Last Thursday we said our final goodbyes to our sweet pup, Seven. This was the first time Ryan and I had to deal with putting a pet down, something all our parents must have done numerous times as we were growing up. It was so much harder than I imagined it could be.
Going in to owning a pet, you don't consider what it will be like to lose them. We focus on the fun times ahead, even though our mind knows that most likely they will die before we do as many domesticated animals don't live as long as humans do. This is my scientific, matter-of-fact side showing. I know the details, it's how it is. Period, the end. Then there is the heart. Sometimes pets weave themselves so intricately into the fabric of our lives that the hole(s) they leave become much larger than we'd expected. Such is the case with Seven.
He's been through so much with us. Our first house, updating homes and yards, attempting to train a dog for the first time, having kids, and even losing kids I don't feel like we were always the best dog owners, with how much a dog really needs from their human. But oh man did we love, and we sure did need him through the worst of times.
I am most definitely grieving the loss of a truly loved family member now. Seven was my pup from the beginning, even if he and Ryan developed their own unique relationship, Seven was my pup. And damn it hurt to see his chest stop rising and his eyes lose their last bit of life. He was beautiful, sweet, demanding of our love, awkward and quirky, dependent and protective. I will miss him so damn much.
Even though I am in the midst of grieving so hard for Seven now, it's difficult to not compare it to losing Korbin. I wrote of this before, and I'll say it again. It is so different. And it's as though now I compare all my grief experiences to losing Korbin as if to say that's the true measurement of grief. Losing Korbin put me in to the epitome of grief. A grief I feel to this day. Losing Seven has definitely left a hole in my heart, and an emptiness in our home. And yet, it is still different.
Some have said that losing a pet is worse than losing a person. I can't agree with that. But that's not to say that losing a pet is easier, or that it doesn't hurt to lose a pet. Especially when that pet is such a part of your family.
I think in this case, my grief barometer threw me off from what to expect through this new grief experience. In preparing myself for losing Seven, I knew mentally it wouldn't be the same, and so I told myself in my head that it wouldn't hurt my heart so badly. But that was wrong. Just because the grief is different and not perceived in my mind as not as great as the grief of losing Korbin, that doesn't mean it is going to hurt less. My heart definitely knew better.
The path of grief itself, however, will be different. There's an emptiness in our home now without Seven in it to care for and listen to him yell at us. But I let myself really feel everything this weekend, and I honestly feel better already. I'm still sad he's gone, but I needed to let those emotions happen, no matter how similar or different they may be. They need to happen just as in any other type of grief journey.
Before, I hadn't thought twice about grieving other losses after Korbin, as nothing else since losing Korbin really felt like such a hard loss. Grandparents have passed, but they've lived their long and beautiful lives and even seen great grand-children. I've lost aunts and uncles suddenly, and yet the grief was felt more by other aunts and uncles who were so much closer to them than I was.
This was my first loss since Korbin that really, literally, hit close to home. Maybe it hurts so much because we love so much.
I'm definitely not going to stop loving, even though it means potentially more losing and hurting.
Because I've got a lotta love to give.
Tuesday, December 11, 2018
Sunday, November 11, 2018
PAIL
Last month was Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness month, PAIL for short. And for the first time, I participated in the #CaptureYourGrief project and finished out the entire month. A goal that has been hard to reach in past years as this project dives so deep in to each individual's grief journey. This year was so, so therapeutic.
The part of the project that touched me the most, which was completely unexpected, was the number of people who reached out to me privately to either share their own experiences with loss, or to thank me for being so open and honest about my own grief journey. It was amazing! We still have so far to go in society to recognize that grief exists and it doesn't have a timeline and that it looks different for each individual, and yet we've come so far already. I'm thankful that today I can share my experiences, even when others feel they can't, or shouldn't. Possibly the most precious was a newer acquaintance on Facebook sharing her lost children's names with me. I tear up thinking of it now, such a touching moment. I feel honored that she shared something so dear to her with me, that she felt she could trust me with knowing something so precious to her.
As I stated in my first post on October 1st, sometimes an old wound needs to be ripped back open and cleaned out in order to heal better. This is exactly what the Capture Your Grief project did for me this year. I was hurting so much, as for whatever reason 6 years has felt the hardest in a while. Through this project, I was able to dig deep and pull out what was eating away at my heart. And the outward display, laying it all out for everyone to see and hopefully come to understand, felt so good.
I will continue to share my grief journey and all of it's ups and downs.
Because I've got a lotta love to give.
The part of the project that touched me the most, which was completely unexpected, was the number of people who reached out to me privately to either share their own experiences with loss, or to thank me for being so open and honest about my own grief journey. It was amazing! We still have so far to go in society to recognize that grief exists and it doesn't have a timeline and that it looks different for each individual, and yet we've come so far already. I'm thankful that today I can share my experiences, even when others feel they can't, or shouldn't. Possibly the most precious was a newer acquaintance on Facebook sharing her lost children's names with me. I tear up thinking of it now, such a touching moment. I feel honored that she shared something so dear to her with me, that she felt she could trust me with knowing something so precious to her.
As I stated in my first post on October 1st, sometimes an old wound needs to be ripped back open and cleaned out in order to heal better. This is exactly what the Capture Your Grief project did for me this year. I was hurting so much, as for whatever reason 6 years has felt the hardest in a while. Through this project, I was able to dig deep and pull out what was eating away at my heart. And the outward display, laying it all out for everyone to see and hopefully come to understand, felt so good.
I will continue to share my grief journey and all of it's ups and downs.
Because I've got a lotta love to give.
Monday, September 24, 2018
Energy
Throughout the past few (okay, four and a half) years, my energy levels have seriously dipped. Early on it was just the excuse of not getting enough sleep because, hey, every new mom understands that. Then it was that I was staying up late to do the things I wanted to do but didn't have time during the regular day; you know, trying to find myself again. Lately though, I've been getting to bed at a reasonable hour, sleeping hard most nights, napping, exercising semi-regularly. So why am I so tired?
Oh yeah, I do a lot.
A. LOT.
This seriously just dawned on me today. I pack as much as I possibly can in to my days because there is so much I want to do. Gardening, fixing things, refinishing old furniture, painting for fun and painting to update rooms, cleaning, cooking from scratch each evening and prepping lunches, reading, keeping up (kind of) with our favorite TV shows, making plans with friends, attempting to write more often, instagraming, work, commuting, taking care of my husband and my four year old, puppies, chickens, sketching, sewing, planning outdoor adventures for the family, traveling. Life. It really never dawned on me that I'm tired because I'm so busy. Most days I feel like there's just so much, and nothing is really being touched. In reality, I'm doing so much, just not necessarily the fun things I want to focus on all the time.
It all boils down to balance, and making sure that fulfilled feeling is felt daily, whether from reading an interesting article I had saved weeks prior, painting for half an hour, or getting a quick work out in. These things all make me who I am now, even if most of them are barely touched for large chunks of time. In finding the right balance, one has to prioritize what needs to happen now with what would be really great to have happen at any point during that day. During the less-than-balanced days, the tired feeling definitely creeps up more. And sometimes there are less-than-balanced periods of time that last for weeks, or even a month or two, at a time. I realized today that it's during these long durations that I feel more tired and therefore less fulfilled.
Time to restructure, refocus, and carve out the small chunks of time I need to be me through all the craziness that is life and it's overly scheduled madness. Making sure each day has even just one of the extra things I love fills me with the joy and excitement to power me through the day, an insatiable internal energy that is only satisfied once I've painted, or sewed, or been in the garden pulling weeds, even if only for 15 minutes.
I love this life we're living now, and feel as if am better better able to give to and care for others when feeling fulfilled.
Time to paint!
Because I've got a lotta love to give.
Wednesday, September 5, 2018
Chill
At times, when life is overwhelming and flying by (wait, isn't that all the time?!), one would not know how obsessive I am about keeping things together and organized. Currently there are a few piles about the house: magazines for a quiet afternoon (yeah right), Seven's vet bills and pill schedules (I made calendars with time stamps for each med he's on so we know what he needs to take, how many, and exactly when), bills to pay, and even just general paperwork to look at and then toss. Seriously though, I am forever reorganizing things; life, work, none of it is ever perfectly organized. While there is a joy that comes with this obsession, there is also a load of stress and anxiety as well.
Keeping things tidy includes keeping shoes and clothes, accessories, free of lint and even specks of dust. Imagine my horror when an employee at a grocery store swiped my white leather purse with his permanent marker. Thankfully I was able to send the purse in to Coach to have it tidied up. But whew boy, I was livid.
Shoes get dirty. I mean, you walk around in them and they protect your feet from getting wet and dirty. But if my shoes get dirty, I panic. My grey Vans slip ons had a branch fall on the top while at the Seattle Center for Brick Con earlier this year and the small bit of a brown mark it left almost made my head explode. Ryan, who's even more obsessive about keeping things tidy that I am, just said, "meh, shoes get dirty." Seriously Mr. Clean. [insert side eye here]
Basically, if things get out of order, get dirty, get messy, I am thrown off and my head might just explode. This is really awesome when there's a kid in the mix. It has been such a learning curve, like, seriously steep! Trying to remain calm when a four year old is just being a four year old is my daily challenge. Well, one of them at least. And yet, tonight, P wiped my new pants (that I spent too much on) with his chocolate covered ice cream cone, leaving a brown swipe just above the knee. After dinner I asked him to keep his hands to himself as the fried lumpia left his hands super greasy. He touched my pants and left a grease mark. Typically, I would have a mini flip out episode. But I'm realizing lately that I just need to chill. We all just need to chill. I can wash the pants. They are just clothes that will get worn and worn down eventually. Life is too short. And there's so much more to life that being spotless. Life is messy. And that's what makes it interesting.
Here's to letting things get a bit more messy and not freaking out about it constantly.
Because I got a lotta love to give.
Keeping things tidy includes keeping shoes and clothes, accessories, free of lint and even specks of dust. Imagine my horror when an employee at a grocery store swiped my white leather purse with his permanent marker. Thankfully I was able to send the purse in to Coach to have it tidied up. But whew boy, I was livid.
Shoes get dirty. I mean, you walk around in them and they protect your feet from getting wet and dirty. But if my shoes get dirty, I panic. My grey Vans slip ons had a branch fall on the top while at the Seattle Center for Brick Con earlier this year and the small bit of a brown mark it left almost made my head explode. Ryan, who's even more obsessive about keeping things tidy that I am, just said, "meh, shoes get dirty." Seriously Mr. Clean. [insert side eye here]
Basically, if things get out of order, get dirty, get messy, I am thrown off and my head might just explode. This is really awesome when there's a kid in the mix. It has been such a learning curve, like, seriously steep! Trying to remain calm when a four year old is just being a four year old is my daily challenge. Well, one of them at least. And yet, tonight, P wiped my new pants (that I spent too much on) with his chocolate covered ice cream cone, leaving a brown swipe just above the knee. After dinner I asked him to keep his hands to himself as the fried lumpia left his hands super greasy. He touched my pants and left a grease mark. Typically, I would have a mini flip out episode. But I'm realizing lately that I just need to chill. We all just need to chill. I can wash the pants. They are just clothes that will get worn and worn down eventually. Life is too short. And there's so much more to life that being spotless. Life is messy. And that's what makes it interesting.
Here's to letting things get a bit more messy and not freaking out about it constantly.
Because I got a lotta love to give.
Tuesday, August 28, 2018
Furbaby
As we started to settle back in to daily life after vacation last week, one of our pups presented with a super lumpy leg and a bad limp. We got him to the vet immediately, and I remember us joking with the tech on drop off that we can just wait for their call, no rush. He's not dying, haha! Wrong. Turns out our beautiful pup, Seven, has osteosarcoma, a very aggressive bone cancer. Two days later we were at the specialists to discuss amputation and chemo. We discussed every aspect we could think of. Seven's quality of life with and without surgery, as well as his quality of life with and without chemo. Cost is a factor to think about, too, as amputations aren't cheap. And neither is the subsequent chemo. In all of this, one thing I'm so grateful for is the vet specialist saying, "you are doing the right thing; no matter what you do." In other words, even if we chose to just keep Seven as pain free as possible for the next month, that's a good option for him. I was fine and together up until he said that.
This is where some may chime with, "well, he's just a dog." Ya, he's not a human child. And I will tell you that there is definitely a different feeling to this than losing a child. Trust me. But Seven's still our furbaby. He's a part of our family and our love and compassion for him, even if just an animal, drive us to do everything we can. And fortunately, we can afford all that that entails. We're hopeful his next year will be a great one, even though it's only one more year.
My heart has dealt with such grief before this. It's as if I have already bolstered myself up to weather the worst as the worst has already happened. Nothing can really compare. I think what I feel most right now, though, is shock. Before all of this in just the past week, I had been stealing myself for Bear to be our first furbaby to pass. She's older, a pure-bred, crotchety. I seriously thought that she was going to be the first to leave us and I had been trying to imagine how Seven would be, how P would understand her absence. Instead it's our younger mixed-breed pup that is suddenly leaving us too soon. I guess no matter how old, dogs leave us too soon as they never live as long as we do. And sadly, as Ryan pointed out, P may not really remember Seven. That broke me a bit, too. It's so sweet to see Seven follow P around and lick and sniff him.
What's really hard to imagine at the moment, though, is how broken Seven will be coming out of this. I so regret not taking him to more dog parks and open fields. Any time he's "escaped", he's just been lying in an open field, happy as a clam, soaking in all the sunshine he can get. We took him to the dog park last Saturday for one last four-legged hoorah, but he just tired so quickly. He had already stopped using the bad leg (practice, right?), and seemed a bit wary and nervous instead of excited and wanting to explore. I know he can be okay as a three-legged pup, I just can't imagine him like that yet. As not whole any more. It hurts my heart a bit. Even knowing it's so good that the cancer has been removed, I just hope he understands and can still be so happy and playful and goofy.
Finally, what will Bear think when Seven's gone? She's a bit prissy and thinks he needs to submit to her constantly. Will she be relieved to have us all to herself again? Or will she be mopey and lack energy like just before we got Seven? He became her baby, sort of, and really woke up her energetic and playful side again.
As for now, I've cried. I've felt so anxious, out of sorts, worried. I love Sev to pieces, but honestly, it's different. Maybe because we go in to welcoming a pup in to a family knowing full well they will leave us before we know it. We still get dogs despite knowing they will die before us. Maybe that's what sets it apart from losing a child, even if your pet is your baby. Can it be devastating and crushing? Heck yes. But, please don't compare losing a pet to someone losing their child. Seriously, I love Sev and it saddens me that he's going through all of this, but it is not the same.
On the bright side, he is still here and supposed to come home tomorrow, and I so look forward to having him back home and safe with us for now.
Because, even if he's just a dog, we've got a lotta love to give.
Thursday, July 26, 2018
Fears
This post has started and stopped so many times over the years. I just went through the most recent drafts of this blog, and several, even when titled differently, could all be categorized or generalized under this topic: fear. It's what drives my parenting style, my anxiety, my daily routines, even my ability to sleep (or not).
Back in December 2016 (memories!), on the drive home from daycare P started asking the question, "We going home tonight, Mama?" Of course, the answer is 99% of the time yes (the other 1% being a random errand on the way home or a spontaneous visit elsewhere, but still then, yes because we'll be home afterward). And yet, when answering him, fear would grip my heart and I'd have this bone-chilling downward spiraling mental crisis of "oh my god, what if we don't make it home tonight? What if we get in to a car accident and I'm killed or P's killed?" It is so incredibly hard to choke down the fear as if it isn't there, and smile and move on like all is wonderful in the world. I don't even know at what age I could start acknowledging outwardly to P to nothing in life is guaranteed. It'll happen at some age, but even now I can't go over that thought process with him. I can't break his heart and possibly shatter his world just because mine is breaking on a daily basis. Once your world has been shattered by tragedy, life always feels as if it's about to end.
Not long after this started I had this gut-wrenching nightmare about losing P. Ryan, P, and I were running up a hill rushing to get somewhere, maybe to a car. And we went just around a corner. Of course being so little, P was slower and go behind. Ryan and I turn around, and P's gone. Not just lagging behind, but completely disappeared, gone. The panic that enveloped me in the nightmare woke me from my sleep and left me shaking.
Now, many people have a nightmare, think about how odd and scary it was, and then shrug it off. I can't just shrug off nightmares about loss. Especially after losing Korbin. It's not the loss itself, really, but the fact that I had a nightmare at about 18weeks with Korbin that he was suddenly being surgically removed from my body too soon. Ya, six weeks later that happened. In real life. I was so terrified at 18weeks, but everyone around me said it was just a nightmare. It means I'm connecting with my child. Mine meant more. Unfortunately. I don't take nightmares lightly.
Needless to say, P doesn't leave my sight or go out of earshot. If I'm taking a shower upstairs, he has to be upstairs playing in his room and I have to be able to hear his toys or I panic. Because what if someone comes to the door and he unlocks it and is gone just like that?? There are so many possible ways to lose him, an insane amount of what ifs in life that instill fear on a daily basis. It makes it hard to drop him off at daycare and trust that, even though he's with family, he'll be alive and there when we go to pick him up. It's hard to trust that when he stays the night at a grandparents that he won't suddenly jump in to a nearby pond or fall off a rock ledge (why are kids so reckless and fearless?! no wonder I have white hairs already), or get shot. And on the flip side, the thought of him losing Ryan or myself grips me, too. He still doesn't fully understand death. What if he asks for me after I die and Ryan literally can't bring me to him to soothe him? God it's so heart wrenching. And it happens. I've become desperate to insure that it doesn't happen. I'm now so risk adverse I've lost my spontaneity in life, I don't take leaps. Everything is crazy calculated and judged to be sure it is the best and safest move possible so as not to disrupt what bit of harmony exists right now.
This seriously has altered my perception of parenting, and most definitely my parenting style. On the one hand, I'm strict in where he can be and who he can be with. And on the other I'm so lenient because I just want him to feel the most joy possible all the time. I'm strict from paranoia yet lenient from wanting him to feel so incredibly loved and cherished always. It's exhausting, and Ryan and I disagree often on how to handle discipline because of this. P is so innocent, and yet is also a four year old now who knows how to manipulate me to get what he wants. And because I'm so afraid we're about to die, I don't want our last moments together to be strained. One may think, but living life always on the positive side is the best way. Except when raising a child, boundaries are important and need to be adhered to for development and understanding during growth and maturation. It's a difficult balance to master, and I have yet to master it!
My risk aversion has also impacted what brings me joy. We used to drive cars a lot and do silly (read: stupid) things in them. Now I panic going barely over the speed limit let alone cutting through traffic. I used to LOVE horror movies, especially the ones that mess with your mind and make you think. Now I can't even watch Home Alone 2 as the panic starts to set in from the get go as Kevin's parents run away from him at the airport and he gets separated from them completely. I had to stop watching the movie despite knowing the sappy happy ending already from watching it so many times before.
I used to think I knew exhaustion and the need for coffee to get me through each day. I had no fucking clue. Becoming a loss parent has changed me. Becoming a parent has changed me. Thank goodness for therapy and caffeine. And chocolate. And most importantly, for getting to have the presence of P in our lives after losing Korbin. The balance is in there somewhere. Some days I even feel like I nailed it.
Because I got a lotta love to give.
Back in December 2016 (memories!), on the drive home from daycare P started asking the question, "We going home tonight, Mama?" Of course, the answer is 99% of the time yes (the other 1% being a random errand on the way home or a spontaneous visit elsewhere, but still then, yes because we'll be home afterward). And yet, when answering him, fear would grip my heart and I'd have this bone-chilling downward spiraling mental crisis of "oh my god, what if we don't make it home tonight? What if we get in to a car accident and I'm killed or P's killed?" It is so incredibly hard to choke down the fear as if it isn't there, and smile and move on like all is wonderful in the world. I don't even know at what age I could start acknowledging outwardly to P to nothing in life is guaranteed. It'll happen at some age, but even now I can't go over that thought process with him. I can't break his heart and possibly shatter his world just because mine is breaking on a daily basis. Once your world has been shattered by tragedy, life always feels as if it's about to end.
Not long after this started I had this gut-wrenching nightmare about losing P. Ryan, P, and I were running up a hill rushing to get somewhere, maybe to a car. And we went just around a corner. Of course being so little, P was slower and go behind. Ryan and I turn around, and P's gone. Not just lagging behind, but completely disappeared, gone. The panic that enveloped me in the nightmare woke me from my sleep and left me shaking.
Now, many people have a nightmare, think about how odd and scary it was, and then shrug it off. I can't just shrug off nightmares about loss. Especially after losing Korbin. It's not the loss itself, really, but the fact that I had a nightmare at about 18weeks with Korbin that he was suddenly being surgically removed from my body too soon. Ya, six weeks later that happened. In real life. I was so terrified at 18weeks, but everyone around me said it was just a nightmare. It means I'm connecting with my child. Mine meant more. Unfortunately. I don't take nightmares lightly.
Needless to say, P doesn't leave my sight or go out of earshot. If I'm taking a shower upstairs, he has to be upstairs playing in his room and I have to be able to hear his toys or I panic. Because what if someone comes to the door and he unlocks it and is gone just like that?? There are so many possible ways to lose him, an insane amount of what ifs in life that instill fear on a daily basis. It makes it hard to drop him off at daycare and trust that, even though he's with family, he'll be alive and there when we go to pick him up. It's hard to trust that when he stays the night at a grandparents that he won't suddenly jump in to a nearby pond or fall off a rock ledge (why are kids so reckless and fearless?! no wonder I have white hairs already), or get shot. And on the flip side, the thought of him losing Ryan or myself grips me, too. He still doesn't fully understand death. What if he asks for me after I die and Ryan literally can't bring me to him to soothe him? God it's so heart wrenching. And it happens. I've become desperate to insure that it doesn't happen. I'm now so risk adverse I've lost my spontaneity in life, I don't take leaps. Everything is crazy calculated and judged to be sure it is the best and safest move possible so as not to disrupt what bit of harmony exists right now.
This seriously has altered my perception of parenting, and most definitely my parenting style. On the one hand, I'm strict in where he can be and who he can be with. And on the other I'm so lenient because I just want him to feel the most joy possible all the time. I'm strict from paranoia yet lenient from wanting him to feel so incredibly loved and cherished always. It's exhausting, and Ryan and I disagree often on how to handle discipline because of this. P is so innocent, and yet is also a four year old now who knows how to manipulate me to get what he wants. And because I'm so afraid we're about to die, I don't want our last moments together to be strained. One may think, but living life always on the positive side is the best way. Except when raising a child, boundaries are important and need to be adhered to for development and understanding during growth and maturation. It's a difficult balance to master, and I have yet to master it!
My risk aversion has also impacted what brings me joy. We used to drive cars a lot and do silly (read: stupid) things in them. Now I panic going barely over the speed limit let alone cutting through traffic. I used to LOVE horror movies, especially the ones that mess with your mind and make you think. Now I can't even watch Home Alone 2 as the panic starts to set in from the get go as Kevin's parents run away from him at the airport and he gets separated from them completely. I had to stop watching the movie despite knowing the sappy happy ending already from watching it so many times before.
I used to think I knew exhaustion and the need for coffee to get me through each day. I had no fucking clue. Becoming a loss parent has changed me. Becoming a parent has changed me. Thank goodness for therapy and caffeine. And chocolate. And most importantly, for getting to have the presence of P in our lives after losing Korbin. The balance is in there somewhere. Some days I even feel like I nailed it.
Because I got a lotta love to give.
Wednesday, June 13, 2018
6 years
Six years.
SIX.
I started to touch on this in my last post, but we've definitely hit the period of "nobody really cares any more" as we should just be "over it" by now. I can list out on one hand the few people who wished K a happy birthday (by text, or sharing a memory on Facebook). And honestly, I can't say enough how incredible those wishes were. Are they necessary? Heck no. But that doesn't mean they meant nothing. They seriously meant the world to me.
Unfortunately, what hit me more was the realization that my emotional state has hit a new cross roads. And not for me, but for my presence in society. From therapy (again, my last post), my grief journey is expected to be never ending and my emotions will still fall within the categories of anger, denial, and sadness or depression at times. Most of the time I'm okay. But the past few months have been a fog of depression. One that I didn't even realize I was in until it started to lift last week after some hard talks and lots of crying with Ryan.
Because grief isn't accepted by society, many put up a steel wall to protect themselves. A boundary that keeps them together when they're falling apart on the inside. This works well, but really only when you don't have to deal with other people outside your immediate family. It's a protection method, a way to keep the tears and deep sadness from oozing out of every pour of our bodies. But what others see is a cold hearted bitch who is angry all the time. The feminist in me says this is because women are supposed to be soft and nice and approachable and not have opinions or feel frustrated when they're being trampled on or disrespected while men are allowed to be gruff and direct. Just in that description, there's a huge difference between the same actions and how they're perceived. For men, simply direct, maybe rough, but getting the point across, so acceptable. For women, bitchy. Is this an excuse for how I'm feeling toward the world right now? Maybe, but it's literally how I'm feeling. Just in the groups of people I see day to day, the men are allowed their off days with cautions of "ooh, don't approach him today, he's really angry" and making a joke of it. Why can't women have an off day and then just move forward once it passes? I digress.
The past few months. I honestly could not tell you what life has been like except that if a picture were to be drawn to represent it, it would literally just be a dark grey cloud. And stress. Lots of stress from work. I'm still blown away by someone asking me how I'm doing, me opening up a bit, and the person just saying, "okay!" and walking away. Like, could you have talked to me for a few minutes? Is it that horrible to reach out to people who maybe aren't doing so hot? So many people withdraw when someone's having a bad day, month, whatever. That's the opposite of what they should be doing. Sadly, Kate Spade and Anthony Bourdain are perfect examples of this. Appeared fine, but then missed a meal or two (in Anthony Bourdain's case) and nobody checked on him soon enough. It's tough to portray to the world on a daily basis that life is dandy 100% of the time. Exhausting, really.
And that's the crossroads I'm at now. Six years out, and the grief still hits me hard at times. The hardest time is the spring time leading up the Korbin's birthday. Couple that with some major stressors at work, and you've got a not so happy camper with that steel facade built real high. I asked Ryan after all of our hard chats last week, how much do you keep pretending just to appease others? It feels like denying so much that has happened, that's existed. Right now I'm feeling really guilty that we didn't have a memorial or a funeral for Korbin. I mentioned hearing of a mutual acquaintance's loss of one of their children (still birth, possibly?) to a family member, and this person expressed sorrow at the tough time the family has had, but they're doing okay thanks to lots of support from their own family. When I mentioned that I get how hard it can be, they looked at me kinda funny, like, how would you know? And then said, "oh, yeah. Yeah, that's right." But in more of a tone of really, how could you know? He was born, but so many don't recognize that. Some friends who had a child very early (a micro preemie) were shocked to hear K actually has a birth certificate. He was born alive and expected to survive. Till he didn't.
Maybe a funeral would have allowed him to be acknowledged as someone who had a presence in this world.
The only people that it truly matters to get it are Ryan, P, and me. His parents, his brother. Nobody else needs to get it. But man, it cuts deep when people don't even recognize it. The months of March, April, and May were a fog. Now that the fog has lifted, I'm seeing how much I struggled through, remembering all too often feeling irked by others. A great quote, that I'm going to paraphrase, tuned me in to recognizing how much I was struggling: if one person is bothering you, it's them. But if everyone is bothering you, the problem is you. Attitude adjustment, accepting demotions, sunshine, whatever it takes. Somehow, I've got to pick myself up by the boot straps and hold my head high and pretend like life is a-okay. Never denying anything.
Because I got a lotta love to give.
SIX.
I started to touch on this in my last post, but we've definitely hit the period of "nobody really cares any more" as we should just be "over it" by now. I can list out on one hand the few people who wished K a happy birthday (by text, or sharing a memory on Facebook). And honestly, I can't say enough how incredible those wishes were. Are they necessary? Heck no. But that doesn't mean they meant nothing. They seriously meant the world to me.
Unfortunately, what hit me more was the realization that my emotional state has hit a new cross roads. And not for me, but for my presence in society. From therapy (again, my last post), my grief journey is expected to be never ending and my emotions will still fall within the categories of anger, denial, and sadness or depression at times. Most of the time I'm okay. But the past few months have been a fog of depression. One that I didn't even realize I was in until it started to lift last week after some hard talks and lots of crying with Ryan.
Because grief isn't accepted by society, many put up a steel wall to protect themselves. A boundary that keeps them together when they're falling apart on the inside. This works well, but really only when you don't have to deal with other people outside your immediate family. It's a protection method, a way to keep the tears and deep sadness from oozing out of every pour of our bodies. But what others see is a cold hearted bitch who is angry all the time. The feminist in me says this is because women are supposed to be soft and nice and approachable and not have opinions or feel frustrated when they're being trampled on or disrespected while men are allowed to be gruff and direct. Just in that description, there's a huge difference between the same actions and how they're perceived. For men, simply direct, maybe rough, but getting the point across, so acceptable. For women, bitchy. Is this an excuse for how I'm feeling toward the world right now? Maybe, but it's literally how I'm feeling. Just in the groups of people I see day to day, the men are allowed their off days with cautions of "ooh, don't approach him today, he's really angry" and making a joke of it. Why can't women have an off day and then just move forward once it passes? I digress.
The past few months. I honestly could not tell you what life has been like except that if a picture were to be drawn to represent it, it would literally just be a dark grey cloud. And stress. Lots of stress from work. I'm still blown away by someone asking me how I'm doing, me opening up a bit, and the person just saying, "okay!" and walking away. Like, could you have talked to me for a few minutes? Is it that horrible to reach out to people who maybe aren't doing so hot? So many people withdraw when someone's having a bad day, month, whatever. That's the opposite of what they should be doing. Sadly, Kate Spade and Anthony Bourdain are perfect examples of this. Appeared fine, but then missed a meal or two (in Anthony Bourdain's case) and nobody checked on him soon enough. It's tough to portray to the world on a daily basis that life is dandy 100% of the time. Exhausting, really.
And that's the crossroads I'm at now. Six years out, and the grief still hits me hard at times. The hardest time is the spring time leading up the Korbin's birthday. Couple that with some major stressors at work, and you've got a not so happy camper with that steel facade built real high. I asked Ryan after all of our hard chats last week, how much do you keep pretending just to appease others? It feels like denying so much that has happened, that's existed. Right now I'm feeling really guilty that we didn't have a memorial or a funeral for Korbin. I mentioned hearing of a mutual acquaintance's loss of one of their children (still birth, possibly?) to a family member, and this person expressed sorrow at the tough time the family has had, but they're doing okay thanks to lots of support from their own family. When I mentioned that I get how hard it can be, they looked at me kinda funny, like, how would you know? And then said, "oh, yeah. Yeah, that's right." But in more of a tone of really, how could you know? He was born, but so many don't recognize that. Some friends who had a child very early (a micro preemie) were shocked to hear K actually has a birth certificate. He was born alive and expected to survive. Till he didn't.
Maybe a funeral would have allowed him to be acknowledged as someone who had a presence in this world.
The only people that it truly matters to get it are Ryan, P, and me. His parents, his brother. Nobody else needs to get it. But man, it cuts deep when people don't even recognize it. The months of March, April, and May were a fog. Now that the fog has lifted, I'm seeing how much I struggled through, remembering all too often feeling irked by others. A great quote, that I'm going to paraphrase, tuned me in to recognizing how much I was struggling: if one person is bothering you, it's them. But if everyone is bothering you, the problem is you. Attitude adjustment, accepting demotions, sunshine, whatever it takes. Somehow, I've got to pick myself up by the boot straps and hold my head high and pretend like life is a-okay. Never denying anything.
Because I got a lotta love to give.
Friday, May 25, 2018
Maps
My therapist went over the map of grief with me just a few sessions in to our time together last year, it hangs on a board near the kitchen where I can pass by and see it every single day. Basically, you have acceptance in the middle, and it is surrounded by feelings such as depression/sadness, envy/jealousy, anger, longing, etc. As life keeps going, I am moving throughout this map, sometimes sitting between two feelings like envy and anger, and then shooting over to longing, bouncing over to sadness. With each change or shift I may or may not pass through acceptance. This is life daily, monthly, yearly.
The thing that others just don't get, is that in a grief journey, one doesn't end up in acceptance. It's not an end to the journey, but simply a phase that is felt from time to time. As it's not an end, or even a goal necessarily, the feelings of sadness, longing, and even anger are feelings that I will feel off and on for the rest of my life. I may feel them for a minute or for months at a time. It may appear unexplainable to others, but for me, it is completely justifiable, and it is who I am now. Since June 2012. And it's not going away.
In support group (which I haven't attended in forever and maybe need to go to a couple times in the coming months), we all understand each others grief and actions from our grief, even years out from losses. I may be handling everything just fine, but then the slightest trigger will set off a cascade of emotions that I struggle to keep in check. Others in group have complained how family members, friends, even close coworkers who seemed to understand in the early years, begin to wonder when they'll finally be over their loss and just move on. We've all gasped at how disrespectful and uncaring these people have been to our fellow DBC members (a group I wish no one had to join), and I'm sure many, like me, in early years after loss have felt relieved that those immediately surrounding us have not treated us this way. That we've still been allowed our new normal.
Sadly, it seems even my allowed normal has reached it's perceived end point in others eyes. Thankfully, not everyone I hold close to me seems to feel this way about me, but unfortunately, some of the people I see and interact with nearly every day are increasingly making it more and more obvious that they think I'm done grieving, and need to just move on. And I honestly don't know where to go from here. Until now, they've been so supportive, so accepting of who I have become. And yet suddenly, the me I have become is no longer acceptable and harsh changes need to happen in their eyes. They just don't get it. Hopefully they never will.
Everyone's grief journey is different. Some steal away all emotion and become hard as a rock. Some can't hide every emotion they feel. Navigating society and what's accepted as normal is difficult regardless of how one walks through their own grief journey. Especially as society doesn't accept grief as okay.
Sometimes moving forward is difficult. And sometimes it means accepting big and sudden changes.
Moving forward currently is proving to be extremely difficult. But I just have to take life one day at a time. One foot in front of the other.
Because I got a lotta love to give.
The thing that others just don't get, is that in a grief journey, one doesn't end up in acceptance. It's not an end to the journey, but simply a phase that is felt from time to time. As it's not an end, or even a goal necessarily, the feelings of sadness, longing, and even anger are feelings that I will feel off and on for the rest of my life. I may feel them for a minute or for months at a time. It may appear unexplainable to others, but for me, it is completely justifiable, and it is who I am now. Since June 2012. And it's not going away.
In support group (which I haven't attended in forever and maybe need to go to a couple times in the coming months), we all understand each others grief and actions from our grief, even years out from losses. I may be handling everything just fine, but then the slightest trigger will set off a cascade of emotions that I struggle to keep in check. Others in group have complained how family members, friends, even close coworkers who seemed to understand in the early years, begin to wonder when they'll finally be over their loss and just move on. We've all gasped at how disrespectful and uncaring these people have been to our fellow DBC members (a group I wish no one had to join), and I'm sure many, like me, in early years after loss have felt relieved that those immediately surrounding us have not treated us this way. That we've still been allowed our new normal.
Sadly, it seems even my allowed normal has reached it's perceived end point in others eyes. Thankfully, not everyone I hold close to me seems to feel this way about me, but unfortunately, some of the people I see and interact with nearly every day are increasingly making it more and more obvious that they think I'm done grieving, and need to just move on. And I honestly don't know where to go from here. Until now, they've been so supportive, so accepting of who I have become. And yet suddenly, the me I have become is no longer acceptable and harsh changes need to happen in their eyes. They just don't get it. Hopefully they never will.
Everyone's grief journey is different. Some steal away all emotion and become hard as a rock. Some can't hide every emotion they feel. Navigating society and what's accepted as normal is difficult regardless of how one walks through their own grief journey. Especially as society doesn't accept grief as okay.
Sometimes moving forward is difficult. And sometimes it means accepting big and sudden changes.
Moving forward currently is proving to be extremely difficult. But I just have to take life one day at a time. One foot in front of the other.
Because I got a lotta love to give.
Thursday, May 3, 2018
Support
As we near the six year mark of Korbin's passing, my emotional state has definitely taken a nose dive. I've mentioned this before, but spring time is the hardest. Despite the outside being so full of lush, green life, my mind mostly just wanders to the upcoming date that is Korbin's anniversary of his passing. Thankfully this spring has been lighter than last year's, which was so exhaustingly dark and rainy. There's been more light to counteract the darkness that weighs over me. And I think this helped me be a light to another couple's darkness from their recent loss.
Before seeing a patient or a couple for their transfer (putting embryos back in to the uterus), we do a quick look through their chart to be familiar with their history. Have they had a transfer before? Was it successful? Is this their first? Their fifth? In the smallest amount of details, we can gage much of their mental and emotional state and how much time we'll be spending with each particular patient. In the past, if we knew a patient had had a similar loss to my loss of Korbin, I had avoided the transfer. The emotional connection has been much to strong for me to even be able to function. The first time we came across one that I had originally volunteered for, I had to excuse myself to recover. And I didn't even do the transfer. Just reading the patient's story breaks my heart. And I'll never forget that couple.
Today, I was it for doing transfers. There were no other options as my coworker who could also do them was doing the difficult ICSI case for the afternoon. I didn't think much of doing the transfers at this point, and saw that the first patient's had had a positive pregnancy test, and one long enough ago to have had a child. Going back further, the first note that jumped out to me is one of expressing condolences for their loss. My heart stopped. Shit. I had to get it together and go talk to these patients, even though I was about to break down myself. Somehow I managed that and walked in and introduced myself. Each couple responds differently. There are those that have had negative after negative after negative and still sit their smiling with excitement about this transfer and possibility. Then there are those who don't even want to talk to you they are so angry with their lot in life (understandably so). This couple was bubbly, but emotional as well. I acknowledged that this is a bit emotional. The husband said, "well, a lot emotional." And I couldn't stop myself but found myself saying that yes, of course it is, and I can understand as I lost my first son. And that I'm sorry, I wasn't trying to make light of their emotional state. The very next question from the husband, as they both broke down, "does it get any easier?" And suddenly I was the one 5+ years out helping these parents in their fresh, new anguish. The self blame, the need for counseling and therapy, support groups, time, we talked about all of it. And in such a short time. My heart goes out to them, and I even said a prayer as I loaded the catheter, "please God, let this be positive for them."
This new experience in my grief journey has definitely left me a bit drained, but also healed in a way. It hurts, god damn it hurts so bad still. But I'm okay. And I can tell someone who feels it so raw and fresh that it will be okay, even when it still hurts so bad. That there can be hope. We talked about P a little bit, and how being part of this shitty group changes the type of parent you are and how you parent. But that's okay too. And it doesn't mean you were a bad parent, but again, that self blame...that's what therapy's for, right?
For me, this was definitely a huge step forward in my emotional capabilities at work. I never thought I'd see the day where I could do a transfer with another loss parent and step away feeling okay, an emotional mess, but okay. And I have done one just once before, knowingly, that sapped me of every ounce of energy I had that day. I was done. But not this time. Time really does heal. So here's hoping this continues, that there's more emotional growth in this new step in my grief journey.
Because I got a lotta love to give.
Before seeing a patient or a couple for their transfer (putting embryos back in to the uterus), we do a quick look through their chart to be familiar with their history. Have they had a transfer before? Was it successful? Is this their first? Their fifth? In the smallest amount of details, we can gage much of their mental and emotional state and how much time we'll be spending with each particular patient. In the past, if we knew a patient had had a similar loss to my loss of Korbin, I had avoided the transfer. The emotional connection has been much to strong for me to even be able to function. The first time we came across one that I had originally volunteered for, I had to excuse myself to recover. And I didn't even do the transfer. Just reading the patient's story breaks my heart. And I'll never forget that couple.
Today, I was it for doing transfers. There were no other options as my coworker who could also do them was doing the difficult ICSI case for the afternoon. I didn't think much of doing the transfers at this point, and saw that the first patient's had had a positive pregnancy test, and one long enough ago to have had a child. Going back further, the first note that jumped out to me is one of expressing condolences for their loss. My heart stopped. Shit. I had to get it together and go talk to these patients, even though I was about to break down myself. Somehow I managed that and walked in and introduced myself. Each couple responds differently. There are those that have had negative after negative after negative and still sit their smiling with excitement about this transfer and possibility. Then there are those who don't even want to talk to you they are so angry with their lot in life (understandably so). This couple was bubbly, but emotional as well. I acknowledged that this is a bit emotional. The husband said, "well, a lot emotional." And I couldn't stop myself but found myself saying that yes, of course it is, and I can understand as I lost my first son. And that I'm sorry, I wasn't trying to make light of their emotional state. The very next question from the husband, as they both broke down, "does it get any easier?" And suddenly I was the one 5+ years out helping these parents in their fresh, new anguish. The self blame, the need for counseling and therapy, support groups, time, we talked about all of it. And in such a short time. My heart goes out to them, and I even said a prayer as I loaded the catheter, "please God, let this be positive for them."
This new experience in my grief journey has definitely left me a bit drained, but also healed in a way. It hurts, god damn it hurts so bad still. But I'm okay. And I can tell someone who feels it so raw and fresh that it will be okay, even when it still hurts so bad. That there can be hope. We talked about P a little bit, and how being part of this shitty group changes the type of parent you are and how you parent. But that's okay too. And it doesn't mean you were a bad parent, but again, that self blame...that's what therapy's for, right?
For me, this was definitely a huge step forward in my emotional capabilities at work. I never thought I'd see the day where I could do a transfer with another loss parent and step away feeling okay, an emotional mess, but okay. And I have done one just once before, knowingly, that sapped me of every ounce of energy I had that day. I was done. But not this time. Time really does heal. So here's hoping this continues, that there's more emotional growth in this new step in my grief journey.
Because I got a lotta love to give.
Friday, March 23, 2018
Distraction
It started with Bejeweled. The need for a constant distraction. I'd play the game over and over and over again to keep my mind off of my ever present anguish after losing Korbin. As my high score plateaued, this eventually morphed in to checking my emails constantly. Work, gmail, hotmail. They didn't update fast enough. Then Facebook became the best distraction from the constant pain.
Despite the near constant updating found in Facebook, I would actually go through it constantly enough that at times, it wouldn't update. There wouldn't be a single change when I'd hit refresh as I'd seen everything in my newsfeed already. Maybe this is why I started friending people I barely know, instead of keeping it to just close friends and family. I just need something to distract me. TV is not usually enough, and movies don't generally distract enough either. Facebook for a time was just enough, but only for so long.
What's resulted, however, is the bad habit that, when I'm feeling overly emotional or anxious, I just go to Facebook and scroll, and scroll, and scroll. It's become a habit that needs to be broken, and as much as Ryan would tease me about my Facebook addiction, I never really saw it as that until a friend posted on Facebook recently, "What am I looking for?" This is honestly one of the best questions I've seen as of late, and it's one I am asking myself a lot of the time when I find myself turning to Facebook. Because, of course, I still use it as a distraction. In reality, it's just a major time suck that keeps me from being productive.
These days I am in a better place both mentally and emotionally, and yet the habit persists. Even when an article pops up that sounds interesting, I simply open it and save it for later. And yet, I miss reading. Like whole articles and books. So why don't I just read? Or even sew, or sketch, or paint? These are all things I generally feel I don't have time for, and yet, there's always time for scrolling through Facebook. There's always time to be distracted, even from the anxiety that has now developed. It's funny, too, because anxiety gives me nervous energy that makes me need to DO something, and there are most definitely better avenues for using this energy than scrolling through Facebook.
As my grief journey morphs and I find myself in better places, better moods even, Facebook is becoming something that I don't need any more. It's just a matter of breaking the bad habit and moving forward with better ways to distract myself. More productive ways that are fulfilling more so than distracting. Attempting to fill the void at least feels better than just trying to distract myself from focusing on it. It will never go away, so I guess there's a lot of filling to do over the course of the rest of my life, however long that may be. And there are so many productive ways to fill it that benefit others first and not myself.
I can't imagine a better way to distract myself. My family, my friends, and helping strangers are the best distractions to the ever present pain that is the loss of Korbin, so my time is best spent with them and helping others.
Because I got a lotta love to give.
Despite the near constant updating found in Facebook, I would actually go through it constantly enough that at times, it wouldn't update. There wouldn't be a single change when I'd hit refresh as I'd seen everything in my newsfeed already. Maybe this is why I started friending people I barely know, instead of keeping it to just close friends and family. I just need something to distract me. TV is not usually enough, and movies don't generally distract enough either. Facebook for a time was just enough, but only for so long.
What's resulted, however, is the bad habit that, when I'm feeling overly emotional or anxious, I just go to Facebook and scroll, and scroll, and scroll. It's become a habit that needs to be broken, and as much as Ryan would tease me about my Facebook addiction, I never really saw it as that until a friend posted on Facebook recently, "What am I looking for?" This is honestly one of the best questions I've seen as of late, and it's one I am asking myself a lot of the time when I find myself turning to Facebook. Because, of course, I still use it as a distraction. In reality, it's just a major time suck that keeps me from being productive.
These days I am in a better place both mentally and emotionally, and yet the habit persists. Even when an article pops up that sounds interesting, I simply open it and save it for later. And yet, I miss reading. Like whole articles and books. So why don't I just read? Or even sew, or sketch, or paint? These are all things I generally feel I don't have time for, and yet, there's always time for scrolling through Facebook. There's always time to be distracted, even from the anxiety that has now developed. It's funny, too, because anxiety gives me nervous energy that makes me need to DO something, and there are most definitely better avenues for using this energy than scrolling through Facebook.
As my grief journey morphs and I find myself in better places, better moods even, Facebook is becoming something that I don't need any more. It's just a matter of breaking the bad habit and moving forward with better ways to distract myself. More productive ways that are fulfilling more so than distracting. Attempting to fill the void at least feels better than just trying to distract myself from focusing on it. It will never go away, so I guess there's a lot of filling to do over the course of the rest of my life, however long that may be. And there are so many productive ways to fill it that benefit others first and not myself.
I can't imagine a better way to distract myself. My family, my friends, and helping strangers are the best distractions to the ever present pain that is the loss of Korbin, so my time is best spent with them and helping others.
Because I got a lotta love to give.
Sunday, March 11, 2018
Paranoia
My anxiety often leads me down dark paths of paranoia, and this is one thing that brought me to therapy early last year. Now that I have tools to walk myself through these moments, they are just that, a passing moment. Before, they would become all consuming for days or weeks at a time. Did going to therapy stop these dark thoughts completely? No, and that's not the point. What's needed is ways to deal with the thoughts as they come so I can de-escalate myself and remain calm and functional.
For instance, today my mother-in-law watched P while I was at work. About half-way through the day I thought I'd check in on them. Before I could call or text, I noticed an alert on my apple watch saying that the front door had been locked recently. My next thought was wondering if I'd really locked it or not before leaving for work, after she had arrived in the early morning. My very next thought? A serial killer had let himself in, killed them both, as well as the dogs, and if I were able to check a video feed like P's baby monitor, I'd see P's lifeless and bloodied body in his bedroom. Yeah, that escalated quickly. The thoughts are quickly horrific, not likely, and they hit me like a sucker punch to my gut, taking the air out of my lungs. While I know these thoughts stem from losing Korbin and my deep-rooted fear of losing P too soon as well, I can't make them stop. What also fueled my awful thought pathway was seeing via our alarm system app how many times the front and back doors, as well as the garage door, had been opened and closed, locked and unlocked. It just didn't look right and I couldn't reason as to why they would have done that.
Before therapy, this scenario would have left me shaking with anxiety and worry, especially as I didn't hear from my mother-in-law immediately after calling and leaving a voicemail checking in. I'd have been unable to focus easily at work, and would become manic in a random, thoughtless project that "needed" to get done. In other words, I would just try my best to distract myself from my mounting worry, which only made it grow and grow.
Now, as difficult as it seems, and truly is, I actually take myself through the steps of what I'd do if my awful thoughts were reality. If I checked the baby monitor and saw P seemingly dead, what would I do? Leave work immediately with a text/voicemail to my boss. Call 911 as I headed to my car. Pray there was still life somewhere in that little body, in my mother-in-law's as well. Alert my neighbors. Call Ryan. Taking myself through an if-then type process quickly calms me, which helps me to better pass the time more productively as I can then focus on my work until I hear back that everything's great, they were just outside playing in the gorgeous weather we had today and her phone was inside.
My mind makes mountains out of mole hills daily. And though I can't stop it completely, I at least know how to handle it. Before therapy I was quickly going off the deep end of even possibly becoming psychotic from my worries and fears and anxieties. I needed help to control the random impulse thoughts that, really, every person has. Anxiety is part of nature, and it drives many species in their survival. But anxiety can also sometimes take complete control of you. It's why I crave the instant feed-back from a text reply or call back. I need to know and I need to know now. Unrealistic, of course, as life happens and people don't (and shouldn't) always have their phones on them. But, my reality has my phone glued to my hip for constant contact, especially with Ryan and anyone taking care of P in our absence.
I just need to know that everything is okay, all the time, and that P is still here with us.
Because I got a lotta love to give.
For instance, today my mother-in-law watched P while I was at work. About half-way through the day I thought I'd check in on them. Before I could call or text, I noticed an alert on my apple watch saying that the front door had been locked recently. My next thought was wondering if I'd really locked it or not before leaving for work, after she had arrived in the early morning. My very next thought? A serial killer had let himself in, killed them both, as well as the dogs, and if I were able to check a video feed like P's baby monitor, I'd see P's lifeless and bloodied body in his bedroom. Yeah, that escalated quickly. The thoughts are quickly horrific, not likely, and they hit me like a sucker punch to my gut, taking the air out of my lungs. While I know these thoughts stem from losing Korbin and my deep-rooted fear of losing P too soon as well, I can't make them stop. What also fueled my awful thought pathway was seeing via our alarm system app how many times the front and back doors, as well as the garage door, had been opened and closed, locked and unlocked. It just didn't look right and I couldn't reason as to why they would have done that.
Before therapy, this scenario would have left me shaking with anxiety and worry, especially as I didn't hear from my mother-in-law immediately after calling and leaving a voicemail checking in. I'd have been unable to focus easily at work, and would become manic in a random, thoughtless project that "needed" to get done. In other words, I would just try my best to distract myself from my mounting worry, which only made it grow and grow.
Now, as difficult as it seems, and truly is, I actually take myself through the steps of what I'd do if my awful thoughts were reality. If I checked the baby monitor and saw P seemingly dead, what would I do? Leave work immediately with a text/voicemail to my boss. Call 911 as I headed to my car. Pray there was still life somewhere in that little body, in my mother-in-law's as well. Alert my neighbors. Call Ryan. Taking myself through an if-then type process quickly calms me, which helps me to better pass the time more productively as I can then focus on my work until I hear back that everything's great, they were just outside playing in the gorgeous weather we had today and her phone was inside.
My mind makes mountains out of mole hills daily. And though I can't stop it completely, I at least know how to handle it. Before therapy I was quickly going off the deep end of even possibly becoming psychotic from my worries and fears and anxieties. I needed help to control the random impulse thoughts that, really, every person has. Anxiety is part of nature, and it drives many species in their survival. But anxiety can also sometimes take complete control of you. It's why I crave the instant feed-back from a text reply or call back. I need to know and I need to know now. Unrealistic, of course, as life happens and people don't (and shouldn't) always have their phones on them. But, my reality has my phone glued to my hip for constant contact, especially with Ryan and anyone taking care of P in our absence.
I just need to know that everything is okay, all the time, and that P is still here with us.
Because I got a lotta love to give.
Friday, March 2, 2018
Blessed
We are, what I'm sure many would consider, beyond blessed. Not only do we have a roof over our heads, but we have soooo much space under that roof. Not only do we have a full fridge, but at times we don't eat food fast enough and have to throw some in the compost. Or we've eaten so much we feel stuffed. Not only can we afford to pay our bills each month, but we put money in to savings and then have extra to spend on silly things. But, we didn't always have this. We have worked so hard, and continue to do so, to afford the basics and the extras. I want to say that I think we deserve the things we have because we worked so hard to get to this place in life, but I still feel guilty at times that we can have so much when others still have so little, if anything at all.
What I never want to do is brag or sound like we're bragging about the extra things we get to have these days. I'd so much rather we just be grateful for what we get to have, and that others can see and feel how grateful we are. And I do my best to be humble, to not be flashy or showy. Which is hard when some of the things we enjoy are larger, typically flashy. Like cars. Cars aren't cheap, and we love them. The aesthetics, the drive, etc. We'll probably always be buying the next best car. But it's also one of our hobbies.
I think what I've really struggled with as of late is how our economic status now affords us even more, and the "even more" tends to be free. For instance, we recently had the opportunity to test out a new system for a company, and to test it we were given a gift card every week to buy things. This lasted for months. Could we afford to buy things like packs of batteries or a new pan each week? Sure. We didn't need the gift cards, but it sure was awesome to get so much stuff (and stuff we actually wanted, key word, wanted...not needed) for free. But why isn't an opportunity like this available to disadvantaged people? Someone who can't afford to buy a couple of light bulbs when some go out in their apartment? Someone who would buy diapers, or formula instead of a few random baking utensils that haven't been touched in months. Instead, those who can do more than just afford the extra fun things are most likely to receive the opportunity to have things that aren't necessary for free. We accept them happily. But at times it definitely feels greedy. And I worry that we just perpetuate a system that only seeks to further separate the haves from the have nots.
But it's not so easy to just flip the system and have these opportunities available to those who have less. How do we choose who gets these opportunities? Sooo many people could benefit, and yet it's usually just a very small subset of people testing out the product.
It's ponderings like this that drive me to do more for those around me in my community and sometimes even worldwide. To give, and always think of those less fortunate than us. To wonder how I, my family, or even my friends, can do more. One small thing we are doing is collecting items for foster children in the area via P's birthday. This kid has so much, and he doesn't need anything more at this point. So this is something we can do for other kids his age who are in need. Because there is always more that can be done.
And because we got a lotta love to give.
What I never want to do is brag or sound like we're bragging about the extra things we get to have these days. I'd so much rather we just be grateful for what we get to have, and that others can see and feel how grateful we are. And I do my best to be humble, to not be flashy or showy. Which is hard when some of the things we enjoy are larger, typically flashy. Like cars. Cars aren't cheap, and we love them. The aesthetics, the drive, etc. We'll probably always be buying the next best car. But it's also one of our hobbies.
I think what I've really struggled with as of late is how our economic status now affords us even more, and the "even more" tends to be free. For instance, we recently had the opportunity to test out a new system for a company, and to test it we were given a gift card every week to buy things. This lasted for months. Could we afford to buy things like packs of batteries or a new pan each week? Sure. We didn't need the gift cards, but it sure was awesome to get so much stuff (and stuff we actually wanted, key word, wanted...not needed) for free. But why isn't an opportunity like this available to disadvantaged people? Someone who can't afford to buy a couple of light bulbs when some go out in their apartment? Someone who would buy diapers, or formula instead of a few random baking utensils that haven't been touched in months. Instead, those who can do more than just afford the extra fun things are most likely to receive the opportunity to have things that aren't necessary for free. We accept them happily. But at times it definitely feels greedy. And I worry that we just perpetuate a system that only seeks to further separate the haves from the have nots.
But it's not so easy to just flip the system and have these opportunities available to those who have less. How do we choose who gets these opportunities? Sooo many people could benefit, and yet it's usually just a very small subset of people testing out the product.
It's ponderings like this that drive me to do more for those around me in my community and sometimes even worldwide. To give, and always think of those less fortunate than us. To wonder how I, my family, or even my friends, can do more. One small thing we are doing is collecting items for foster children in the area via P's birthday. This kid has so much, and he doesn't need anything more at this point. So this is something we can do for other kids his age who are in need. Because there is always more that can be done.
And because we got a lotta love to give.
Friday, February 23, 2018
Killjoy
Unless I'm with my fellow DBC friends, the topic of having kids and being pregnant often leads to awkward questions as people try to include to me, but then hesitate. Why do they hesitate? It's painfully obvious that they don't really want to know more about my not-so-joyful birth experiences. Which is hard as I want to still be included when chatting about c-sections versus labor, and breastfeeding versus bottle feeding. But, our story is so different from the vast majority of the people we know. And it tends to lead to being excluded for being a killjoy in the conversation.
Recently, some girlfriends and I got together to celebrate a friend moving away soon, excited to see her once more before she moves halfway across the country and we see her less often. She has a tiny baby, and so much of the conversation involved new parenting ideas, birth, and experiences. At one point, one was asking about each of our birth experiences, c-section versus natural (and how natural), and she hesitated for a moment before asking me. And when she asked, it was only if I'd had a c-section. Singular. I'm making some assumptions, but possibly hoping to not bring up our first birth story. I answered boldly that I'd had two c-sections. And, as often happens, silence ensued.
Later in the evening, discussion changed to how often or quickly each of us were having our kids. How close together did we want to have them, why that could be advantageous, and how it all was happening in reality for each of us. I said that if we could have more kids, we had wanted to have them close together, boom boom boom. And kind of timidly added that we did want more. Again, brief silence, some awkward moments before another question to redirect was asked and conversation flowed elsewhere.
I'm not sure what I want exactly, as I even have trouble at times dealing with talking about these life decisions. But what makes it so hard for us is that they weren't a decision we got to make it. It was made for us and we're left wondering why all the time. But ignoring and changing the topic, as often happens, most definitely doesn't help matters. It's disheartening, and leads me to withdraw over the course of the conversation in order to not have to subject everyone around me to the other side of raising a family. The side that isn't perfect and involves heartache and loss. But, I shouldn't have to hide my feelings, especially amongst close friends.
It makes me appreciate my friends who have opened themselves so completely to my grief journey. Those that don't shy away from talking about both my boys, both of my birth experiences, and my pain that is coupled with my joy. It means the world to me to be able to have those few moments of true expression instead of hiding what's in my heart. And I find myself gravitating towards those friends more often as experiences like the ones above continue to happen with other groups of friends.
It's okay to ask me if this aspect of child-rearing totally sucks. The part that took away one child and left us with, yes, just one. Just one child that you can see, not the two that are forever in my heart. It doesn't have to derail conversation completely, and talk of loss doesn't have to last for the rest of the evening. That's what therapy is for (thankfully). But, please just allow me my few minutes of grief, to share it with those I love in exchange for support and empathy.
I hope that I am able to provide for others in this way, too, who are dealing with grief. That I can practice what I preach and show availability in my heart to allow others to grieve as they need to even when I find it difficult to hear it. Because it is hard to not focus on only joy. It's a constant challenge, to continually open yourself up to others' pain. But it's possible, and it's so needed by those grieving.
A constant goal to be better for those around me.
Because I got a lotta love to give.
Recently, some girlfriends and I got together to celebrate a friend moving away soon, excited to see her once more before she moves halfway across the country and we see her less often. She has a tiny baby, and so much of the conversation involved new parenting ideas, birth, and experiences. At one point, one was asking about each of our birth experiences, c-section versus natural (and how natural), and she hesitated for a moment before asking me. And when she asked, it was only if I'd had a c-section. Singular. I'm making some assumptions, but possibly hoping to not bring up our first birth story. I answered boldly that I'd had two c-sections. And, as often happens, silence ensued.
Later in the evening, discussion changed to how often or quickly each of us were having our kids. How close together did we want to have them, why that could be advantageous, and how it all was happening in reality for each of us. I said that if we could have more kids, we had wanted to have them close together, boom boom boom. And kind of timidly added that we did want more. Again, brief silence, some awkward moments before another question to redirect was asked and conversation flowed elsewhere.
I'm not sure what I want exactly, as I even have trouble at times dealing with talking about these life decisions. But what makes it so hard for us is that they weren't a decision we got to make it. It was made for us and we're left wondering why all the time. But ignoring and changing the topic, as often happens, most definitely doesn't help matters. It's disheartening, and leads me to withdraw over the course of the conversation in order to not have to subject everyone around me to the other side of raising a family. The side that isn't perfect and involves heartache and loss. But, I shouldn't have to hide my feelings, especially amongst close friends.
It makes me appreciate my friends who have opened themselves so completely to my grief journey. Those that don't shy away from talking about both my boys, both of my birth experiences, and my pain that is coupled with my joy. It means the world to me to be able to have those few moments of true expression instead of hiding what's in my heart. And I find myself gravitating towards those friends more often as experiences like the ones above continue to happen with other groups of friends.
It's okay to ask me if this aspect of child-rearing totally sucks. The part that took away one child and left us with, yes, just one. Just one child that you can see, not the two that are forever in my heart. It doesn't have to derail conversation completely, and talk of loss doesn't have to last for the rest of the evening. That's what therapy is for (thankfully). But, please just allow me my few minutes of grief, to share it with those I love in exchange for support and empathy.
I hope that I am able to provide for others in this way, too, who are dealing with grief. That I can practice what I preach and show availability in my heart to allow others to grieve as they need to even when I find it difficult to hear it. Because it is hard to not focus on only joy. It's a constant challenge, to continually open yourself up to others' pain. But it's possible, and it's so needed by those grieving.
A constant goal to be better for those around me.
Because I got a lotta love to give.
Friday, February 9, 2018
#metoo
A few weeks ago, I participated in the Women's March 2.0, which is an amazing show of support for women throughout the world. And not just by women, but by men as well. This demonstration comes again after the #metoo movement started on social media, bringing light to the very real and constant abuse of women throughout every aspect of our lives.
To be clear, I have not been raped, but that doesn't undermine the sexual assaults I have experienced. They did, however, make me very uncomfortable, and only I can determine how they made me feel and what justifies them as sexual assault. The experiences range from early childhood to early adulthood, and are from girls as well as men throughout my life. Some from strangers, some were even considered friends. This #metoo movement brings up a lot of pain and anger for many women, and even men, across our country and world wide. But I am thankful for the ability to speak out, and it leaves me wondering what is next. At this point, we're saying, "you can't just do these despicable things and get away with it so easily any more."
This movement also highlights the deep disgust many feel for our current president. Many will deny this, but his dismissiveness of this ill treatment of women is what allows men to continue to pray upon women in such horrid ways. He makes it out to be nothing, which makes it okay in others minds. And this is just perpetuating a deep rooted problem. It is outrageous that there some in my own family who feel the "locker room talk" excuse is completely valid and appropriate, that it explains everything. Again, this just perpetuates the ill treatment toward women. Seeing comments from family defending this made me feel sick to my stomach. If these men, some of them very close to me, feel this way, how can I trust I'll be okay around them? That if I had a girl, she'd be safe? Certainly by their words there would be no defense of emotional support if something were to happen. They probably think it's the woman's fault. And sadly, there hasn't been any defense or support for those in my family who have been raped. These actions cannot be so easily dismissed. And the lack of support is most definitely not forgotten. It makes me feel outraged, and I've honestly lost all respect for those who stand by this "locker room talk" excuse.
Shortly after the president was elected, one family member posted a meme basically saying that if it's okay for female comedians to speak crudely, then it's okay for the president to speak crudely about women. Other family members chimed in with their "damn straight!!" and "yes, exactly!!" But they are completely missing the point being made by these so-called crude female comedians. It is actually the exact opposite of the crude remarks our president stands by. Crudely joking about being prayed upon is not equal to crudely joking about praying upon women. Being assaulted versus assaulting. They are so blind to this obvious difference. And sadly, all I can do is shake my head and just keep my son away from these people as much as possible. I've unfriended, hidden, removed, etc, etc, etc. I fear these negative influences will lead him astray and he could potentially do something that seems innocent by some people's standards, but in light of the #metoo movement, is crossing boundaries. And then what would become of him? We must teach him these boundaries, and pray that he learns to stay away from these negative influences in his life. There's almost a desperate drive to do this, as a way to protect him as well.
Politics shouldn't divide family, but when it brings out their true colors and degrading view points against the women in their lives, this is when division happens. So, instead of allowing their harsh negative views to enter my life daily, I am now filling my news feeds with the strong and courageous women in my life who inspire me to do more. They continue to put themselves out in to the limelight despite the sexist bullshit they deal with daily. They are fighting the good fight for equality and just treatment. And this doesn't stop with just women, it extends to the POC and LGBTQ communities as well. There are too many marginalized groups in this day and age, and it saddens my heart that we are still having these fights.
But, that's just it. We're still fighting. For equality, for justice, for love, and for so much more.
Because we got a lotta love to give.
To be clear, I have not been raped, but that doesn't undermine the sexual assaults I have experienced. They did, however, make me very uncomfortable, and only I can determine how they made me feel and what justifies them as sexual assault. The experiences range from early childhood to early adulthood, and are from girls as well as men throughout my life. Some from strangers, some were even considered friends. This #metoo movement brings up a lot of pain and anger for many women, and even men, across our country and world wide. But I am thankful for the ability to speak out, and it leaves me wondering what is next. At this point, we're saying, "you can't just do these despicable things and get away with it so easily any more."
This movement also highlights the deep disgust many feel for our current president. Many will deny this, but his dismissiveness of this ill treatment of women is what allows men to continue to pray upon women in such horrid ways. He makes it out to be nothing, which makes it okay in others minds. And this is just perpetuating a deep rooted problem. It is outrageous that there some in my own family who feel the "locker room talk" excuse is completely valid and appropriate, that it explains everything. Again, this just perpetuates the ill treatment toward women. Seeing comments from family defending this made me feel sick to my stomach. If these men, some of them very close to me, feel this way, how can I trust I'll be okay around them? That if I had a girl, she'd be safe? Certainly by their words there would be no defense of emotional support if something were to happen. They probably think it's the woman's fault. And sadly, there hasn't been any defense or support for those in my family who have been raped. These actions cannot be so easily dismissed. And the lack of support is most definitely not forgotten. It makes me feel outraged, and I've honestly lost all respect for those who stand by this "locker room talk" excuse.
Shortly after the president was elected, one family member posted a meme basically saying that if it's okay for female comedians to speak crudely, then it's okay for the president to speak crudely about women. Other family members chimed in with their "damn straight!!" and "yes, exactly!!" But they are completely missing the point being made by these so-called crude female comedians. It is actually the exact opposite of the crude remarks our president stands by. Crudely joking about being prayed upon is not equal to crudely joking about praying upon women. Being assaulted versus assaulting. They are so blind to this obvious difference. And sadly, all I can do is shake my head and just keep my son away from these people as much as possible. I've unfriended, hidden, removed, etc, etc, etc. I fear these negative influences will lead him astray and he could potentially do something that seems innocent by some people's standards, but in light of the #metoo movement, is crossing boundaries. And then what would become of him? We must teach him these boundaries, and pray that he learns to stay away from these negative influences in his life. There's almost a desperate drive to do this, as a way to protect him as well.
Politics shouldn't divide family, but when it brings out their true colors and degrading view points against the women in their lives, this is when division happens. So, instead of allowing their harsh negative views to enter my life daily, I am now filling my news feeds with the strong and courageous women in my life who inspire me to do more. They continue to put themselves out in to the limelight despite the sexist bullshit they deal with daily. They are fighting the good fight for equality and just treatment. And this doesn't stop with just women, it extends to the POC and LGBTQ communities as well. There are too many marginalized groups in this day and age, and it saddens my heart that we are still having these fights.
But, that's just it. We're still fighting. For equality, for justice, for love, and for so much more.
Because we got a lotta love to give.
Friday, February 2, 2018
35 for 35
Sometimes I become overwhelmed thinking about all the people in need. And not just within the US, but throughout the entire world. From needing clean water, to just needing water period, those of us who are blessed beyond our means, whether we know it or not, have much work to do for those around us. For me, it's what being a Christian means. Going to church every Sunday, in my mind, isn't what makes someone a Christian. Anyone can sit through a lecture and leave and not follow through in their actions. To me, being a Christian means being called to action to serve those around me, near and far, who need help. And actually DOING SOMETHING to help them.
Each year we sit down and decide where our monetary donations will go for the year. We try to do a little more each year, as well. It's great to know we can take action in such a removed way, and have that action be so varied. But, that's the kicker, we're completely removed from the actual help. And it benefits us as we sit down to do our taxes each year, too. Don't get me wrong, we appreciate being able to help and have it benefit us, it's a great system that drives those with more to help those with less.
But how much does that help actually affect us spiritually, emotionally, mentally? Again, we're completely removed from doing anything really. How would it feel to actually be taking some action without a reward for us? Maybe you've heard of people doing so many actions a year for what age they are, a 20 for 20, or 30 for 30. Well, today I'm 35, and I decided at the beginning of the year that I need to do a 35 for 35. It's kind of a lot, 3 things a month to be set up and done. But, it's doable. It'll dig in to my personal time in which I have a million things that I *need* to get done. This will take some serious effort to set up each action. It's a big goal, but I'm ready to take it on.
I actually kicked it off with something last Friday. Each year, throughout the US, volunteers get in to their cars at 2am toward the end of January and count all the homeless people they can find throughout their county. These numbers are what are then used by groups to estimate the need they'll have to provide for this entire year. The more I read about it, the more I needed to do this. Helping the homeless has been something I've been drawn to do since I was much younger. I'd question my mom over and over again about the food waste from restaurants and grocery stores, why can't they just give it to the homeless. Why can't abandoned buildings be set up with cots, etc, etc. I met someone online a couple of years ago who had been homeless, and now is helping with her own programs, and I questioned her for days. My gut reaction to her answers was that the homeless don't actually need our help. As a whole, they are wanderers who have trouble fitting in to the confines of society. They want to camp year round, but this means being considered too dirty for a job that can afford them showers and clean clothes and hair cuts. They want to do their drugs in peace. But this means being looked down upon by a society that still doesn't fully understand addiction. My gut reaction, essentially, was why should anyone help them? Her response: they are still people who are having a hard time in life, who are less fortunate than you or I, and who still deserve three meals a day. Sometimes children are involved, which is heart breaking. Whether they want it or not, they still need help.
I now follow several homeless pages on Facebook, through which I learned of the counting project. Waking up at 1am to drive around a given area on a map seriously does not sound like fun. I feel nauseous when I don't get enough sleep, or have to wake up before 4am (seriously, I've puked before just from waking up super early). But, these people will only be able to have access to food and sanitary supplies if others know how many to prepare for in this year. They can't count themselves. It's a very coordinated effort that the leaders painstakingly do their best to train others to do. The territory to cover is HUGE. As of the training meeting, Renton did not have enough volunteers to cover the whole area that needed counting. And this scared me. How will these people get help if they're not counted in the first place?!? But by last Friday, the meeting place we were to all depart from was FILLED. This restored some faith in the world for me, and it felt like we could actually get this job done. This is a completely thankless job. There's no celebration, I don't get to see the numbers. I just know what I saw, and that was three different vehicles - two vans and a car - most definitely being lived in, something I can't imagine with the huge house we live in filled with so many possessions.
This was something bigger than me, and something that did not benefit me in any way. And it still felt good that I was able to participate and get my part of the job done. There are many other activities I hope to do in my 35th year, including volunteering at a soup kitchen, helping to make shoes for children in other countries affected by jiggers, putting together care bags for the homeless, etc. There is so much work to be done, work that is meaningful to others. Something that is more than just giving money to a group that hopefully does the appropriate things it says it will do with said money. And hopefully this will lead to a new habit that will continue on beyond my 35th year.
Because I got a lotta love to give.
Each year we sit down and decide where our monetary donations will go for the year. We try to do a little more each year, as well. It's great to know we can take action in such a removed way, and have that action be so varied. But, that's the kicker, we're completely removed from the actual help. And it benefits us as we sit down to do our taxes each year, too. Don't get me wrong, we appreciate being able to help and have it benefit us, it's a great system that drives those with more to help those with less.
But how much does that help actually affect us spiritually, emotionally, mentally? Again, we're completely removed from doing anything really. How would it feel to actually be taking some action without a reward for us? Maybe you've heard of people doing so many actions a year for what age they are, a 20 for 20, or 30 for 30. Well, today I'm 35, and I decided at the beginning of the year that I need to do a 35 for 35. It's kind of a lot, 3 things a month to be set up and done. But, it's doable. It'll dig in to my personal time in which I have a million things that I *need* to get done. This will take some serious effort to set up each action. It's a big goal, but I'm ready to take it on.
I actually kicked it off with something last Friday. Each year, throughout the US, volunteers get in to their cars at 2am toward the end of January and count all the homeless people they can find throughout their county. These numbers are what are then used by groups to estimate the need they'll have to provide for this entire year. The more I read about it, the more I needed to do this. Helping the homeless has been something I've been drawn to do since I was much younger. I'd question my mom over and over again about the food waste from restaurants and grocery stores, why can't they just give it to the homeless. Why can't abandoned buildings be set up with cots, etc, etc. I met someone online a couple of years ago who had been homeless, and now is helping with her own programs, and I questioned her for days. My gut reaction to her answers was that the homeless don't actually need our help. As a whole, they are wanderers who have trouble fitting in to the confines of society. They want to camp year round, but this means being considered too dirty for a job that can afford them showers and clean clothes and hair cuts. They want to do their drugs in peace. But this means being looked down upon by a society that still doesn't fully understand addiction. My gut reaction, essentially, was why should anyone help them? Her response: they are still people who are having a hard time in life, who are less fortunate than you or I, and who still deserve three meals a day. Sometimes children are involved, which is heart breaking. Whether they want it or not, they still need help.
I now follow several homeless pages on Facebook, through which I learned of the counting project. Waking up at 1am to drive around a given area on a map seriously does not sound like fun. I feel nauseous when I don't get enough sleep, or have to wake up before 4am (seriously, I've puked before just from waking up super early). But, these people will only be able to have access to food and sanitary supplies if others know how many to prepare for in this year. They can't count themselves. It's a very coordinated effort that the leaders painstakingly do their best to train others to do. The territory to cover is HUGE. As of the training meeting, Renton did not have enough volunteers to cover the whole area that needed counting. And this scared me. How will these people get help if they're not counted in the first place?!? But by last Friday, the meeting place we were to all depart from was FILLED. This restored some faith in the world for me, and it felt like we could actually get this job done. This is a completely thankless job. There's no celebration, I don't get to see the numbers. I just know what I saw, and that was three different vehicles - two vans and a car - most definitely being lived in, something I can't imagine with the huge house we live in filled with so many possessions.
This was something bigger than me, and something that did not benefit me in any way. And it still felt good that I was able to participate and get my part of the job done. There are many other activities I hope to do in my 35th year, including volunteering at a soup kitchen, helping to make shoes for children in other countries affected by jiggers, putting together care bags for the homeless, etc. There is so much work to be done, work that is meaningful to others. Something that is more than just giving money to a group that hopefully does the appropriate things it says it will do with said money. And hopefully this will lead to a new habit that will continue on beyond my 35th year.
Because I got a lotta love to give.
Friday, January 19, 2018
Guilt
Guilt is fairly common when dealing with child loss. And it's not just the personal aspects stemming from the events leading up to the loss that involve self blame, but this guilt extends to multiple avenues and in to some very different relationships. It can be difficult to navigate the relationships involved.
The first route of this guilt that I felt, and still feel most often, surrounds my relationships with my fellow loss community parents. We've all experienced the harrowing loss of a child. We've come together to support each other with this mutual understanding of pain, fear, and even jealousy toward the outside world of naive parents who haven't experienced a loss (and hopefully they never do, too). We cheer each other on when we are able to move forward and continue trying to build our families. And yet, not all of us have been able to move forward in this way. For many of us, it becomes a desperate struggle. We couldn't bring the lost child in to the world safely, so we must do things differently and get pregnant quickly and easily and have a healthy child. For me, the drive to do this was insane. I can't speak for the rest within my close group of the intensity of this drive, but for me, it was even stronger than my initial internal drive to have children before losing Korbin. But I have some very dear friends within my group that are still struggling, and it breaks my heart. They want a child with them just like any of us, but they haven't experienced the success of bringing one in to this world just yet. And it makes me feel so guilty that I get to have P. We're all friends on social media, where I want to share P's successes daily, but I also find myself holding back knowing there are others out there who want to be sharing the same things, but are not able to (hopefully just yet). I totally understand the feeling of jealousy toward those that have children, especially when we were without after leaving the hospital from Korbin's birth. Because I can understand from what I was feeling in that time before P, I can only try to imagine how it has intensified over time as so many around them have finally had children without them, and are continuing to do so. Each success must be a blow to their fragile hearts. They are just the sweetest, kindest, people. But I totally get it when they don't show up to the rainbow baby filled events the rest of us have these days. And man, that guilt though.
The next guilt I experienced, was from finding out some dear friends were stopping their fertility journey despite not having children from it. This one cuts hard and deep as I work in the fertility world and I want joy for every patient I work with. Granted, I'm in the lab, which is a bit removed clinically from the patient care. But every specimen, every case, we hope brings joy to the patients involved. And it is so disheartening when it doesn't. As I was telling some who just revealed the end to their fertility journey recently, we specialists hope for success for every patient who comes through our clinic, and it is so hard for us to accept that there wasn't anything we could do to help some. We want to think we have all the answers, can solve all the problems. But nothing, sadly, is one hundred percent. I feel especially touched by these losses having suffered a loss myself, which deepens my empathy toward the families dealing with this. And yet, I also recognize that it is not the same. We can get pregnant with ease, we've cleared that hurdle without issues. These people have not even been allowed that joy. While it hurts to know others experience loss as well (something I wouldn't even wish upon my worst enemy), their loss seems, to me, even deeper. And I don't know how to connect with that. I want to support their pain, but I tread lightly not knowing the right things to say. God forbid I ask about adoption or fostering, donor eggs or embryos. It's the natural next questions to ask, and yet I can remember being asked those questions after Korbin and feeling so angry and appalled anyone would suggest such things. It's just not that easy. And yet, here we are with P living our lives with a child and experiencing the joy and frustration of raising this little human. All while some of our loved ones literally cannot experience such feelings, no matter how hard they've tried.
Then there's the guilt I feel toward anyone who knows me who has gotten pregnant and had a child since we lost Korbin. Some of them have stayed away from me, most likely not wanting any of the bad-juju I must be carrying since I lost a child. And they of course don't want to take their chances and experience the loss themselves. And some have even confessed their new-found anxiety in knowing that child loss exists because of Korbin. A friend has even told us of not wanting children because of now knowing the chances of losing a child, even though it really is a small chance in this day and age. Great, we have affected others negatively when it comes to starting or continuing parenting journeys. This is so opposite the guilt I feel with my fellow loss parents. I mean, this final group, for the most part, knows the joys of having children, and have easily had children. And yet, they are letting others' experiences stop them from continuing to experience this joy. Versus those within my loss group, or those experiencing infertility, who still don't know the joys of having children with them but allow that drive to build their family to push them in to uncharted territories. I feel guilty that my experiences can affect others so deeply.
Through these different avenues of guilt, I do my best to continue to navigate the many relationships around us that are affected in ways we couldn't have ever imagined after the initial shock of losing Korbin. It's hard to just move forward in a carefree way and just so outwardly enjoy and share parenting. Not only because of our own personal loss, losing Korbin, but now too because of how our loss affects those around us. So, I just do my best to not complain about parenting struggles in front of them. Try to keep any parenting talk light-hearted and funny. But then does that only further their pain of loss? Are we driving their feelings of longing to reach new heights? Sometimes, Ryan jokes to others without kids, "do you really want kids?" Especially when P is really acting up, being his crazy three year old self. That one even makes me cringe a little bit. Of course they want this. The typical teasing becomes difficult. I guess there will always be some we need to walk on egg shells with, and I mean that with respect and love, empathy. Especially as it is probably how others around us feel about their relationship with us. We have to do our best to be conscious of the struggles and fears in others. We hope for this from others who know of Korbin's absence in our lives.
So, if you are reading this and know that you're part of any of the groups above, also know that you are in my thoughts and prayers constantly. We just want the same happiness for you. And we don't meant to bring up feelings of longing or jealousy.
Because we got a lotta love to give.
The first route of this guilt that I felt, and still feel most often, surrounds my relationships with my fellow loss community parents. We've all experienced the harrowing loss of a child. We've come together to support each other with this mutual understanding of pain, fear, and even jealousy toward the outside world of naive parents who haven't experienced a loss (and hopefully they never do, too). We cheer each other on when we are able to move forward and continue trying to build our families. And yet, not all of us have been able to move forward in this way. For many of us, it becomes a desperate struggle. We couldn't bring the lost child in to the world safely, so we must do things differently and get pregnant quickly and easily and have a healthy child. For me, the drive to do this was insane. I can't speak for the rest within my close group of the intensity of this drive, but for me, it was even stronger than my initial internal drive to have children before losing Korbin. But I have some very dear friends within my group that are still struggling, and it breaks my heart. They want a child with them just like any of us, but they haven't experienced the success of bringing one in to this world just yet. And it makes me feel so guilty that I get to have P. We're all friends on social media, where I want to share P's successes daily, but I also find myself holding back knowing there are others out there who want to be sharing the same things, but are not able to (hopefully just yet). I totally understand the feeling of jealousy toward those that have children, especially when we were without after leaving the hospital from Korbin's birth. Because I can understand from what I was feeling in that time before P, I can only try to imagine how it has intensified over time as so many around them have finally had children without them, and are continuing to do so. Each success must be a blow to their fragile hearts. They are just the sweetest, kindest, people. But I totally get it when they don't show up to the rainbow baby filled events the rest of us have these days. And man, that guilt though.
The next guilt I experienced, was from finding out some dear friends were stopping their fertility journey despite not having children from it. This one cuts hard and deep as I work in the fertility world and I want joy for every patient I work with. Granted, I'm in the lab, which is a bit removed clinically from the patient care. But every specimen, every case, we hope brings joy to the patients involved. And it is so disheartening when it doesn't. As I was telling some who just revealed the end to their fertility journey recently, we specialists hope for success for every patient who comes through our clinic, and it is so hard for us to accept that there wasn't anything we could do to help some. We want to think we have all the answers, can solve all the problems. But nothing, sadly, is one hundred percent. I feel especially touched by these losses having suffered a loss myself, which deepens my empathy toward the families dealing with this. And yet, I also recognize that it is not the same. We can get pregnant with ease, we've cleared that hurdle without issues. These people have not even been allowed that joy. While it hurts to know others experience loss as well (something I wouldn't even wish upon my worst enemy), their loss seems, to me, even deeper. And I don't know how to connect with that. I want to support their pain, but I tread lightly not knowing the right things to say. God forbid I ask about adoption or fostering, donor eggs or embryos. It's the natural next questions to ask, and yet I can remember being asked those questions after Korbin and feeling so angry and appalled anyone would suggest such things. It's just not that easy. And yet, here we are with P living our lives with a child and experiencing the joy and frustration of raising this little human. All while some of our loved ones literally cannot experience such feelings, no matter how hard they've tried.
Then there's the guilt I feel toward anyone who knows me who has gotten pregnant and had a child since we lost Korbin. Some of them have stayed away from me, most likely not wanting any of the bad-juju I must be carrying since I lost a child. And they of course don't want to take their chances and experience the loss themselves. And some have even confessed their new-found anxiety in knowing that child loss exists because of Korbin. A friend has even told us of not wanting children because of now knowing the chances of losing a child, even though it really is a small chance in this day and age. Great, we have affected others negatively when it comes to starting or continuing parenting journeys. This is so opposite the guilt I feel with my fellow loss parents. I mean, this final group, for the most part, knows the joys of having children, and have easily had children. And yet, they are letting others' experiences stop them from continuing to experience this joy. Versus those within my loss group, or those experiencing infertility, who still don't know the joys of having children with them but allow that drive to build their family to push them in to uncharted territories. I feel guilty that my experiences can affect others so deeply.
Through these different avenues of guilt, I do my best to continue to navigate the many relationships around us that are affected in ways we couldn't have ever imagined after the initial shock of losing Korbin. It's hard to just move forward in a carefree way and just so outwardly enjoy and share parenting. Not only because of our own personal loss, losing Korbin, but now too because of how our loss affects those around us. So, I just do my best to not complain about parenting struggles in front of them. Try to keep any parenting talk light-hearted and funny. But then does that only further their pain of loss? Are we driving their feelings of longing to reach new heights? Sometimes, Ryan jokes to others without kids, "do you really want kids?" Especially when P is really acting up, being his crazy three year old self. That one even makes me cringe a little bit. Of course they want this. The typical teasing becomes difficult. I guess there will always be some we need to walk on egg shells with, and I mean that with respect and love, empathy. Especially as it is probably how others around us feel about their relationship with us. We have to do our best to be conscious of the struggles and fears in others. We hope for this from others who know of Korbin's absence in our lives.
So, if you are reading this and know that you're part of any of the groups above, also know that you are in my thoughts and prayers constantly. We just want the same happiness for you. And we don't meant to bring up feelings of longing or jealousy.
Because we got a lotta love to give.
Friday, January 12, 2018
Potty Training
Watching your children grow up is such a mixed bag of emotions. I'm sure I've talked about this in numerous blog posts already, but it's exciting and fun, yet tinged with a sadness knowing that your tiny child is getting bigger and you'll never do something again, like nursing, or someday babywearing. It's bittersweet, but I'm grateful for the time that has passed and the memories it has given us.
Being a cloth diapering (CD) mama, the prospect of more and more time soaking, washing, rinsing, and hang drying and even sorting and counting my stash of cloth diapers felt like a mountain that just kept getting bigger as P has gotten older. We're at the point where Ry and I can start doing some independent things, so there's less time for some of the little things. And in prioritizing what should stay and what should go, cloth diapers, as adorable as they are, didn't make the cut. P is old enough now, too, that he understands what it means to go to the potty, which made this jump so much easier. Way easier than I expected! And the freedom from the chore of cloth diapering is amazing. I was so ready to NOT be changing diapers any more! We definitely put our time in.
Last night I pulled out all of the cloth diapers and accessories and detergents for listing in a local CD group. Thinking back, I remember feeling like we had such a small stash compared to others who go crazy for new or exclusive prints. But the pile we amassed really is quite impressive. (As soon as there's an app update for Blogger, I'll add pictures to this post!) We may even keep a couple as mementos. The newborn ones fit in to the palm of my hand! For almost four years we were almost exclusively cloth diapering. This saved so much money for us, as well as thousands of diapers going in to landfills. Over 7,000 diapers! I just did the math, and still wasn't expecting that high of a number. I definitely feel some pride that we accomplished this. It takes some extra effort and determination to be a CD family, and we did it! Although when I say "we", I really mean "I" as Ry was so not in to the CD business. We did have "disposable Sundays" in this house as that was P's day with Ry while I was at work (and this was factored in to the math above). We still saved so much!
Back to potty training. Despite how ready I was to be done with CD, I was so not ready for my baby to grow up again! And really, he wasn't even a baby in diapers any more, he'd become a toddler, and then a preschooler. It goes by so fast, and the memories tug at the heart strings for sure. P is almost four years old, and some people potty train their kiddos a lot sooner than we did. But part of it was the anxiety in wondering how the transition would change our lives until he gets it. We go places, we have packed schedules, and have a hard time just going with the flow. The thought of dealing with multiple accidents, or even just needing to stay home instead of doing a day trip that involves three hours of driving one way kept me from just jumping in and doing it. We're control freaks, and this just felt so largely out of our control. Until a friend gently told me, "He's ready, he'll know what to do, just read a little bit of Potty Training Bootcamp and you DON'T have to stick to it completely. Make it work for you." Not that we hadn't heard it before, but maybe the timing of those words was just right with my desire to now be free of CD laundry, and diapers in general. Thankfully daycare was on board as well (it's incredible knowing she was willing to take on CD while caring for P and I am so grateful for her!) and willing to take on the training with us. Though I'm sure she was more so looking forward to not changing his diapers any more either, ha!
It's amazing the stages we've been through and where we are now in watching P grow with us. I'll never forget how tiny he felt as such a little baby in my arms, and how adorable the fluffy butt from his cloth diapers looked. I miss the baby years. And though it's difficult to say goodbye to the stages we leave behind, I look forward to those ahead and helping P continue to grow up. It means he's still here with us and we get to continue parenting him, which means the world to us.
Because we got a lotta love to give.
Being a cloth diapering (CD) mama, the prospect of more and more time soaking, washing, rinsing, and hang drying and even sorting and counting my stash of cloth diapers felt like a mountain that just kept getting bigger as P has gotten older. We're at the point where Ry and I can start doing some independent things, so there's less time for some of the little things. And in prioritizing what should stay and what should go, cloth diapers, as adorable as they are, didn't make the cut. P is old enough now, too, that he understands what it means to go to the potty, which made this jump so much easier. Way easier than I expected! And the freedom from the chore of cloth diapering is amazing. I was so ready to NOT be changing diapers any more! We definitely put our time in.
Last night I pulled out all of the cloth diapers and accessories and detergents for listing in a local CD group. Thinking back, I remember feeling like we had such a small stash compared to others who go crazy for new or exclusive prints. But the pile we amassed really is quite impressive. (As soon as there's an app update for Blogger, I'll add pictures to this post!) We may even keep a couple as mementos. The newborn ones fit in to the palm of my hand! For almost four years we were almost exclusively cloth diapering. This saved so much money for us, as well as thousands of diapers going in to landfills. Over 7,000 diapers! I just did the math, and still wasn't expecting that high of a number. I definitely feel some pride that we accomplished this. It takes some extra effort and determination to be a CD family, and we did it! Although when I say "we", I really mean "I" as Ry was so not in to the CD business. We did have "disposable Sundays" in this house as that was P's day with Ry while I was at work (and this was factored in to the math above). We still saved so much!
Back to potty training. Despite how ready I was to be done with CD, I was so not ready for my baby to grow up again! And really, he wasn't even a baby in diapers any more, he'd become a toddler, and then a preschooler. It goes by so fast, and the memories tug at the heart strings for sure. P is almost four years old, and some people potty train their kiddos a lot sooner than we did. But part of it was the anxiety in wondering how the transition would change our lives until he gets it. We go places, we have packed schedules, and have a hard time just going with the flow. The thought of dealing with multiple accidents, or even just needing to stay home instead of doing a day trip that involves three hours of driving one way kept me from just jumping in and doing it. We're control freaks, and this just felt so largely out of our control. Until a friend gently told me, "He's ready, he'll know what to do, just read a little bit of Potty Training Bootcamp and you DON'T have to stick to it completely. Make it work for you." Not that we hadn't heard it before, but maybe the timing of those words was just right with my desire to now be free of CD laundry, and diapers in general. Thankfully daycare was on board as well (it's incredible knowing she was willing to take on CD while caring for P and I am so grateful for her!) and willing to take on the training with us. Though I'm sure she was more so looking forward to not changing his diapers any more either, ha!
It's amazing the stages we've been through and where we are now in watching P grow with us. I'll never forget how tiny he felt as such a little baby in my arms, and how adorable the fluffy butt from his cloth diapers looked. I miss the baby years. And though it's difficult to say goodbye to the stages we leave behind, I look forward to those ahead and helping P continue to grow up. It means he's still here with us and we get to continue parenting him, which means the world to us.
Because we got a lotta love to give.
Friday, January 5, 2018
This is why people get divorced
No, we're not getting divorced. This is just something that was said to us repeatedly while I was in recovery from my c-section with Korbin. Probably every 30 minutes. And honestly, I do think it helped keep us together. Hearing that made us cling to each other that much more instead of drift apart on separate grieving paths. We still have been grieving differently over the years, as is expected, but we've learned to go to each other in our grief.
It's amazing how much that phrase meant to us, as odd as it sounds. And yet, what if they had added: You can keep your baby with you as long as you need.
I recently listened to a podcast about death and what a family's options are when dealing with a loved one's body. What hit me like a slap in the face was the fact that you can take your deceased loved one home from the hospital. Like seriously, what. The. Fuck. My gut reaction is that we were totally screwed by the hospital. That's the anger in loss talking. But also, seriously, what an incredible way to have some serious closure when losing someone. This podcast discussed all the implications from how the family experiences the first signs of decompososition, like the smell, to really feeling like you had the final moments with the person that were so needed. Even if you didn't realize you needed that extra time. I feel like that would have added some much needed sanity to this incredibly insane moment in our lives.
I'm still a bit floored by learning this. I mean, not a single person, nurse, MA, doctor, psychologist, told us this was possible. Not even that we could have kept Korbin with us the entire time I was in the hospital. Instead we were rushed to give over his body while I was still too loopy to stand up for myself and my mental and emotional needs. This is possibly due to a lack of education, as well as a lack of cuddle cots. A cuddle cot is specifically designed to hold a deceased baby and keep the body cool enough to delay the first signs of decomposition, like the smell mentioned above, so that the family has time to process this devastating moment.
I can't even tell you the magnitude of the regret I still struggle to make peace with from our lack of time with Korbin's body. Therapy has helped me to process the regret a bit, but it is still there lurking beneath the surface of my grief.
As I continue to learn more about death and the laws surrounding what is supposed to happen to the bodies, I'm finding I am being drawn to educate others in our area. Not necessarily just the people I know, but hospitals, birthing centers, midwives, even funeral homes. In some states where this education is already present, funeral homes and hospitals are already equipped with cuddle cots to offer to families for rent. There's also the A Day With Chase foundation, which sparked my interest in learning more about cuddle cots. This foundation seeks to educate and provide cuddle cots to facilities so that they are available for use in such times of need. And yet, there are so many facilities that still don't even consider infant death that devastating to a family. There is still so much to learn, and so many to educate.
I'm making this one of my goals for 2018. To research all the ins and outs of a family's rights when it comes to losing a baby and how to best educate the facilities that care for these families. And also to develop a way to provide these facilities with the necessary tools to go along with this education, namely the cuddle cots.
Maybe it's for selfish reasons, to help me deal with my regrets and grief. But I sincerely want others to have a better chance at dealing with the devastating blow of the death of their baby, and to not have the regrets that I have to deal with daily. Proper education and support can alleviate that. And we just need to support each other.
Because we got a lotta love to give.
It's amazing how much that phrase meant to us, as odd as it sounds. And yet, what if they had added: You can keep your baby with you as long as you need.
I recently listened to a podcast about death and what a family's options are when dealing with a loved one's body. What hit me like a slap in the face was the fact that you can take your deceased loved one home from the hospital. Like seriously, what. The. Fuck. My gut reaction is that we were totally screwed by the hospital. That's the anger in loss talking. But also, seriously, what an incredible way to have some serious closure when losing someone. This podcast discussed all the implications from how the family experiences the first signs of decompososition, like the smell, to really feeling like you had the final moments with the person that were so needed. Even if you didn't realize you needed that extra time. I feel like that would have added some much needed sanity to this incredibly insane moment in our lives.
I'm still a bit floored by learning this. I mean, not a single person, nurse, MA, doctor, psychologist, told us this was possible. Not even that we could have kept Korbin with us the entire time I was in the hospital. Instead we were rushed to give over his body while I was still too loopy to stand up for myself and my mental and emotional needs. This is possibly due to a lack of education, as well as a lack of cuddle cots. A cuddle cot is specifically designed to hold a deceased baby and keep the body cool enough to delay the first signs of decomposition, like the smell mentioned above, so that the family has time to process this devastating moment.
I can't even tell you the magnitude of the regret I still struggle to make peace with from our lack of time with Korbin's body. Therapy has helped me to process the regret a bit, but it is still there lurking beneath the surface of my grief.
As I continue to learn more about death and the laws surrounding what is supposed to happen to the bodies, I'm finding I am being drawn to educate others in our area. Not necessarily just the people I know, but hospitals, birthing centers, midwives, even funeral homes. In some states where this education is already present, funeral homes and hospitals are already equipped with cuddle cots to offer to families for rent. There's also the A Day With Chase foundation, which sparked my interest in learning more about cuddle cots. This foundation seeks to educate and provide cuddle cots to facilities so that they are available for use in such times of need. And yet, there are so many facilities that still don't even consider infant death that devastating to a family. There is still so much to learn, and so many to educate.
I'm making this one of my goals for 2018. To research all the ins and outs of a family's rights when it comes to losing a baby and how to best educate the facilities that care for these families. And also to develop a way to provide these facilities with the necessary tools to go along with this education, namely the cuddle cots.
Maybe it's for selfish reasons, to help me deal with my regrets and grief. But I sincerely want others to have a better chance at dealing with the devastating blow of the death of their baby, and to not have the regrets that I have to deal with daily. Proper education and support can alleviate that. And we just need to support each other.
Because we got a lotta love to give.
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