Fighting the Sadness

A simple phone call threw me into a tailspin today. Well, I shouldn't say that, really. It started when I woke up. I wake up every morning thinking of Kara and fighting the sadness. Today, I fought it as long as I could. It's 2pm and I've dissolved into tears numerous times already today. The phone call happened at 11:15am from my best friend with new baby #2.

It started out so simple...we talked about her and the new baby, the new apartment, DH's job, etc. After 20 min of this, she asks "So how are you?" I can't speak for a moment, I choke up with tears. My throat gets tight and I have difficulty speaking. I was hoping the conversation would continue focused on her, because I can't answer the question 'How are you?' without telling the truth sometimes. It changes from minute to minute on most days. Today is not a good day.

I just don't know how I can live like this for another 40+ years. I miss her so much I would give anything and everything to have her here with me. I would jump in front of a train if it would bring her back to be where she belongs. My life is nothing without her.

My grief is compounded by the fact that I may never have another living child of my own. I will turn 41 in July and we've been through 2 unsuccessful IVF cycles in the past 4 months. Part of me thinks that a new pregnancy, another baby to love and hold, to raise, will help heal my heart. But another part of me knows that no matter how many children I may have, I will never heal from the heartbreak of losing Kara. I don't know how people live normal lives after losing a child. It is not happening for me. Each day is a struggle to get out of bed and not cry. Each night I look forward to sleep so I can escape my nightmare of a life and get a few hours of unconscious rest. What kind of life is this? It is 8 1/2 months and I still wish I were dead. I cry every single day - some more and some less than others - but I still cry every day. I miss her more than anything in the world and I don't think I'll ever come to terms with her death.

It's just not getting any easier for me.

I'm not okay.

"How are you?"

My heart is broken and forever aches.

I wake up every day and remember that my baby died and I'll never hold her in my arms.

This life is no longer interesting, fun or enjoyable.

Sometimes it all I can do to breathe.

I look forward to nightfall every day so I can escape my reality for a while.

I'm wrapping Christmas presents for other people's children, not my own.

For Christmas and I bought my baby a grave blanket.

I want to die.

I'm not okay.

Thanksgiving

When I first lost Kara, one of my best friends gave me a necklace from Tiffany's. It was a modern art rendition of the Madonna & Child with Kara's name engraved on the back. It's a beautiful piece that has come to signify that my daughter is with God now. I wear it to keep her name close to my heart.

Yesterday was Thanksgiving. My family joined us at our home and everyone brought a dish. Conversation was easy and the food was good. When everyone left, I went upstairs to change into sweats to relax. I removed the pendant and thought, "This is how I spent the holiday with my baby." It broke my heart. Everyone on my husband's side of the family had a baby this year - all around the time of Kara's death. My best friend mentioned above, is due in 3 weeks. (I haven't seen her since August.) Why does everyone I know get to have live, healthy babies? Every one of them has their smiling infants this holiday season, except me. My poor baby lies in her cold grave this holiday season. I want to hold her warm body and kiss her face. I want to change diapers and watch her crawl all over Grandma and Grandpa. I had a good cry over that last night. I'm crying again as I write this.

Each night in my prayers, I am thankful for my husband & his health, my family, and for the privilege of having carried Kara for 9 months. She was the best thing that has ever happened to me and I am so lucky to have been her mommy. But I'm angry and sad, too. Angry & sad that she died; angry and sad for everything we are missing out on together. This world is unfair and fucked up. It's hard to be thankful when your baby is dead, but I try to be thankful for the 9 months that I carried her and the wonderful experiences she gave me in return.

What is My Purpose....?

I just can't come to terms with this new life. I thought I had a purpose - I was finally going to be a mom. I had this little person coming into the world who I would be responsible to nurture and to care for. My life seemed to be on track, if a little behind schedule. I knew I waited too long to have children, but surely a late start does not mean all is lost, or does it?

I'm 40 and my firstborn child has died. There are days when I feel I'm looking over the edge of an abbyss - the deep, black hole I'm looking into is my life. I am on the precipice - and it's terrifying. What is my purpose, if not to be a parent to a live child? I am desperate to conceive again, afraid of failure and a lifetime of 'what if's' and 'if only's'.

If only I didn't wait so long to have children. If only I had met my husband earlier. What if we had married sooner after we met? What if I never have another child? What is my life worth if I cannot mother my child?

These questions torment me day and night. I am listening to a client, privately wondering how old is too old to have children. I am writing emails, all the while wondering if I'll ever get pregnant again. I cannot concentrate on my daily life without obsessing over my future and what it holds for me. Nothing brings me joy anymore - only anxiety and depression.

I know that our lives are what we make of them. But I haven't the fortitude or the will to make my life worth living right now. I am stuck in my grief and mourning the loss of my precious baby as well as the loss of my most fertile years. I don't know what the future holds for me, but I am hoping against hope that I will be blessed with another baby. I need some HOPE and without a child, there seems to reason to be here anymore.

No Escape

This week will be 16 weeks since we lost Kara. I feel...lost, bewildered, unglued, anxious, restless, exhausted and unhappy. I can't escape myself or my reality.

I am lost. Who is this person I have become? I hate myself, hate the life choices I made that led me to have my first child just two weeks before I turned 40. Why did I wait so long? I know why - and none of those reasons make it any better. I know hindsight is 20/20 - but that doesn't take away the pain and the guilt of having waited possibly too long, to bear my first child. And now my child is gone. I am lost without her.

I am bewildered. What the fuck happened? I spent 9 months waiting for this little person to come into the world. I prepared her room, bought the prettiest clothes and bedding sets, washed and folded all of her things just days before her life ended. What was I thinking just hours before? When did she die, exactly? What was I doing at that moment? Could/Should I have known at that second, that she died? How did this happen? I am bewildered at how fast a life can change forever.

I am unglued. Every minute is a struggle to live. I cannot function without feeling my emotions are unraveling; I'm barely hanging on to life. I l.i.v.e because my physcial body lives. But my heart is broken and my mind sometimes wraps around that fact, and I become unraveled. How could this have happened?! How can it be that I visit my baby girl in the cemetary every week?!

I am anxious and restless. I struggle to get away from myself, but I can't. I can't relax for a moment, without finding another activity I can do to keep in motion - keep busy. I try to read a book, but my mind wanders to my baby girl and all I've lost. I can't work, can't sleep, can't relax. I want to crawl out of my skin and find a new body - one that's not broken with grief.

I am exhausted. I can't get enough sleep - even with Ambien, I wake at the slightest sound, unable to get back to sleep. I lay awake worrying, 'will I ever see Kara again? I'm not a good enough person...I must try harder.' 'Will I ever have a live child? I'm so old - 40 now and childless.' worry worry worry. it's exhausting.

I'm unhappy. I turned 40, just two weeks after Kara died. I am old and have squandered my youth - having made terrible decisions up until I decided to have a child. My child means everything to me and she is not here. How does one regain their life after this? I am unhappy because I miss her terribly. I am unhappy because I should live this life in her honor - she didn't even get to take one breath - how dare me squander more of my life! I am so unhappy, I can't change it.

I have to simply 'be' right now.

Trapped Inside Myself

It's been a while since I've written. I've been feeling terrible lately and haven't made the time to sit down and face my feelings. Sometimes the feelings are so overwhelming that I can't think straight. This has been my life for the past 3 months.

Everywhere I go there are triggers. Something will remind me of my grief and I begin the slow, downward descent into Hell. There was the neighbor with blue ribbons on her mailbox, signifying that she had her baby boy. Then there was the client lunch where a stranger asked 'how's the baby?' (I realized a moment later that she was asking my customer how his baby was, and I learned that his wife had her baby 1 month after Kara died. I didn't even know he had a pregnant wife.) Then there are the looks from women who are wondering how far along I am, because I still have a swollen belly and look 3-4 months pregnant, 3 months after losing Kara. Still again, I have my career with its own perils. I'm in sales - a big part of my career is making small talk with strangers, people who I could care less about, trying to seem interested in order to further the 'relationship.' In fact, I have many customers I truly care about on a personal level. They have been wonderful throughout this trying time and I am grateful for their friendship. But there are countless others whom I don't know, don't care to know, and yet have to try to get to know. This is a source of anxiety for me and I don't know how to deal with it. It's part of my job, and I can't stop 'seeing' people without losing my job and therefore my income.

I'm waiting in my room for time to run out. My flight is at 5pm, and checkout is at noon. I'm anxious about how to fill my day, anxious about the flight home. I cried several times on the flight out, feeling like a trapped animal with my grief. Another trip to the lavatory to cry and try to pull myself together for another 30 minutes - maybe 45. I worry about the flight home and worry about my upcoming week - entertaining and riding with a customer to visit his customers. I am not prepared for real life, I don't feel like I'm really making progress. I will not be surprised if I lose my job this year - I'm unproductive and ineffective now at what I do. I used to be great at this - used to love my job. Now I dread waking up every morning, not knowing what I'll have to face on that day. Another baby in the restaurant at lunch? Another woman looking at my belly? Another man asking if I have children? It seems innocent to someone who hasn't lost a baby. To me, is a maze of horrors that I need to navigate carefully every single day and I have to plan for 'down time' so I can cry if I need to and pray quietly for strength during the day.

I want to crawl outside of my body and just get away from myself. How should I deal with that constant feeling of wanting to get away from myself? There's nowhere to run from myself - I can't peel off my skin and get any relief. I have to suffer through my earthly confines and try to hold it together for another hour, another day.

I am at a conference in Florida with numerous anonymous people I'm supposed to mix with during cocktail hour and organized dinners. I cannot concentrate for more than a few minutes at a time, and find myself having to escape to the ladies room for a few moments of silence and solitude. My grief is like a wet blanket, smothering me with its weight no matter where I go or what I do. I cannot escape it. It's worse when I'm in a crowd - I feel small and isolated, alone and afraid. My grief can sneak up on me and overtake my emotions at any time. I'm vulnerable and weak and in no position to 'entertain' people with any confidence or effectiveness. I am ready to go home and be in silence and solitude for a few days.