Christmas prep

Our local Santa Clause parade is this coming Sunday. Yay. We have been invited to a post-parade party that we're not going to. Big surprise.

As Christmas draws nearer, I realize more and more how it's going to be so hard. I am not in any sort of the Christmas spirit. My shopping is done, many gifts are even wrapped, but I am not feeling the holiday cheer.

As part of my church organist position, I direct the choir. I haven't had much energy to put into their Christmas prep this year. I've chosen all the sad carols to sing- In the Bleak Midwinter, See Amid the Winter's Snow, that type. They either haven't noticed or are too polite to say anything. We had rehearsal last night and I hated, really hated, preparing for the first Sunday of Advent this week. I do want to celebrate light. I am not, for the first time ever, looking forward to the mandatory Christmas services and socials and carolling. I have to take part, it's my job, but I've found a switch in my mind that allows me to go on autopilot for these things. My heart is not there.

My heart is buried with my baby in a cemetery across town.

As long as I can remember, I've thought January 2nd was the saddest day of the year. The parties are over, the lights start coming down, and we all settle home for another four months of winter, with no holiday in sight. That day was always such a horrible day. Now, I'm kind of looking forward to January 2nd, when the world becomes a bit more somber, matches my mood. The parties will be over, the carols already sung, and the expectations of celebrating will be over.

We;'ve made fabulous plans for New Year's, to give ourselves something to look forward to. We made late dinner reservations, just the two of us, at one of the best restaurants in the city. We made a hotel reservation at the best hotel, where we can watch the fireworks from our window. Just the two of us. A bottle of champagne. Kiss 2008 goodbye.

Every New Year's Eve the Babyland friends host a party. We all chip in for backyard fireworks and eat nachos and wings. We've been going each year as long as M and I have been a couple. Last year, I specifically remember K and I sitting around, pregnant, sipping ginger ale instead of sparkling wine, looking ahead to this Christmas, when the babies would be here.

One baby is here. One is not.

More and more people are asking when we will try again. I guess enough time has passed that it's become an acceptable question. I don't mind answering, but I know they're thinking that a living child will erase the pain we've had. Equalize it. Make everything ok, back to normal.

What no one understands is that only a small portion of my sadness is that I don't have a baby. I know, that one way or another, some day I will have a child. What devastates me day after day is that Charlotte, my sweet baby girl, will never, ever, have a life.

And that will never, ever change.

It breaks my heart that Charlotte will never have a Christmas.

Another one bites the dust

I think we're pretty much done with the BabyLand friends.

We were doing ok there for awhile. Sure, I hadn't been near the baby since the one disastrous attempt back in July, which caused to turn down invitation after invitation to showers, christenings, Halloween parties. We were ok with that; we know our role has changed. I'm not going to put myself through baby-centered activities right now, I'm just not.

About six weeks ago the six of us went to brunch, sans baby, and that was ok. We made a commitment to get together, just adults, once a month or so. I was happy with this arrangement. Sure, we'd be out of much of social gatherings, but at least we'd have some contact every now and again with our friends.

We were supposed to get together on Friday night. It would be eight of us this time, as they extended the invitation to our friends S and P who have a one year old son, our godson. We've seen S and P pretty regularly since Charlotte, and they know the BabyLand friends through us. We've heard through the grapevine the they've all been spending a lot of time together with the kids, and we weren't surprised.

Anyway, it all started with emails two weeks ago. Friday or Saturday night? Saturday is good for us, we replied. Heather works Friday nights.

Didn't hear anything. Then, earlier this week:

Dinner reservations are made for 630 Friday night, bowling afterwards.

Oh. We replied: sorry, we can't make it to dinner, have to work, let us know what time to meet you bowling.

I finished work Friday evening. We sat around waiting for the call. 8:00, 8:30, 9:00 passed. Finally, 9:15 the phone rang.

We're not going bowling now. Everyone is too full.

Oh, well do you want to come over here?

No.

Oh, well do you want to meet for coffee?

Ok.

So, we warmed up the car and headed down to the closest coffee shop. They were waiting for us.

We chatted for maybe 20 minutes. Then they were all tired, wanted to go home.

So that was our social event for this month.

I've nothing in common with the girls anymore. The conversation was Christmas decorating, craft fairs, parties and baby food. Not exactly my choice of topics. I managed to chat about the gym, my job, things like that, but was undeniably left out of much of the conversation.

Makes me wonder how much longer this will continue.

I really, really, don't see a day where I'll be comfortable with their baby. I don't see the day where I can sit down with this little girl who is the same age Charlotte should be, and not have my heart shatter. Maybe I'll change my mind, but I don't think so.

It's one thing to run into babies I know are close in age at church or shopping, but to watch one grow up alongside is too painful. And a girl, of course.

I think it's over.

Thanks

Just a quick little note to tell you all how much I appreciated everyone's chime in on "Going Home".

I swear, without your affirmation I would think I was going insane. I would believe all the normals who say it's time to be over this.

I am so, so grateful that I have you all.

More than I can say.

Going home

On Saturday morning, M and I packed up the car and drove the 3.5 hours to my parents' house in my hometown. My father's 65th birthday party was starting at 6 p.m., to be well-attended by family and friends.

To say I didn't want to go was an understatement. I had several sleepless nights, a pit in my stomach for days, plus an hour of therapy, but I was determined. As much as I didn't want to go, I felt staying home would be harder. Family had flown in from across the country- I couldn't justify not making the drive. The party has been in the works for years really, and I had to go. It would be the first time I had seen most of them since Charlotte. I was dreading it.

There were 60 people on the guest list. I think about 50 came. We had caterers so the work was minimal. My sister and I hung balloons and streamers, made punch and put cookies on platters. I was less than cheery. I was not in a party mood.

My mom's closest sisters, who live in Toronto, had made the trip with their husbands. One aunt welcomed a new grandchild into their family two weeks ago. The pregnancy was announced 2 weeks pre-Charlotte, and I hadn't heard anything else about it. To save me, I'm sure. The only way I knew the baby was born (a boy) was from that blasted face.book. No one had said a word to me about their baby, even though my cousin and I are close in age and have always been part of each others' lives.

Well, my mom must have given my aunt strict instructions to not mention this baby, because it was painfully obvious the whole evening. She slipped a couple of times when I was across the room.

Mom and aunt discussing vegetable platters:
"Oh, this is really nice, I'll have to get one of these for .... the christening." It was a normal conversation until the last two words, which were in a deliberate hush-hush whisper.

Aunt and my sister:
"S and J had to get rid of their dog... you know, when the baby came."

I felt like a freaking leper.

It was small talk after small talk, the whole evening. All of these clueless well-meaning relatives. Mom and dad's church friends. All baby-boomers who, at least around here, are of the mindset of "bury it and die". Pretend everything is just fine. Nothing ever happened. The worst, absolute worst possible attack of dealing with a deadbabymama.

Everyone kept asking me how I was doing, then answering for me. How are you doing, Heather? Good? Keeping busy, I guess.

I would just nod and look away and hope they would move on. They did.

After an hour of this I just couldn't stand it anymore. It was only 7:00. The house was packed, the doorbell ringing every couple of minutes. I told mom I was going upstairs to lay down. I couldn't stay there. I went to mom's room and watched home improvement shows for an hour or so. I could hear laughter and glasses clinking and a boisterous rendition of Happy Birthday. M came up and sat with me, saying that mom was driving him crazy, asking every two seconds if I was okay and is she always like this.

Mom came up to say that Mr S was asking for me, he really wanted to talk. I've known Mr S my entire life, but only at the acquaintance level. I prepared myself for the full everything happens for a reason/God works in mysterious ways speech before I came downstairs. It didn't take him long to find me.

Then it happened.

How's the little one doing, he asked with a smile.

I just looked. M was beside me. He just looked too.

What? I whispered.

Oh right, you lost your little one didn't you.

Then came the Everything happens for a reason/God works in mysterious ways speech.

I lasted the final couple of hours. The crowd dwindled. I found a comfy rocking chair in the corner by the fire and sat in it, rocking, silent, for the remainder of the party. I was ignored. I was glad.

Mom was in a tizzy the next day, telling me I should really be asking my doctors for antidepressants, that everyone commented that I didn't seem very well, that she was so, so worried.

I wanted to scream. What do you expect? My baby is dead! This is it for me now, my circle of friends and family either pretend it didn't happen altogether or make me feel like I'm diseased or say the stupidest of stupid things. I can't sit and smile and pass out birthday cake while listening to hushed whispers of baby-related things that I'm not supposed to hear. I can't.

This from our huge family who sent the requisite sympathy card after Charlotte with a bare signature and nothing else. Not one of them called. Not. One.

My mom has seven sisters. One brother. Countless cousins and second cousins and then there's dad's entire side of the family.

And not one call?

And all I got at this party was Oh so you're doing well, right? Keeping busy?

People are so clueless.

It's no wonder I hate going places now. Everywhere I go I'm either ignored or I feel like a leper.

It will be a long, long time before I make the trip home again.

Step one.

Yesterday afternoon M and I went to visit our psychologist. We talked about the upcoming holidays, our plans, and hurdles we expect to encounter. It was a productive visit.

Our psychologist is employed by our hospital's Women's Health department, and she deals with people like us who have lost babies, and people with fertility problems. A pretty specialized area. She came to visit me in my hospital room a couple of days post-Charlotte, and we've seen her regularly ever since.

Yesterday, for the first time since we've started going, there was someone waiting when we came out. I had just made some black humour crack about going to Hall.mark to ask for a dead baby ornament so we left in giggles and dead baby smiles. A young woman, maybe 24 or 25, was sitting in the chair across from the office door. Dr N told her she'd be right back as she followed us down the hall to see us out.

I only looked at her for a moment, but she was obviously post-partum. Her face was tear-streaked, and her eyes had that look of glossy disbelief that was all too familiar.

I don't know her story, I have no idea really. The likelihood is that her baby just died. Here she is, at step one of this awful journey. I wanted to run over, ask about her baby, give her a hug.

She was alone. No boyfriend or husband in sight. I can't imagine going through this alone.

Again, way too many assumptions. Maybe her partner was working or ill, or maybe she wanted to come to therapy alone.

Everyday when I wake up I think that somewhere, sometimes even in my own city, someone is saying hello and goodbye to their baby. Step one. As horrible as my step one was, it was the aftermath that was worse: the days and weeks following when it really sunk in what had happened and my heart fell out.

Day after day it just breaks my heart that there are people everywhere taking their first steps into DeadBabyLand.

Welcome, friend. I wish you weren't here with us.

Defeated

Charlotte's stone is in. And beautiful. And real. I will post a picture as soon I as I can reel M in to upload it for me.

I've been trying to think of a word to describe my current state-of-mind. The best I can figure at this point is defeated. I feel so kicked down. I've reconciled so many things and have accepted that this is my life now, and I feel tired, beaten, withdrawn.

Defeated.

I think seeing Charlotte's stone really, really, solidified that my baby is dead. I know I haven't been walking around the past seven months thinking that by some miracle she was alive, but seeing it literally carved in stone changed something. My baby is dead. She really, really, is. I had a baby, and she died.

We'd like to start TTC in the new year. Problem- my cycles have been ridiculously long since Charlotte. About 8 weeks. I'm back to see my ObGyn in a few weeks and anxious for her opinion, but I figure this just can't be good for TTC.

I am now officially off of the bp pills. My bp is okay, but not great, and again, I feel pretty discouraged that I'll ever get through a pregnancy pre-e free.

We've had a huge change in our friendship circle. We have so few good friends now. I have lost all energy to talk on the phone, to attend parties, to exchange gifts. We've opted out of nearly everything these past seven months. It's to the point now where the invitations have stopped coming. I've become much more distant with my family, too. The phone rarely rings. I don't have the energy to call anyone.

I'm prepping to start my full-time university gig in January. I don't feel prepared. I feel rather unqualified and I'm scared, to be honest.

So, here I sit, in my lovely little lonely house, and realizing all of these changes, I feel truly defeated.

See, life, you got me. You really got me. You can stop now.

Charlotte's plaque

Well, tomorrow Charlotte's plaque will be installed at her grave. She's buried at the feet of M's grandfather, and since the grass grew over in the spring, you'd never even know she was there.

But after tomorrow, anyone walking by that grave will see a granite plaque with butterflies and a single date. And her name.

She'll be a little more real, at least to the rest of the world.

Makes me feel a little better.

It's so strange how these seemingly horrific things you do as a deadbabymama can make you feel better. It actually felt good calling the cemetery to say my baby's monument is ready... when can it be installed...

My baby's monument.... words no one should ever have to say.

First Snow

We woke up this morning to a world of white. 4 or 5 cm of snow covered every surface, and we could hear the radio djs grumbling, too early, too early, on our alarm clock.

The snow suits me just fine.

I need a change of scenery. A winter wonderland will fit the bill. I could also use a couple of days of all-out blizzard, where the city shuts down and we wake from hibernation a day or two later and wonder where the cars are under the endless sea of white.

But, a couple of inches is a nice start.

It's been awhile since I've written of our BabyLand friends. My one and only attempt at visiting their baby was difficult and draning. The months have ticked by and I haven't tried again. And I don't feel guilty about it. I have given myself permission to take this in my own time; maybe some morning I'll wake up and feel like I want to visit. Maybe I won't. Whatever I do is up to me.

That's my new survival tactic: Do what I want, when I want to.

Whatever you have to do, right?

M and I were invited to a Halloween party Saturday night, hosted by the Babyland crew. We had no intentions of going, and we actually had a long-standing dinner reservation at a high end hotspot where we would enjoy a very expensive, very adult evening. It was great. Seven courses later we stumbled home, content. Not great for my weight loss efforts, but great for my mood!

Yesterday we spent most of the day with my in-laws, who indeed had gone to the Halloween party. Oh, you'd hardly even know there was a baby, she said. No one paid any attention to it.

I hear this all the time. Oh, there's no evidence of a baby over there. You'd be fine.

Sure, sure I'd be.

No one gets it. No one realizes that I'm. Just. Not. Ready.

I'm not going near the place over Christmas. The holidays are going to be hard enough without a living, breathing reminder of what Charlotte should be doing. How big she should be by now.

No, thank you. I'll stay home with my thoughts, and that will be difficult as it is.