I went to a meeting this morning with four other amazing ladies. We were talking about different things and one of the ladies sons has gone off to find himself. I said "I think I found myself last year." Another lady teased me and asked if I liked what I had found. I said, returning her light manner "some days more than others."
I started thinking.
In the past few days I have found myself feeling normal - my old normal, my pre-stillborn baby normal. I have felt happier and lighter than I have for a long time. I think it is a combination of different things. One more sleep. Spencer is only waking 1 or 2 times in the night to eat, instead of every 2 hours. Two is the season. It is Christmas at my house. The music is playing, the tree is up and I am feeling the spirit. Three is my children are happier. I am not sure if that is a reflection on my mood lift or if it is Spencer's age... Four Steve (daddy) is around more, he can come home for lunch a few times a week. He had a crazy October and November making up for his parental leave in September.
All of those factors aside, my pain that sits in the bottom of my heart for my baby Steve seems a little less sharp. Maybe I am just so used to it that my heart has grown around it - like a tree growing around a barb stuck in its side. Eventually an on looker won't be able to see the barb at all because the tree will have swallowed it up.
I am writing this to give some hope to those who are not as far along their grief journey. Today I feel good. I have found bits of myself again. Bits of my old happy self. I am different though. Maybe not to an onlooker but I feel older, more aware of sad things, more cautious and more grateful.
The title of my blog is trying to be grateful. I think I have finally achieved that.
I am grateful for everything I have today. I am grateful that I am feeling happy again in spite of a sadness that I will carry always.
Wednesday, 5 December 2012
Saturday, 1 December 2012
STUGs
I am sitting in Spencer's bed room listening him sleep. He snores. I think he snores so I can know he is still breathing when I wake up in the middle of the night to be sure he is alive still.
When I was in a grief group for bereaved parents there was a mom who just had her rainbow baby a few months before. She said that she was scared of losing her living baby and would continually visualize different ways he could die. For example she was walking over a bridge with him in the stroller, she thought if he falls in he might drowned. She hurried over the bridge. I think I do this too. Last month I bought an escape ladder for Anne's bedroom because its the only one with no roof below the window. What if there is a fire? I also bought 2 carbon monoxide detectors for the bedrooms and by the fireplace. I try not to drive my car when the hwy is bad. I have a death grip on Anne in parking lots or I put her in a cart in the parking lot. Anyway, I can live with all these "precautions."
When I have too much alone time I think about why I worry so much and I have a tangible slamming feeling in my chest. My breath gets caught and my legs go numb. I picture my dead son. I remember the horror of labouring a stillborn baby into the world. I remember how he went from being so close to me inside and then wrenched away bc he was dead and he had to be buried. And then I think about my friend who died in an avalanche. My husband was there digging him out. He tried CPR for 45 minutes. Our friend had died on impact. There was nothing to do to save him. Death is so quick. It's like going up the stairs and missing the top step. It's done before you can catch your breath.
And then somehow you have to keep going. You have to get up. Move forward. Reorganize. Try to let go of where you thought you were going and visualize a different path.
My therapist spoke of something called STUGs. Sudden times of unexpected grief.
Most of the time I am fine, but some times they get me.
When I was in a grief group for bereaved parents there was a mom who just had her rainbow baby a few months before. She said that she was scared of losing her living baby and would continually visualize different ways he could die. For example she was walking over a bridge with him in the stroller, she thought if he falls in he might drowned. She hurried over the bridge. I think I do this too. Last month I bought an escape ladder for Anne's bedroom because its the only one with no roof below the window. What if there is a fire? I also bought 2 carbon monoxide detectors for the bedrooms and by the fireplace. I try not to drive my car when the hwy is bad. I have a death grip on Anne in parking lots or I put her in a cart in the parking lot. Anyway, I can live with all these "precautions."
When I have too much alone time I think about why I worry so much and I have a tangible slamming feeling in my chest. My breath gets caught and my legs go numb. I picture my dead son. I remember the horror of labouring a stillborn baby into the world. I remember how he went from being so close to me inside and then wrenched away bc he was dead and he had to be buried. And then I think about my friend who died in an avalanche. My husband was there digging him out. He tried CPR for 45 minutes. Our friend had died on impact. There was nothing to do to save him. Death is so quick. It's like going up the stairs and missing the top step. It's done before you can catch your breath.
And then somehow you have to keep going. You have to get up. Move forward. Reorganize. Try to let go of where you thought you were going and visualize a different path.
My therapist spoke of something called STUGs. Sudden times of unexpected grief.
Most of the time I am fine, but some times they get me.
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