So, yesterday was Charlotte's 2nd birthday.
It was a crappy day. A crappy week actually. I find the days leading up to her birthday are the hardest- memories of hospital stays and bad ultrasounds, quiet-spoken doctors, hopeful moments and tragic moments. The day itself isn't as bad. Of course, yesterday was Easter Sunday so I had to be on my best behaviour at church. There was much difficult, celebratory music to lead, the most important service of the year for me.
There was a small vase of flowers on the organ bench. Little yellow tulips in a vase covered in butterflies. No card. I don't know who they were from, but I was touched that someone remembered. Whoever it was the only person who acknowledged the day.
Anyway, I made it through the service, and came home to a Bee sound asleep in his swing and M outside digging a hole for a new tree. After the tree planting we headed to the cemetery for a visit and brought balloons, like we did last year.
It was sad, but not as sad as last year. More wistful now. Easier to turn off, if that makes any sense.
We've kept ourselves busy this week. M has been his usual self: painting and gardening, little home projects here and there. I cooked. A lot. I baked cinnamon rolls and bread, a birthday cake for Charlotte. Made some yummy pork recipes and a few new soups. This is a new mechanism for me- before I was paralyzed, incapable of doing anything through the grief. Now, it's easier to keep busy. Keeps my mind off things. I'm amazed that I can turn my mind off now- I never ever thought that would be possible. I guess that's what happens over time.
I also gained three pounds. Oh well.
I feel so very far from Charlotte now. The last two years have felt like a separate lifetime. I can't imagine her as a toddler or even a chubby baby like Adam. I can't imagine our lives with her present, here, on earth, without the grief and anguish and everything that has reshaped us as people over the past two years. She changed us infinitely, likely more than we would have changed had she lived.
Happy Birthday, baby girl. We love you.
Monday, April 5, 2010
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Changes
After Charlotte, I wanted everything to change. I quit my job. We contemplated moving (but instead just repainted and rearranged furniture). I lost touch with friends and moved into different circles. Everything did change, over time.
I remember reading (somewhere?) that you should wait for at least a year after a loss before making any drastic changes in your life. I had been planning to quit my job anyway, so I figured that was ok. We didn't move. I found another job in the same field. Time passed.
Then Adam came. Everyone told us, over and over, what a change that would bring into our lives. I was surprised how little things actually did change. Sure, it takes me longer to get out of the house than it used to and our living room is taken over by large plastic apparatuses, but I feel a lot less changed now than I did before/after Charlotte. Perhaps I already knew the biggest lesson of parenthood: how it feels to have a child be the center of your life. It's a lot easier when that child is alive.
Now that the 2-year mark is looming, I feel like I have some perspective. I don't think my decisions now are made out of grief, but are real, true decisions. I have decided to go back to school. I actually decided this early last summer, while still pregnant, and have been taking a couple of prerequisites this year. Starting in September, I'll be taking a full-time program in nursing.
If three years ago someone had told me I would be doing this, I would never, ever have believed them. I was (am) a musician- as artsy as it gets. I make a living by doing what all musicians do- a little teaching, a little gigging, a bit of everything. It's a labor of love, and requires so much passion to do it well. After Charlotte, I lost the passion.
When she died, my love for music died too. That didn't come out right. I still love music, but in not the same way. I no longer have the patience to sit and work through one phrase of Beethoven for hours at a time to get every note exactly right, to find the hidden meaning behind the notes. Before, it was worthwhile. Now, there are so many more important things in life. I need a change.
So, nursing it is. I don't know what discipline of nursing I want to explore, but I do know from a patient's perspective how important a nurse can be. Like you all, I had great, wonderful nurses and also horrible ones. I hope to be one of those wonderful ones.
So, a new chapter for me. We'll see where I go.
I remember reading (somewhere?) that you should wait for at least a year after a loss before making any drastic changes in your life. I had been planning to quit my job anyway, so I figured that was ok. We didn't move. I found another job in the same field. Time passed.
Then Adam came. Everyone told us, over and over, what a change that would bring into our lives. I was surprised how little things actually did change. Sure, it takes me longer to get out of the house than it used to and our living room is taken over by large plastic apparatuses, but I feel a lot less changed now than I did before/after Charlotte. Perhaps I already knew the biggest lesson of parenthood: how it feels to have a child be the center of your life. It's a lot easier when that child is alive.
Now that the 2-year mark is looming, I feel like I have some perspective. I don't think my decisions now are made out of grief, but are real, true decisions. I have decided to go back to school. I actually decided this early last summer, while still pregnant, and have been taking a couple of prerequisites this year. Starting in September, I'll be taking a full-time program in nursing.
If three years ago someone had told me I would be doing this, I would never, ever have believed them. I was (am) a musician- as artsy as it gets. I make a living by doing what all musicians do- a little teaching, a little gigging, a bit of everything. It's a labor of love, and requires so much passion to do it well. After Charlotte, I lost the passion.
When she died, my love for music died too. That didn't come out right. I still love music, but in not the same way. I no longer have the patience to sit and work through one phrase of Beethoven for hours at a time to get every note exactly right, to find the hidden meaning behind the notes. Before, it was worthwhile. Now, there are so many more important things in life. I need a change.
So, nursing it is. I don't know what discipline of nursing I want to explore, but I do know from a patient's perspective how important a nurse can be. Like you all, I had great, wonderful nurses and also horrible ones. I hope to be one of those wonderful ones.
So, a new chapter for me. We'll see where I go.
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Checking in
I had no intentions of fading into blog oblivion. Time came and went, and now it's been almost three months (!!!) since my last post.
Things are well. Bee is growing like a weed, is about 17 lbs now. He giggles and reaches for things, twists and turns. He's a joy, really is.
I still miss Charlotte. So, so much now. The two year anniversary is less than a month away. It falls on Easter Sunday this year, which means I have to actually face the world that day. Go to church, conduct the Hallelujah chorus, smile and focus. I'm sure it will be ok, although not what I would choose.
Two years. Really? Where did the time go? It seems like forever and nothing all at once. There aren't a lot of memories from that time. The first-year fog, then the months of bedrest and stress with the pregnancy, and now he's here. It all rolls into one really, and it's hard to believe that I've only had Adam for four and a half months. He was always present, it seems.
As he grows and starts to really develop a little personality, I find myself thinking, more and more, if Charlotte would have done this or that; would she have had the funny little head shake or if she would have been a redhead too. I'll never know.
I will post more frequently, I promise.
Things are well. Bee is growing like a weed, is about 17 lbs now. He giggles and reaches for things, twists and turns. He's a joy, really is.
I still miss Charlotte. So, so much now. The two year anniversary is less than a month away. It falls on Easter Sunday this year, which means I have to actually face the world that day. Go to church, conduct the Hallelujah chorus, smile and focus. I'm sure it will be ok, although not what I would choose.
Two years. Really? Where did the time go? It seems like forever and nothing all at once. There aren't a lot of memories from that time. The first-year fog, then the months of bedrest and stress with the pregnancy, and now he's here. It all rolls into one really, and it's hard to believe that I've only had Adam for four and a half months. He was always present, it seems.
As he grows and starts to really develop a little personality, I find myself thinking, more and more, if Charlotte would have done this or that; would she have had the funny little head shake or if she would have been a redhead too. I'll never know.
I will post more frequently, I promise.
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
The other side
Since we brought home little Bee, the world has opened back up. People who never even acknowledged Charlotte have been all over Adam (a whole other blog post), and we've been invited out a lot. Apple Picking parties, a wide assortment of Christmas family celebrations, dinners out, etc. All family-oriented and baby-friendly. We've even gone to some of them.
I have found myself exactly where I never, ever, wanted to be. Friends of ours suffered a misscarriage at 12 weeks the day after we lost Charlotte. They started trying again right away and it took over a year for them to get pregnant again. Then another miscarriage. Right now they're in the early stages of IF treatment, and the last I heard they had been planning an IUI for October. I don't know if they went through with it or if they were successful (or not). I've only seen them at these large gatherings where it's inappropriate to yell across the room, So, how 'bout that IUI?
When Adam came home we didn't see them, for a long time. There was a congratulatory phone call but then nothing. I understood. Completely. I didn't know for sure if it was hard for them or if they were just busy, but I couldn't imagine it NOT being hard, and I understood. If they wanted to come meet Adam that would be great, but if not, that was ok too. I got it.
Anyway, we have now rejoined the social circle that we were absent from for so long. Our first get-together was a couple of weeks ago, a cider-and-sweets post-Christmas parade thing. It was the first time they saw Adam, and I don't think they expected us to come (why would they really, as we hadn't gone to anything in so, so long). The wife was interested in Adam and asked to hold him. She cuddled him for a bit and talked to him.
The husband almost ran away.
It broke my heart, really did. He had that look, the one we all know because we've worn it ourselves. The one where your heart is breaking and if you don't get out of there RIGHT NOW you're going to lose it, your chest aches and head pounds and the grief becomes physically painful. I'm probably assuming too much but I know that look.
I can't believe I caused someone else that horrible pain.
I've read other bloggers who say that there should be a t-shirt or a badge for us babylost with new babies- so the strangers in the grocery store can know that this didn't come easy and I am not one of them. I agree. In this case though, they know all about Charlotte, watched us walk through the past 20 months or so and now we're out on the other side. And they're no closer (as far as I know, anyway). It must be hard, it has to be.
I've certainly had my share of pregnancy and babyloss emotional pain, but infertility is not something that was ever put on my plate. So, even with my new-found empathy I still don't know what to say or do. I just despise the thought that I'm making someone's already-hard-holiday a little bit harder.
I have found myself exactly where I never, ever, wanted to be. Friends of ours suffered a misscarriage at 12 weeks the day after we lost Charlotte. They started trying again right away and it took over a year for them to get pregnant again. Then another miscarriage. Right now they're in the early stages of IF treatment, and the last I heard they had been planning an IUI for October. I don't know if they went through with it or if they were successful (or not). I've only seen them at these large gatherings where it's inappropriate to yell across the room, So, how 'bout that IUI?
When Adam came home we didn't see them, for a long time. There was a congratulatory phone call but then nothing. I understood. Completely. I didn't know for sure if it was hard for them or if they were just busy, but I couldn't imagine it NOT being hard, and I understood. If they wanted to come meet Adam that would be great, but if not, that was ok too. I got it.
Anyway, we have now rejoined the social circle that we were absent from for so long. Our first get-together was a couple of weeks ago, a cider-and-sweets post-Christmas parade thing. It was the first time they saw Adam, and I don't think they expected us to come (why would they really, as we hadn't gone to anything in so, so long). The wife was interested in Adam and asked to hold him. She cuddled him for a bit and talked to him.
The husband almost ran away.
It broke my heart, really did. He had that look, the one we all know because we've worn it ourselves. The one where your heart is breaking and if you don't get out of there RIGHT NOW you're going to lose it, your chest aches and head pounds and the grief becomes physically painful. I'm probably assuming too much but I know that look.
I can't believe I caused someone else that horrible pain.
I've read other bloggers who say that there should be a t-shirt or a badge for us babylost with new babies- so the strangers in the grocery store can know that this didn't come easy and I am not one of them. I agree. In this case though, they know all about Charlotte, watched us walk through the past 20 months or so and now we're out on the other side. And they're no closer (as far as I know, anyway). It must be hard, it has to be.
I've certainly had my share of pregnancy and babyloss emotional pain, but infertility is not something that was ever put on my plate. So, even with my new-found empathy I still don't know what to say or do. I just despise the thought that I'm making someone's already-hard-holiday a little bit harder.
Monday, November 30, 2009
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Making memories
Due to my recovery, the H1N1 virus, and our general need to nest with our baby, the first month of Adam's life consisted of 1) staying home, and 2) going to the doctor. There were relatively few visitors, even, as we told people to stay home if they were sick, and nearly everyone was.
This past weekend we were invited out. Our friends were having a dinner and invited their children's godparents. Their little son is our godson. He's a little over two now, and they had another baby in July, another boy. There were to be a dozen or so people, several babies and of course, several mommies.
I was so very excited to go. With months of bedrest behind me, I was starved for some social activity. I've turned down so many invitations in the past two years. This one I was determined to accept. I wanted Adam to see other children, even though he's far from interactive yet. I wanted to go out and be normal.
So, we went. It was so funny, to cross over to the other side, to full mom territory where conversations are about poop and bottles, and the price of baby portraits. I still feel a little like an outsider. Though there are lots of things to talk about when you're in a room with moms, my priorities, my focus, is different from their's. There was a lot of talk of where to buy THE baby Christmas outfit, where the "cleanest" mall Santa was for pictures. They looked at me incredulously when I said we didn't yet have a growth chart. They were shocked when I said we hadn't set a date yet for his christening, actually, hadn't even thought about it.
Adam is alive. He's here, healthy, growing. I haven't put my parenting energy into researching baby photographers like these moms. Sure, a picture with Santa would be nice, but I haven't really thought about it. I have a fuzzy sleeper I thought would be nice for Christmas Eve but that's it. We'll get around to the christening at some point, no rush. My energy is spent marvelling, enjoying and embracing every detail of my little boy. All the other stuff is just stuff.
A few years ago M and I went whale watching. M had just bought a new camera and was determined to have good pictures of whales. If you've ever whale watched, you know that it's a split second viewing- they surface and then they're gone. He stood on the shore for an hour or more looking through his viewfinder for that perfect shot. He never got it, and never saw any whales at all. I saw dozens, as I could look around the whole shoreline at once without the constraints of a camera. I have hundreds of mental whale pictures in my memory.
This whole mom thing reminds me a little bit of that whale watching. It's so easy to fill your days and schedule trying to make memories- plaster casts of hand and footprints and staged photo shoots and the like. It's all great for those that want that, but it's never been my style. I like having a few keepsakes but more than anything I just like to be, to experience the moment and file away in my memory bank. My time with Adam is like that- we take lots of pictures, of course, but the moments I cherish most are the middle-of-the-night cuddles in the dark, the sound he makes when he finishes a bottle, the one-armed stretches above his head. Those are my special memories, and no growth chart can capture that.
Maybe I know, more than the other moms, how awful it is to JUST have that stuff- the footprints and handprints, the pictures. That's all I have of Charlotte, there are no memories, just things. This living baby- I want the memories this time. The things are optional.
This past weekend we were invited out. Our friends were having a dinner and invited their children's godparents. Their little son is our godson. He's a little over two now, and they had another baby in July, another boy. There were to be a dozen or so people, several babies and of course, several mommies.
I was so very excited to go. With months of bedrest behind me, I was starved for some social activity. I've turned down so many invitations in the past two years. This one I was determined to accept. I wanted Adam to see other children, even though he's far from interactive yet. I wanted to go out and be normal.
So, we went. It was so funny, to cross over to the other side, to full mom territory where conversations are about poop and bottles, and the price of baby portraits. I still feel a little like an outsider. Though there are lots of things to talk about when you're in a room with moms, my priorities, my focus, is different from their's. There was a lot of talk of where to buy THE baby Christmas outfit, where the "cleanest" mall Santa was for pictures. They looked at me incredulously when I said we didn't yet have a growth chart. They were shocked when I said we hadn't set a date yet for his christening, actually, hadn't even thought about it.
Adam is alive. He's here, healthy, growing. I haven't put my parenting energy into researching baby photographers like these moms. Sure, a picture with Santa would be nice, but I haven't really thought about it. I have a fuzzy sleeper I thought would be nice for Christmas Eve but that's it. We'll get around to the christening at some point, no rush. My energy is spent marvelling, enjoying and embracing every detail of my little boy. All the other stuff is just stuff.
A few years ago M and I went whale watching. M had just bought a new camera and was determined to have good pictures of whales. If you've ever whale watched, you know that it's a split second viewing- they surface and then they're gone. He stood on the shore for an hour or more looking through his viewfinder for that perfect shot. He never got it, and never saw any whales at all. I saw dozens, as I could look around the whole shoreline at once without the constraints of a camera. I have hundreds of mental whale pictures in my memory.
This whole mom thing reminds me a little bit of that whale watching. It's so easy to fill your days and schedule trying to make memories- plaster casts of hand and footprints and staged photo shoots and the like. It's all great for those that want that, but it's never been my style. I like having a few keepsakes but more than anything I just like to be, to experience the moment and file away in my memory bank. My time with Adam is like that- we take lots of pictures, of course, but the moments I cherish most are the middle-of-the-night cuddles in the dark, the sound he makes when he finishes a bottle, the one-armed stretches above his head. Those are my special memories, and no growth chart can capture that.
Maybe I know, more than the other moms, how awful it is to JUST have that stuff- the footprints and handprints, the pictures. That's all I have of Charlotte, there are no memories, just things. This living baby- I want the memories this time. The things are optional.
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