One year ago today we met our sweet little boys. And we watched them go. What a blessing, what a curse.
Today was far worse for me than I had anticipated. Thankfully I have an amazing husband and am blessed with friends and family. I'll perhaps post more later about this anniversary day but for now I'm exhausted and emotionally spent. Goodnight.
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Grief is not Linear
I fear I've let too much time pass to go back and recount the past five or six months of not writing. As hard as I tried, I could not sit down and write. In February I fell into a depression that lasted nearly six weeks. I could not physically sit down and face the blog - I never even typed in the address and pulled it up. The period of depression was set off by a series of bad events that all occurred at about the same time. As a result I rarely returned phone calls or emails, dropped out of a pilates class I had been going to every week for six months, got nothing done around the house and basically wasted a lot of time. The stress literally shut me down and it took winter's end to pull out of it. I commented to a friend during that time, I'm not okay - but I will be. And I am.
I have learned grieving is not a linear process - you do not proceed along a line that draws you farther away from the beginning point. Rather it's a circle. Or as my friend Magaly said, "it's like circling a doughnut - sometimes you fall in the hole." Well, I feel in the hole.
Since January first I've been trying hard not to relive the events of last year. I have not let myself look back at dates or events - marking their anniversary. I've tried hard to not give power to dates. Any random day is hard enough and grief comes and goes without warning or any concern for whatever else I have going on in my life. It is hard to believe they were not always dead.
The curious thing about the loss of a baby, or babies, is that you begin to wonder what it is that has this grip over you. I don't miss their voice or their smell or them walking through the door or their stuff or anything else that you might think would be worth missing or grieving over. The reality is, everything's the same - yet everything is different. I am sad for them. I wish they could have had a chance at this crazy word. It's a once in a lifetime opportunity to live on this Earth and their lives were so brief and incomplete and they will never get that opportunity again. It pains me. I grieve because while I am still whole there is literally a physical part of me that is missing. I grieve because they were my children and maybe that's reason enough.
Despite me having a blog for the world to see, the rest of my grieving has been very private. It is never a topic of conversation among my family and I rarely talk about it to friends. I do not tell people who don't already know and when the dreaded "how many kids do you have?" or the joking "will John be your only one?" come up - I spare folks who do not know the discomfort and I lie. I'd love to explain to them why it looks like I just had a baby, when my son is nearly three, but I don't.
I think about what has happened every day. It's just there. Not just on Mother's Day or on Easter or during the celebration of a birthday - but every single day. And I think that's pretty normal. I imagine people probably think that I've moved on but there is no moving on - just moving forward.
And just a quick rant for the record so I can shake a few things off my chest... Having another baby is not going to solve my problems and it won't bring back the children I've lost. When someone loses their spouse would you tell them to pull themselves together and start dating? No? So don't tell me I should just have another baby. That's not going to "fix" anything. Second, God did not want my babies. I know you mean well and you're trying to make me feel better, but, God is not a baby napper. Shit happens and God didn't have anything to do with it. And lastly, please don't share the drama in your life; I cannot take it. It's like adding a weighted vest to a drowning man. I may be strong but I'm not invincible and sometimes the added weight will make me fall in the doughnut hole.
I'm not sure how much I'll continue to write. We'll see. Things are good around the Mueller house. The grass is finally green. John is now three. Aaron is busy. The house is getting finished - no, really, it's almost done. The sun comes up. The sun goes down. We are looking forward to summer. Hope this post finds you all doing well. For those of you who also carry a cross, may your load be light and your terrain flat. Forge ahead. Peace out.
I have learned grieving is not a linear process - you do not proceed along a line that draws you farther away from the beginning point. Rather it's a circle. Or as my friend Magaly said, "it's like circling a doughnut - sometimes you fall in the hole." Well, I feel in the hole.
Since January first I've been trying hard not to relive the events of last year. I have not let myself look back at dates or events - marking their anniversary. I've tried hard to not give power to dates. Any random day is hard enough and grief comes and goes without warning or any concern for whatever else I have going on in my life. It is hard to believe they were not always dead.
The curious thing about the loss of a baby, or babies, is that you begin to wonder what it is that has this grip over you. I don't miss their voice or their smell or them walking through the door or their stuff or anything else that you might think would be worth missing or grieving over. The reality is, everything's the same - yet everything is different. I am sad for them. I wish they could have had a chance at this crazy word. It's a once in a lifetime opportunity to live on this Earth and their lives were so brief and incomplete and they will never get that opportunity again. It pains me. I grieve because while I am still whole there is literally a physical part of me that is missing. I grieve because they were my children and maybe that's reason enough.
Despite me having a blog for the world to see, the rest of my grieving has been very private. It is never a topic of conversation among my family and I rarely talk about it to friends. I do not tell people who don't already know and when the dreaded "how many kids do you have?" or the joking "will John be your only one?" come up - I spare folks who do not know the discomfort and I lie. I'd love to explain to them why it looks like I just had a baby, when my son is nearly three, but I don't.
I think about what has happened every day. It's just there. Not just on Mother's Day or on Easter or during the celebration of a birthday - but every single day. And I think that's pretty normal. I imagine people probably think that I've moved on but there is no moving on - just moving forward.
And just a quick rant for the record so I can shake a few things off my chest... Having another baby is not going to solve my problems and it won't bring back the children I've lost. When someone loses their spouse would you tell them to pull themselves together and start dating? No? So don't tell me I should just have another baby. That's not going to "fix" anything. Second, God did not want my babies. I know you mean well and you're trying to make me feel better, but, God is not a baby napper. Shit happens and God didn't have anything to do with it. And lastly, please don't share the drama in your life; I cannot take it. It's like adding a weighted vest to a drowning man. I may be strong but I'm not invincible and sometimes the added weight will make me fall in the doughnut hole.
I'm not sure how much I'll continue to write. We'll see. Things are good around the Mueller house. The grass is finally green. John is now three. Aaron is busy. The house is getting finished - no, really, it's almost done. The sun comes up. The sun goes down. We are looking forward to summer. Hope this post finds you all doing well. For those of you who also carry a cross, may your load be light and your terrain flat. Forge ahead. Peace out.
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