Tuesday, June 11, 2013

Right Where I Am: 3 Years, 2 Months, 8 days

Angie's Right Where I Am project back for another year, but you likely know that already. Her post and all the links to the other participants' posts are here. My post from 2012 is here and the one from 2011 is here.

Life right now is far from awful. I have my 2 beautiful girls and a great husband and we have a nice home and all the material things we need and most of the things we want too. I can acknowledge all that and still feel like I'm struggling to keep it together.

Sometimes I think I've "accepted" the fact that Reid died. It still hurts and I miss him every second of everyday but I can deal with it now. It's all the changes in me and all the issues I have surrounding his death that still cause problems.

There are people I keep meaning to reach out to, but it never feels like the right time so I do nothing. Then there are people who I should forgive just because it would make things simpler for the rest of my family but I don't feel anything remotely forgiving towards these people.

I take my big girl, D, to school every day. Some days when we are waiting for the teacher to come to the classroom, I can enjoy C.S. toddling around and being entertained by the other children while chatting with the other moms. Other days I have a constant refrain of "My son would be three." or "I have three children." going through my head and I feel like a complete fraud because it's not the right time or place to share my story.

I still feel anger and bitterness and jealousy on regular basis, but right now what I feel most is loneliness. It makes sense that the online community that got me through the so much of the early grief has changed as our lives continued to change, whether we had rainbow babies or not. I just miss knowing that someone out there was feeling the same way I was and the regular updates on everyone's life. Maybe some of the loneliness is normal for a stay at home mom whose schedule is completely controlled by things that can't be messed with, school and naptime. The post-Reid me still doesn't really know how to make friends or keep any of the ones that some how stuck around for the last three years and the rest of the world seems to be getting along without my actual or virtual presence. (At least that's how it looks on fb. I have such a love/hate relationship with social media. I'm completely addicted to it, but at least half the time it makes me feel like a complete loser on so many levels.)

Right now I feel like I've lost my voice. Not that I think I ever produced any good writing, but at least when the grief was fresh and raw, the words just poured out of my head onto the screen. I still have things to work out but the words don't come. They just circle around my head for weeks. I had to force this post out of my head after 10 days of thinking about it and then reading all the other posts that had been linked to already. (I want to leave heartfelt, insightful comments on all those posts, but the words aren't there for that either. I am here reading them all, sending love for you and your babies.)


Sara said...

I'm sorry you feel so isolated. I do think that as you move further away from grief and it is less raw it is harder to express.

This line stuck out to me, "There are people I keep meaning to reach out to, but it never feels like the right time so I do nothing." I remember trying to get in touch with one of my friends, but every time I picked up the phone to call or sat down to write an email, I got stuck. Finally I wrote her a note and said, I'm having a really hard time talking to you. I don't know why, but I value our friendship and don't want to lose it because I can't seem to communicate. Sometimes just saying I'm having trouble reaching out right now is enough of a first step.

Honoring and remembering Reid with you today.

Lisa Sissons said...

Oh hun, you definitely aren't alone in how you feel. I know that feeling of not being able to make or keep friends - I feel like my brain doesn't relate to anybody the same way that it used to.

I don't know if Lori-Ann told you, but I felt quite a connection to you at the meeting where we had cupcakes for Reid's birthday. I work a lot, but I am around most evenings if you ever want to do anything. Even just talk. Our birth stories are so similar, and I've not ever actually met anybody in real life who'd been through something so similar before you.

Sending you love and support and remembering Reid with you.

delaney's mom said...

you don't have to be a great writer to feel grief and connect with other baby loss moms. i still appreciate your blog so much. it was three years two days ago that my Lillian died. my older daughter and my rainbow man make me feel better most days, but it's still hard. *hugs*

Catherine W said...

Oh car. So much of this post rang true for me. I also tie myself up in knots at the school gates sometimes. Especially when the talk turns to pregnancies or 'how many children' or twins. But I can never seem to say anything, it's never the right place or place.

I have gone through phases of feeling very lonely. I have always been on the shy side and now I struggle with making new friends or keeping the ones that I have. I was sad for so long and, well, I still often am. But I don't suppose I needed to tell you that do I? And sometimes I just get so fed up of swallowing down anger and bitterness and anything that isn't palatable and acceptable in 'most' friendships that I just give up? Sometimes I feel that I am just lapsing into silence!

Apart from in blog comments it would appear. Ho hum. Sending love to you and remembering your dear son, Reid.

Caroline said...

I love the name Reid and am so very sorry for your loss. I understand what you mean about feeling you've lost your voice. It's like the further we get away from their birth/death, the harder it is to articulate the pain of losing them and how much we miss them even though it hasn't diminished any - just changed.

Lots of love to you all. xo

Anonymous said...

Thinking of you and Reid. I can so relate to so much of what you wrote. Our youngest should also be 3. I have so much trouble writing and talking about it - unlike the earlier days - as you wrote "the words came pouring out".

Wishing that no parent had to live in a world without their child/children. Sending hope and hugs.