quite frequently before getting pregnant, but the last few months have been dreamless.

I've actually ached to dream, in hopes that my "life that should have been" with Matthew would bleed through the edges of this world into my nights. I have wished that I could live just a few of those moments unconsciously. But my REM moments have been empty of glimpses of my son.

Last night I dreamed about another son, and oddly enough, I actually remember almost all of the details.

I dreamt of his birth, and the moments that followed. I dreamt that we named him Jayce Matthew. I even dreamt of the midwife cutting the cord, and handing him to me. The weight of his 6 lbs still lingers in my arms. The image of my brand new son, Matthew's little brother, lying purple and pink tinged, covered in that coat of fine, white hair on the scale, and screaming his brand new lungs off is still fresh in my mind.

I remember him wrapped in a receiving blanket, and showing him to his daddy, pointing out his chubby cheeks, and how much he looked like me, but with his dad's legs and arms. I even remember posting his picture and birth details on Facebook!

So, even though I didn't dream about Matthew, and the life he was to have, I did dream about the promise and hope of another son, which is something I have needed. We've been robbed of a future with our first born, but I hope, with all my heart, another little boy will come into my life some day.

It's A Little Thing...

I decided, randomly and out of the blue today, that I am going to start wearing 2 memorial bracelets around.

Here is why:

When we started having to plan Matthew's service, we were trying to think of little things we could do that would stay forever as a daily reminder of him. When my water broke, and it became clear that Matthew was coming within hours, and would be gone just as quickly, the hospital gave Jamie and all of the visitors (family and friends who were there while I was in labor) a purple bracelet that said "Forever in our hearts". I still wear Jamie's. We decided to get similar bracelets personalized to pass out at the service, and give to anyone who might like to have one.

The aim behind it is simple. I want my sons name to cross the minds of as many people as possible. I want him known, I want his tiny legacy to last as long as it can, because to me and his father, there can be no person we think about more than our little boy, and we'd like that to carry over to those around us.

We've adopted the habit of following up our frequent  "I love you"s with "but I love Matthew more". It's a small thing we do to remind each other of how much mutual we love we have for that little boy, and how much meaning and intimacy his life has brought to our relationship. We are no longer merely husband and wife, but have been replaced by the relationship of "the parents to our son". The two relationships exist side by side, but the latter brings SO much more meaning to anything we could ever be with just the two of us.

This is just a small example of how we feel the desire to "change" the world, in the wake of losing our son. One of the things that hurts the most, and is the hardest thing to understand, is why the world does not stop when your child is gone. Life, should not be without that little face in it. These things are our way of making sure that his little life did affect the world, even if it didn't make it stop turning.

So, I will, from now on, have 2 of Matthew's bracelets on at any given time. One for me, and one for whoever might like to have one.

I do not expect people to wear them all the time, or even at all, but I will rejoice in the fact that perhaps one or two more people might come to know the name of my son.

So if you see me, and would like to have one of Matthew's bracelets, just let me know, I've got plenty.

July

It was just a few months ago that I "couldn't wait for July". Now, I wish it was a few months ago instead of today. July was supposed to bring the child I have ached for, fought for, sacrificed for.

But instead, in 20 days it is our 4 year wedding anniversary, in 20 days my son would have been 4 months old, in 21 days I will have been without my precious boy for 4 months, in 25 days Matthew was due to be born.

July holds so much, yet so little.

I should be 37 weeks pregnant, and Matthew should be full term, ready to enter the world.

So many "should be's". So many "would have been's". So much lost, so much gained too soon.

So much gone until the day I meet my maker, and my life is ended on this Earth. So much to look forward too after my time here is ended.

So much emptiness where my little boy "should be".

In A Letter To Another

I wrote this to another brand new babyloss mom who lost her child 2 weeks ago and was accused of being "selfish" by her co-workers...pretty much sums up where I am in life right now when it comes to friends and family.

Hi Allie,


I am so sorry you have found yourself on this agonizing road with us. It sounds like you are having to deal with some insensitivity on top of it, which is so far from helpful.


I have found myself to be a much more hardened person after losing my son 3 months ago. At 2 weeks, I can honestly I didn't give two hoots about another person on the planet except my husband. It's so normal, and I believe healthy to dive into yourself in the midst of the grief and just focus on your own well being and keeping yourself going. Even now, 3 short months later, my entire perspective of life and relationships has changed drastically. I HAVE to focus on my husband and I alone because otherwise I don't think I could continue living. Not to be dramatic, or attention seeking, but because it's the solid truth that my world ended when my son took his last breath.


Unfortunately, having been a very caring and loyal friend all of my life, many friends and family cannot and do not understand the change they see in me, hell, I don't understand the change I see in myself. But I know it's there for a reason, it's there as a result of losing my son, my world, my future. I will never be the same person I was before, none of us will, because we can't be. We can't go back to who we used to be, and quite honestly, I wouldn't want to. That person wasn't a mother to a beautiful boy named Matthew.


Please, please be gentle to yourself, and please, be absorbed in your own well being above all else. They can take care of themselves, and they should be worried about taking care of you instead of being so insensitive. This entire process, is life-long, and unending. If you do not learn how to cope, grieve, and live with it now, there will be a day that it comes crashing down hard. That is the entire purpose of grief, it's a learning experience, and a reflection of the love you had for your baby.


I wrote more than I meant too :-) But I just can't stress enough how important it is that you allow yourself to be "selfish" now and in the coming months. I have yet to reach the point that I "care" about others. Yes, I love my friends and family, but they are no longer and will never be my priority again. Day to day, right now, I focus on getting through the moments and hours without the clutter of worrying about who I may have offended or who I should be reaching out to.


Another thing I have learned, is those who are true friends and TRULY care about me, will understand my coldness, my lack of communication, and my "selfishness". Those who take offense and judge me for it, have no place in my life.


Blessings and hugs to you and yours.