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.
Showing posts with label grief triggers. Show all posts
Showing posts with label grief triggers. Show all posts
Friday, November 28, 2008
Sunday, September 14, 2008
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.
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.
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