Winter's here again

Most of the beautiful fall foliage has been blown from the trees. The flowers have stopped blooming. The grass has turned brown and instead of summery dew drops covering its blades in the mornings, it's covered in icy frost. The nights are chillier and the darkness comes quicker each day. All absolute signs that winter is among us once again.

And, with that seasonal shift, my heart has gone into a wintry place again as well. This time of year is really challenging on those of us with heavy hearts. We wear pretty convincing masks of happiness the other months of the year, but with the holidays being about family and such, it's difficult for those masks to hold up against the grief that resurfaces every year at this time when we remember our tiny family members who aren't here but should be.

As much as I love Christmas (I really do, despite my annual bout of the blues), it's hard for my heart not to drift back into sadness while decorating and shopping. It's not constant, mind you, but I'm always aware of its presence while I'm pretending that I'm okay for the masses.

But, I'm not okay. I keep wondering when all of this will become more manageable and not sting so much. Will I forever be muddling my way through the holidays instead of embracing and enjoying them? When will I be at peace with my boy not being here for the holidays - or any holiday? Or will true peace always elude me - the gift which I need most?

I try my best to keep a stiff upper lip around the girls, since they're too young and innocent to understand. They deserve to have joyous, giggly holidays that aren't dampened by their mother's heavy heart. But, it's not always easy to paint a smile on your face when you're falling apart on the inside.

The holiday hoopla is just too much for my tender heart. I sometimes wonder how I'd fare if I skipped it altogether. Just pretend it's another month or time of the year so I don't fall into that holiday vat of grief. But, I can't do that. Selfishly, I would love to be a Grinchette for the entire month of December. But, I just can't because of everyone else.

So, instead, I'll have to try even harder at pretending I've been swept away with all the happiness and joy that the season is supposed to hold. Or, maybe Santa will slip a sliver of peace into my stocking this year ... or at least something I can build from to help me limp through this chilly time of year.

Just bein' honest ...

I've tried to constructively use all the comments I received with my last blog entry - thank you for the feedback and support! - and took my first step at being true to myself, even though I risked upsetting others with my honesty.

We had a memorial service for Ryan the week after he died so our friends and family, most of whom don't live locally, could attend. At that point, only a week had passed, but it seemed like an eternity for both Mike and myself. Back then, we clung desperately to one another for strength. And, in that moment, it was all we had in our newly shattered world; it felt like it was us against the world.

We both held ourselves together relatively well until Ryan's service started. Then, we both crumbled, but Mike more so than me. I'm not sure why, since I'm the hyper-sensitive one of us, but, I did my best to comfort him during his vulnerable moment and I seemed to be his pillar when he needed it most.

But, while I had my head nestled against my weeping husband's shoulder, my ears were pierced by the sounds of my 14-month-old niece's incessant cries. These weren't just whimpers or whines; she was a few tears shy of an all-out meltdown - in the middle of my baby's memorial service.

Now, I understand that babies cry, but I had silently questioned the appropriateness of a baby attending another baby's memorial service even before we left the house that day. That same morning, while getting dressed for Ryan's service, my niece's crying triggered my milk to come in. So, I stood in my bedroom futilely stifling my tears, while my unused milk for Ryan leaked everywhere. Yeah, what a great moment that was, too.

Sitting in the pew at the funeral chapel, I could feel the back of my neck getting hotter the more my niece's cries went unattended. My sister-in-law, mother-in-law, and Mike's uncle all sat there and did nothing. They did absolutely nothing to quell the cries of a baby who drowned out my baby's last moment of public acknowledgment - the last time anyone would gather to celebrate him.

But, when it had first happened, I truly thought I was being selfish and just needed to reconcile my anger and frustration within myself. But, in the weeks following the service, several of my friends and members of my family asked who the crying baby was at Ryan's service. When I'd tell people it was our niece, I'd receive mixed looks and comments, all hinting that our niece's presence wasn't appropriate given the nature of the service and because she drowned out the majority of the pastor's sermon.

That sickening moment has haunted me practically every day since then. And, because it was Mike's sister's child, it wasn't something I could ever casually introduce into conversation. How does one delicately mutter, "Our niece ruined Ryan's funeral!" But, after receiving so many comments which affirmed my feelings on the situation, I felt it was time to finally tell Mike how his family disappointed me and dishonored Ryan.

After Megan had gone to bed on Friday night, I told Mike that I had something to tell him - something that had been weighing very heavily on my mind for a very long time and since it involved his family, I needed to tell him what was bothering me rather than allowing this to fester any longer.

I explained how gut-wrenching our niece's presence was for me in the first place during our early days of grieving, but I understood that his sister had no alternative but to bring our niece for the memorial service. I went on to explain that I certainly didn't blame our niece for crying through the service's entirety, but that I was disappointed that no one in his family made an attempt at consoling her or even removing her from the chapel.

Mike didn't remember the incident at all and I didn't expect that he would, given his emotional state during the service. I don't think he immediately realized how deeply this all affected me until I could no longer contain my emotion and burst into tears.

He received my news surprisingly well, and then wrapped his warm arms around me and told me he was sorry I had anguished over this for so long. I felt badly for unloading a whopper piece of my broken heart into his lap, but I was glad that I had finally broken my silence and let that demon out of its dark closet.

And, I think he knew that I didn't tell him all of that in an attempt to upset him or ridicule his family. I just wanted to be honest with him about something that affected me so deeply. It was a moment when Ryan's star should have shone brightly and instead it was eclipsed.

I don't know that I necessarily feel "better" about coming clean about this. But, at least I'm not silently shouldering the burden of it.

The great pretender

That's the conclusion I've arrived at.

I've spent the better part of the last three years merely pretending I was okay and "better," but I couldn't be further from that.

There's a tremendous amount of guilt that I shoulder - that I still feel this way after grieving for so long. And, especially since I've finally received the sweetest of blessings in the form of Megan. She's saved me from myself in many ways, but she's not the cure-all, end-all as some people would believe. There's still a giant, empty hole in my heart, filled with infinite sadness.

My sadness ebbs and flows. But, most of the time I can't be who I really am. I can't be that desperately sad mother who still longs for her baby boy. I can't be in a somber mood around the masses and instead put on a half-hearted smile to spare them all the angst in my heart.

I've spent the last few months curled up in my shell, where I know I'm safe - where I can be me. Where I don't have to answer the never-ending, "What's wrong?" or "Are you alright?"

I'm tired of pretending I'm someone that everyone else wants me to be.

Confessions of a shitty blogger

Yeah, that would be me.

I'm embarrassed, to say the least, that I haven't been blogging with any regularity in the last few months. I try to - I do - but I either have severe writers' block and freeze the instant my fingers rest on the keyboard ... or I just can't bring myself to write about the things bouncing around in my head.

And, I wish I could use the excuse of, "I'm busy with a new baby and my life is nothing but bliss," but that's not really it, either. I wish that were the reason, rather than the actual one: that I'm going through a very rough patch. Again.

I'm sure many people would think that life must be grand for me now that Megan's here, but the contrary is what's true. I finally have the beautiful little girl I've dreamed of and longed for, and I'm not happy. Leave it to me to spoil even the purest of things in life.

I miss Ryan like I never have before. My heart hurts so much, and I really don't believe that time is capable of healing all wounds. Some just cut too deep to ever fully heal, and all it takes is one little scratch for the pain to start all over again.

Will it ever end? Will I ever have peace?

No thanks are necessary

A few entries ago, I wrote about the unexpected passing of one of my online acquaintances, Christy, and how she showed me so much caring and generosity after losing Ryan. And, as msfitzita mentioned in her blog, Christy was never afraid of my loss or grief, when so many others in my world headed for the hills socially and emotionally - clearly incapable of dealing with such unexpected and sad news that was then my unfortunate reality.

After receiving the news of Christy's passing, I was filled with so much emotion, which is what compelled me to write about what a wonderful soul she was. I didn't want my sadness over her passing to overshadow all of Christy's wonderful qualities and wanted to pay respect to her in a way that felt right and true. And, I wanted others to know how kind and selfless she was. I know she didn't offer those things to me in order to gain recognition or credit, so it seemed that the entire world should know about someone with such a genuinely big heart.

Last night I received an e-mail from Christy's husband, thanking me (as well as msfitzita) for the sweet words I shared here about his wife. He went on to say that his cousin used some of what I had written and included it in her eulogy for Christy's service. Additionally, her husband said that our blog entries were read to everyone who attended the service, a gathering of nearly 300 people. I think that the number of guests is a true testament to what a wonderful woman Christy was and how many other lives she touched.

I'm very grateful that Christy's husband took the time to thank me for something that seemed only fitting and right for me to do. It was the least I could do, to take a few moments to share how Christy so generously touched my life and honored my little angel, when she could've turned away as so many others did.

For that, no thanks are necessary ... except from me.

Being eaten alive

This is supposed to be such a happy time for me, with this new life (hopefully) growing inside me. Instead, I feel like I'm being eaten alive by my grief - that somehow it's grown into this horrible monster than I can't fend off, no matter how hard I try. And, for all the healing I've done in the past two years, it feels like I'm unraveling at a lightning-fast pace ... almost like I've made no progress at all in that time.

I cannot enjoy this pregnancy. I want this little one more than words could ever describe, and yet I'm terrified and worried and anxious every waking second. I feel like a ticking time bomb, just waiting for detonation and for my life as I know it to once again end.

I'm almost ten weeks along, and no amount of promising news can shake my fear that this will all end badly again. Sure, we saw and heard this bean's heartbeat at our last appointment, but to me, all that means is that, fortunately, he/she hasn't died yet. And, with having almost no pregnancy symptoms other than daily headaches and tender breasts, I don't find much comfort in feeling so good since that's not always a good thing, either. I need stronger reassurances than statistics can offer, but those just don't exist. My reality is stronger and more vivid than any of the odds out there. I guess that's where faith comes into play, and I clearly lack that.

I never imagined that another pregnancy would be so horribly difficult and disappointing. I realize that sounds incredibly selfish and ungrateful, but I'm not saying that I don't want this wonderful blessing. I just wish I weren't so jaded by my past so I could truly savor every tiny moment of this little one's presence and his/her tremendous impact on my life. He/she doesn't deserve to be overshadowed by something so horrible and tragic, and yet I don't know how to change that.

I just pray that tomorrow's appointment yields promising news ...

The freak-out has officially begun

It's August, and my annual meltdown is underway.

I'm not sure why I thought this year would somehow be easier or less painful, but it's not. I honestly believed that once I got through that horrible year of "firsts," I'd be able to heave a huge sigh of relief and things would be brighter and I'd be able to feel normal again.

Not so.

If anything I feel worse than I did last year at this time. I don't have that sense of panic as I did last year, wondering how on earth I'd made it through my baby's first birthday, but instead I'm filled with a more pronounced feeling of sadness and it's weighing quite heavily on my heart.

I'm positive that it's a combination of Ryan's birthday and angel day - and the first anniversary of my dad's death sandwiched right in the middle. But, even though I know what's triggering my feelings, it doesn't make any of this easier to accept or handle. It still fucking hurts in a way that I can't even describe.

And, sometimes, I still can't believe that our beautiful baby never came home. It's still painful to think that we had to write our infant son's obituary instead of his birth announcement. Or, that we had to make arrangements for his memorial service instead of proudly introducing him to friends and family. Or, that his room is still untouched and pristine and looks nothing like a living child's room would look, with toys strewn everywhere and crayon scribbles on the wall.

All we have are the shattered pieces of a beautiful dream, all neatly tucked into a keepsake box that I view as our consolation prize.

This just isn't how it's supposed to be, and right now I'm having a hard time accepting that this IS how things are and I can't do a damn thing to change it or fix it.

Balancing act

Everyone has always told me that to really appreciate the good things in your life, there needs to be bad things, too.

Balance.

It's a wonderful theory to think that the good and bad keep everything on an even keel. But, I don't see that being possible when it comes to my own life and experiences. I'm constantly feeling like I'm sitting on one side of a see-saw, stuck on the ground, while the other side of it is empty and, of course, completely up in the air. I keep waiting for someone or something to get on that other side to get me off the ground just the tiniest bit.

I'm not expecting a perfectly level see-saw because I know that's just not realistic. And, I really don't think I'm overlooking the good in my life, which would (or could) make it easier to focus on the bad. I have some wonderful blessings around me that I am thankful for every single day. But, that knowledge and appreciation for the good doesn't erase or diminish all the bad that's come down the pike.

I've tried desperately to get my side of the see-saw off the ground, but sometimes it feels as though someone nailed down that side, making it impossible for my side to ever lift off the ground.

I fear that my grief and sorrow will always heavily outweigh any joy that could ever happen in my life. I'll be stuck sitting on that see-saw, waiting for the smallest bit of good to walk onto the playground of life and sit on the opposite side.

This might seem a bit cynical and inaccurate to others, but it makes perfect sense in my mind, based on my feelings and experiences. There's no question that the bad outweighs the good for me; my life feels like a derailed train.

And, I also don't want or expect the opposite side of my see-saw to be so heavily weighted down that I'm lifted so high that my feet no longer touch the ground. I'm just looking for a little bit of balance, where I can still touch the ground with my toes but feel like I'm playing with more than just myself and my unfortunate circumstances.

Any takers for hopping onto the opposite side? My ass is getting dusty and sore from sitting on the ground for so long ...