Memories

Things I remember about my son...

He sat on my bladder from the moment he was conceived. I was worried that I would never be able to take a road trip again! The first time I felt him move was mid October, I was driving back to Rock Springs from Laramie (I had just purchased my first pair of maternity pants). We were cooking dinner the first time Matthew felt him move, we sat there smiling at eachother like a couple of idiots, it was one of the happiest moments of my life. Silas liked to roll around in my belly while Matt and I watched documentaries on Netflix in bed. He was my constant companion and my favorite thing about carrying him was feeling him move and kick.

I spent eight months imagining what he would look like, I dreamed about him (although early in my pregnancy I dreamed that he was a girl). When he came out, I saw his face and he looked just like I had expected, like I had known his face forever. It was the most beautiful little face I have ever seen. Then they took him away and the rest of my memory is of his death. I held him several times that night and can still feel the weight of his little body in my arms.

The last gift that my little boy gave me and my family was the warmth of the sun on my back during his funeral. Matthew and I were standing in front of family and friends on a cold, grey day in February and while we read our goodbyes, the clouds parted and we were warm. I like to think that he heard us and wanted us to know that he was okay.

The time I spent carrying my baby and the precious moments that I had with him after his birth are memories that I will always cherish. I can look back on them with joy and fondness, he was a part of me that I love.

TGIF

I would like to attempt a positive blog for a change, today was a pretty good day so here I go.... Matthew has left for a few days of camping with his father and brother and I am enjoying the time alone. It's funny how rarely the situation presents itself when you are married. I have been cleaning the house, catching up with friends on the phone, playing with the kittens and watching whatever I want on tv. Also, I enjoy hogging the whole bed without my bony spouse poking his elbows into me!

I recently e-mailed my old boss at Modern Printing to catch up on life and order some printing for Matt's tree business. I have so many old, old friends. People I've known forever... I've also been fortunate to make many friends in the years following high school. My former employer is one of them. His son is a senior in high school now, which means I have known him for 8 years! He hired me when I was a 20 year old kid, ranting about the greed of the corporation that I had previously worked for. Working for his business was one of the luckiest breaks I've ever had and I am thankful to be a part of the family down there.

I think I will spend the remainder of the evening cleaning my bathroom and taking a long, hot bath. It really is the little things in life that keep you going when the big things are fucked up. Life is hard but I try to enjoy the soup of the day at work, or the warm sun on my face in the morning, or my cute little kitten faces. It makes it easier to get through the day and reminds me that I'm glad to be here even as I am sad that my son is not.

Stages of grief

I guess I have finally reached the "anger" stage of grief. This summer has been non-stop. 10 year reunion, visiting Daniel, weddings, friends having babies... I am so overwhelmed and I have no reprieve in sight. I feel obligation to attend these happy events, I actually enjoy the distraction that they provide, and yet....  Every moment of someone else's happiness reminds me of my own sorrow. How selfish I feel for being resentful of these people that I love with all my heart.

I am to the point  that I don't even want to celebrate my birthday next week. I had planned on celebrating with my little baby and his grandparents, aunts and uncles. It seems kind of empty to celebrate my 28th year, considering  that it has brought me such sadness. I'm 28 soon with a broken heart that keeps bleeding no matter how much I participate and pretend.

I often think that someone or something must be responsible for what happened. If I did everything right, who fucked up? Why was my son delivered without any concern for his maturity or due date? Why was it assumed that he would handle a natural birth without some kind of preparation for the fact that he was a preemie? Why was Life Flight not called the instant he showed signs of respiratory distress? Why were we allowed to believe for 6 hours that he had just had a rough start and would perk up with time?

It shouldn't have happened the way it did and the longer I live with it, the more I ask myself these questions. They haunt my dreams and my waking life. Every second that I live I wish for answers that will never come. I must accept his loss and the daily reminders of it. I just don't know how....