@$#& ME!
That's it.
Over the last few days, I've had enough difficult reminders that my son isn't here that I've decided I'm finished playing this game of life.
Well, no, not life per se. I guess what I've had enough of is all the horrible, unfair, heart-breaking, gut-wrenching reminders of what my life was supposed to be but isn't.
I'll warn you now: If you're feeling timid or if you become offended easily, you might not want to read the remainder of this entry since I'm in a no-holds-barred frame of mind and I'm going to write as freely as possible.
Yesterday Ryan would've been three months old. (There's that damn contraction, "would've," again.) And, to celebrate this I receive Ryan's birth certificate via "snail" mail. Well, the Vital Records office did say a "minimum of 90 days after the birth of the infant" - but, with their office being a government agency, I figured I wouldn't see it for another six months. Nope. I was having a difficult enough time dealing with his three-month "anniversary," and seeing that fucking envelope in my mailbox and knowing exactly what is was, just reignited my anger and sadness over what happened to Ryan, Mike, and me.
I was so pissed off after receiving this letter that I decided I needed a distraction, and that distraction was spending time with friends. We hadn't gotten together for a few weeks, so I jumped at the opportunity to get away for a few hours.
Halfway through my drive to meet them, I pulled off the road, parked in front of a future Chinese restaurant, and literally cried my eyes out. I don't know exactly how long I was there and I don't care. I don't care who saw me in that state; I needed to express all of that heart-breaking sadness and unending grief I have over losing my first-born child.
I sat in that parking lot and let all of my emotions out. I cursed God for letting this happen to Ryan and for how it has hurt and devastated so many people who don't deserve to feel this way. I asked Him how he could tease me for nine months, leading me to believe that I would really have my own baby to love, and then snatch that gift away in an instant. I asked Ryan to give his mommy strength to make it through another long day since she wasn't doing a very good job at it. I told Ryan that I love him and always will. I sat there and just mumbled to myself about random things that happened during my pregnancy with Ryan and during those 54 hours of his far-too-short life. I remembered how afraid I was to deliver him. I remembered seeing him that first time, seeing this perfect little person who looked mighty pissed off about everything going on around him. I could still hear that one and only cry he was ever able to do. I could remember how wonderfully fresh he smelled and how incredibly soft his skin was. I remembered how I was immediately thrilled that Ryan was the spitting-image of Mike. I remembered how incredible and awe-struck I was when Ryan responded to me - his mommy! - and how those beautiful big blue eyes gazed into mine. I remembered how my stomach hit the floor when the first cardiologist informed us of the first of Ryan's heart defects. I relived that panicked feeling of rushing to the NICU after receiving that urgent call from the head nurse. I remembered how utterly horrible I felt seeing my tiny baby connected to what seemed like a thousand machines and knowing I couldn't do anything to help him. I relived that dreadful moment when Mike and I accepted that Ryan wasn't going to make it. In my head, I again heard Ryan's doctor say to me, "Mom, do you want to hold your son one last time?" And, I remember how absolutely heart-broken I was after holding my beautiful son for the very last time.
I hate so much what this has done to me. It's like I don't know who I am anymore. I just don't understand any of this and instead of getting easier, it seems to be getting harder.
I ended up meeting my friends, but didn't have the best of times, although I made a decent attempt and I guess that's what really matters.
I'm still really upset today and I'm like a damn leaky faucet, but I'm slowly getting better.
Maybe Ryan gave his mom a little pep talk after all ...
P.S. And, dont get me wrong: Im very happy to finally have this tangible proof (his birth certificate) that my little boy - a beautiful baby that me and my wonderful husband made! - really did exist, if only for two days.
Over the last few days, I've had enough difficult reminders that my son isn't here that I've decided I'm finished playing this game of life.
Well, no, not life per se. I guess what I've had enough of is all the horrible, unfair, heart-breaking, gut-wrenching reminders of what my life was supposed to be but isn't.
I'll warn you now: If you're feeling timid or if you become offended easily, you might not want to read the remainder of this entry since I'm in a no-holds-barred frame of mind and I'm going to write as freely as possible.
Yesterday Ryan would've been three months old. (There's that damn contraction, "would've," again.) And, to celebrate this I receive Ryan's birth certificate via "snail" mail. Well, the Vital Records office did say a "minimum of 90 days after the birth of the infant" - but, with their office being a government agency, I figured I wouldn't see it for another six months. Nope. I was having a difficult enough time dealing with his three-month "anniversary," and seeing that fucking envelope in my mailbox and knowing exactly what is was, just reignited my anger and sadness over what happened to Ryan, Mike, and me.
I was so pissed off after receiving this letter that I decided I needed a distraction, and that distraction was spending time with friends. We hadn't gotten together for a few weeks, so I jumped at the opportunity to get away for a few hours.
Halfway through my drive to meet them, I pulled off the road, parked in front of a future Chinese restaurant, and literally cried my eyes out. I don't know exactly how long I was there and I don't care. I don't care who saw me in that state; I needed to express all of that heart-breaking sadness and unending grief I have over losing my first-born child.
I sat in that parking lot and let all of my emotions out. I cursed God for letting this happen to Ryan and for how it has hurt and devastated so many people who don't deserve to feel this way. I asked Him how he could tease me for nine months, leading me to believe that I would really have my own baby to love, and then snatch that gift away in an instant. I asked Ryan to give his mommy strength to make it through another long day since she wasn't doing a very good job at it. I told Ryan that I love him and always will. I sat there and just mumbled to myself about random things that happened during my pregnancy with Ryan and during those 54 hours of his far-too-short life. I remembered how afraid I was to deliver him. I remembered seeing him that first time, seeing this perfect little person who looked mighty pissed off about everything going on around him. I could still hear that one and only cry he was ever able to do. I could remember how wonderfully fresh he smelled and how incredibly soft his skin was. I remembered how I was immediately thrilled that Ryan was the spitting-image of Mike. I remembered how incredible and awe-struck I was when Ryan responded to me - his mommy! - and how those beautiful big blue eyes gazed into mine. I remembered how my stomach hit the floor when the first cardiologist informed us of the first of Ryan's heart defects. I relived that panicked feeling of rushing to the NICU after receiving that urgent call from the head nurse. I remembered how utterly horrible I felt seeing my tiny baby connected to what seemed like a thousand machines and knowing I couldn't do anything to help him. I relived that dreadful moment when Mike and I accepted that Ryan wasn't going to make it. In my head, I again heard Ryan's doctor say to me, "Mom, do you want to hold your son one last time?" And, I remember how absolutely heart-broken I was after holding my beautiful son for the very last time.
I hate so much what this has done to me. It's like I don't know who I am anymore. I just don't understand any of this and instead of getting easier, it seems to be getting harder.
I ended up meeting my friends, but didn't have the best of times, although I made a decent attempt and I guess that's what really matters.
I'm still really upset today and I'm like a damn leaky faucet, but I'm slowly getting better.
Maybe Ryan gave his mom a little pep talk after all ...
P.S. And, dont get me wrong: Im very happy to finally have this tangible proof (his birth certificate) that my little boy - a beautiful baby that me and my wonderful husband made! - really did exist, if only for two days.
posted by Sherry @ 11/10/2005 09:50:00 PM
2 Comments:
At November 10, 2005 10:02 PM,
msfitzita said…
Sherry, I wish I had real hugs for you instead of virtual ones. I wish I had the right words to comfort you. I wish your sweet Ryan hadn't died. I wish so many things were different. I can't make it better, but I can yell and scream and cry right along with you. And so I will.
((((((((((((((((HUGS)))))))))))))
At November 14, 2005 11:41 AM,
Anonymous said…
((((((hugs))))))) Sherry, I wish I could just gather you up in my arms and help shield you from the hurt. Let me know when you're ready for IRL hugs, and I'll come running!
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