I planned to write this a long time ago. But somehow I never got around to it and while my thoughts are constant, my writing is not.
We're closer to 3 years without Andrew than we are two. Or one. Though, my memories of the day I met my firstborn are still quite vivid in my mind. I'll admit, I have to look at his photos to perfectly remember his cute nose and beautiful lashes sometimes, but the memories of what it felt like to hold him for that short time are still so vivid. The rush of sadness and love is still so memorable.
We were at Costco yesterday and Benjamin managed to find a little girl and her two brothers. They were eating at the food court and the 4-year old boys got up to walk somewhere. The dad called their names to get their attention and it caused Ray and I to look at one another with our jaws dropped. The twins boys were Andrew and Benjamin. So that's what it's like to have siblings that are both alive and with the same names you carefully chose for your own children.
It still makes me infinitely sad that I cannot introduce my Andrew in person (or let him introduce himself!). And it makes me sad that Benjamin will never know his "big" brother, who ironically is and will always be much smaller than he. The sting of losing Andrew is still sharp and I'm still angry about it. My friend commented recently to me that although Benjamin never met his brother, the firstborn, he acts as a second-child. He's more cautious, curious, subdued and observant.
At this stage, I boldly proclaim that I birthed two beautiful boys when other moms at the park ask about how many children I've had. I'm far past the stage of caring about making others sad or disappointing them with news. I am proud to be a mother of two boys and will stop at nothing less than to honestly share our story. It helps me honor Andrew and it forces others to face the reality of loss and that it's perfectly normal to be transparent about sadness in our society.
It still opens up doors. I still meet other moms who lost children and go on to share about their losses when I open up about my own. My mentality stands that if my reality of loss is uncomfortable for them, we don't need to carry on as friends.
One of our new friends we met at storytime has been dealt a rough road of multiple miscarriages and complications related. We were at the zoo recently and she asked if I'd ever attended a grief group, because she recently attended one and found it helpful. I talked through all the reasons I never did, and then explained how blogging and our recent BLM meetup is daily therapy for me. That in the earliest days, I had support from all over the globe at my fingertips and not just on the last Tuesday of the month at 7 p.m. It made me wish she and all of the other loss moms out there had the same support I feel so lucky to have.
I am so grateful for the support. While I don't blog about grief daily based on lack of time (surely not lack of thoughts!), I'm still living and tearfully remembering all we've come through over these last 2 years, 7 months, and 24 bloody days.
Right Where I Am at 6 months
Right Where I Am at 1.5 years
Showing posts with label right where I am. Show all posts
Showing posts with label right where I am. Show all posts
Monday, July 29, 2013
Tuesday, June 5, 2012
Right Where I Am - 18 months
There's a little girl I see at church every week. She's probably about 18 months. I won't ask. Part of me is burning to know, but I can't know. I just can't know. Will I be like this for the rest of my life? Will I fear asking people how old their children are in fear that they might be the age Andrew should be?
He should be 18 months. Walking, talking, eating, laughing. I can't even get into the things I know I've missed out on and the seasoned mother I would be right now in my life. He should be here and running to the park everyday. But he's not. He'll never be again. It still hurts, but not like it did in the early days of my grief. Those days were very hazy. They seemed to blend and it makes me crazy thinking about that. While I'll always miss my Andrew, I hope to never feel the way I did in those beginning days again.
This grief is different. Surely it's no different in that my son is still gone, but I think it's because I am just plain used to being a baby loss mom. I know how to do it. I'm an expert now. I'm no longer wallowing in my grief, wondering what to do and where to go from there.
B has been a part of this healing, most certainly. I can honestly say that I would feel even more sadness and defeat if I did not have B here, was not pregnant, or had just gone through another subsequent loss. The truth is, B has brought such joy to our lives and given us what we expected to feel and experience with Andrew. He is not Andrew. Let's make no mistake about that. He is no replacement and will never be allowed to be spoken as such. He's most assuredly his own little soul. But he is one thing that I desperately needed 18 months ago-- hope. He's hope in our lives and reassurance that though the sun appeared to fall out of our worlds on that very cold December day, that it does rise again. That there are more blessings to come in life that we need to appreciate in their entirety. One major beauty in having B here is that I have the opportunity to share about Andrew more often. I am constantly being asked if B is my only child-- my first. I always mention Andrew in conversation, and that allows me to keep him with me always.
We are crazy people now. We wake up in cold sweats and yell to one another bizarre phrases at 4 in the morning about whether our son is breathing or not. Whether we saw him move or felt warm air coming from his nostrils.We burst into tears at the sight of him slumped over in his carseat as we're driving somewhere and rush to the backseat to make sure he's still alive. We are the people who now own three baby monitors for one living child.
I still miss Andrew. I still honor him in my life and tell the lady at the sandwich shop who asked if B was my first that he most definitely is not-- that I lost my first son very tragically and he is my second. Still loved 100% the same, but a different child. I knew she meant to discuss if this was my first experience being woken up at all hours of the night and the answer to that is obviously yes. But I wasn't willing to deny my first son the placement and importance he has in my life. He changed everything.
This blog will remain a place to honor Andrew and carry out his legacy, because he could not. B will be a part of this and all things in between and beyond. It's the story of our lives and it all started with our beautiful Andrew. As for last year, I was in a very different place. I had miscarried our first sign of hope just days earlier. And exactly one month after I wrote that post, I found out I was pregnant again, with B. Our hope. He is still providing incredible hope in our lives.
To read all the submissions for this project, click here.
To donate to the Rasmussens, please see their donation website. To read their story, click here.
He should be 18 months. Walking, talking, eating, laughing. I can't even get into the things I know I've missed out on and the seasoned mother I would be right now in my life. He should be here and running to the park everyday. But he's not. He'll never be again. It still hurts, but not like it did in the early days of my grief. Those days were very hazy. They seemed to blend and it makes me crazy thinking about that. While I'll always miss my Andrew, I hope to never feel the way I did in those beginning days again.
This grief is different. Surely it's no different in that my son is still gone, but I think it's because I am just plain used to being a baby loss mom. I know how to do it. I'm an expert now. I'm no longer wallowing in my grief, wondering what to do and where to go from there.
B has been a part of this healing, most certainly. I can honestly say that I would feel even more sadness and defeat if I did not have B here, was not pregnant, or had just gone through another subsequent loss. The truth is, B has brought such joy to our lives and given us what we expected to feel and experience with Andrew. He is not Andrew. Let's make no mistake about that. He is no replacement and will never be allowed to be spoken as such. He's most assuredly his own little soul. But he is one thing that I desperately needed 18 months ago-- hope. He's hope in our lives and reassurance that though the sun appeared to fall out of our worlds on that very cold December day, that it does rise again. That there are more blessings to come in life that we need to appreciate in their entirety. One major beauty in having B here is that I have the opportunity to share about Andrew more often. I am constantly being asked if B is my only child-- my first. I always mention Andrew in conversation, and that allows me to keep him with me always.
We are crazy people now. We wake up in cold sweats and yell to one another bizarre phrases at 4 in the morning about whether our son is breathing or not. Whether we saw him move or felt warm air coming from his nostrils.We burst into tears at the sight of him slumped over in his carseat as we're driving somewhere and rush to the backseat to make sure he's still alive. We are the people who now own three baby monitors for one living child.
I still miss Andrew. I still honor him in my life and tell the lady at the sandwich shop who asked if B was my first that he most definitely is not-- that I lost my first son very tragically and he is my second. Still loved 100% the same, but a different child. I knew she meant to discuss if this was my first experience being woken up at all hours of the night and the answer to that is obviously yes. But I wasn't willing to deny my first son the placement and importance he has in my life. He changed everything.
This blog will remain a place to honor Andrew and carry out his legacy, because he could not. B will be a part of this and all things in between and beyond. It's the story of our lives and it all started with our beautiful Andrew. As for last year, I was in a very different place. I had miscarried our first sign of hope just days earlier. And exactly one month after I wrote that post, I found out I was pregnant again, with B. Our hope. He is still providing incredible hope in our lives.
To read all the submissions for this project, click here.
To donate to the Rasmussens, please see their donation website. To read their story, click here.
Monday, June 6, 2011
Where I'm at: 6 months, 1 day
Exhausted. Emotional leads to physical exhaustion and I'm spent. Never did I think life would be this difficult. Loss is a brutal, brutal enemy.
This month marked 1/2 of a year from Andrew's birth/death and 6 months from when I used to be normal. To make matters worse as 6 months feels like quite the milestone (in the life of a live baby), the days occurred on the same days they did in December. December 4 was the day we went in for our final doctor visit--Saturday. We heard Andrew's heartbeat and left thinking we'd be giving birth any time! Sometime between December 4 and December 5, our son died. The next day, Sunday, I woke up and began feeling sharp pains in my abdomen. I was in labor and didn't know it until hours later when the contractions became unbearable. Hours later, we found out our son passed away. Today is a Monday and Monday was the first day without Andrew with us. In my body, in our arms. He was gone. GONE.
On the facebook front, I often want to announce this but realize those who should read it won't have access: If you have an infant, are blissfully pregnant and have never experienced a loss, or feel the need to talk about babies nonstop, I probably will not accept your friend request. I make no apologies.
It doesn't particularly help that this negative post is being written on a day just after a would-be milestone where our {large, empty} house was filled with lots of crying. I should've probably waited to write because I've got nothing positive to say. But this is where I am at today.
When I was on that hospital bed about to deliver my deceased child, I thought about wanting to immediately start over. I wanted to become pregnant as soon as possible. I wanted more children. I wanted to experience their bodies growing and kicking inside of mine and to know parenthood would not be too far ahead in our future. I was certain that a half of a year later, I'd be pregnant. I'm sitting here typing right now, at 6 months and 1 day without a child. Not pregnant and still at the exact same point I've been at for 6 months-- aside from not needing to be peeled off the couch from sobbing all day. I still do that quite regularly, but at least the blinds aren't closed. Of course when I see another person with a stroller walk by, I wonder why the blinds are still open and wish them closed again.
I'm feeling like my entire life in the last 6 months has been a waste of time and stagnant in nature. We've been distracting ourselves and managed to book up most of our summer weekends on distraction trips. Sometimes that makes matters better, and sometimes worse. We are out of our house and experiencing new things, but know that we'd rather be with Andrew. We'd rather be doing anything with Andrew over all these "fun" things we planned instead. We went for a nature walk yesterday and all I could think about was how wonderful it would've been to carry Andrew in the Bjorn or push him in a jogger. We would've taken photos and talked to him about all the animals, flowers, and trees. Instead, we just commented about how much we're missing out on.
I'm still distant from friends and my entire old life. I don't think that old life will ever be back and I guess in many ways I am okay with that. Because Andrew changed me. He changed us. Our house is looking more beautiful than ever but I could care less about any of that. I'd give it all up in an instant to just have Andrew here. A lot of people have said a lot of stupid things to me recently as 6 months marks a milestone. Many expect you to move on from here or to at least have a hope of new pregnancy. They are hoping we get pregnant, too, so I can be "fixed" and move on. So the old Brandy will come back. That's not how losing your child works. New babies, albeit wonderful, will never fill that gaping hole that Andrew fits.
I'm still very much devastated by losing my son. I still can't look at Parents magazines and still turn my head when I see babies on the street. I still avert my eyes at pregnant bellies and still refuse to attend baby showers. Being around newborns is nearly impossible. Seeing 6-month old babies is painful also, but since I only have one image of Andrew to remember, it's hard to even grasp what having a growing child would look like.
In some ways I feel like I was in a better place a few months ago and am now back in a slump. I was exercising and occupied and withholding sweets (which got me back into my size 2's and made me more health conscious). I'm thankful for my baby loss friends who literally get me through the days in knowing that what I feel is completely normal and acceptable. Knowing that I'm allowed to still cry and feel crushed by this pain. The only thing I am completely thankful for in this sadness is that my marriage is better than it's ever been (though it's always been pretty fantastic).
At 6 months and 1 day, I'm still surviving. Not sure about thriving, still, but getting myself out of bed every morning. Sorry for the downer, but it's right where I'm at in this moment.
This month marked 1/2 of a year from Andrew's birth/death and 6 months from when I used to be normal. To make matters worse as 6 months feels like quite the milestone (in the life of a live baby), the days occurred on the same days they did in December. December 4 was the day we went in for our final doctor visit--Saturday. We heard Andrew's heartbeat and left thinking we'd be giving birth any time! Sometime between December 4 and December 5, our son died. The next day, Sunday, I woke up and began feeling sharp pains in my abdomen. I was in labor and didn't know it until hours later when the contractions became unbearable. Hours later, we found out our son passed away. Today is a Monday and Monday was the first day without Andrew with us. In my body, in our arms. He was gone. GONE.
On the facebook front, I often want to announce this but realize those who should read it won't have access: If you have an infant, are blissfully pregnant and have never experienced a loss, or feel the need to talk about babies nonstop, I probably will not accept your friend request. I make no apologies.
It doesn't particularly help that this negative post is being written on a day just after a would-be milestone where our {large, empty} house was filled with lots of crying. I should've probably waited to write because I've got nothing positive to say. But this is where I am at today.
When I was on that hospital bed about to deliver my deceased child, I thought about wanting to immediately start over. I wanted to become pregnant as soon as possible. I wanted more children. I wanted to experience their bodies growing and kicking inside of mine and to know parenthood would not be too far ahead in our future. I was certain that a half of a year later, I'd be pregnant. I'm sitting here typing right now, at 6 months and 1 day without a child. Not pregnant and still at the exact same point I've been at for 6 months-- aside from not needing to be peeled off the couch from sobbing all day. I still do that quite regularly, but at least the blinds aren't closed. Of course when I see another person with a stroller walk by, I wonder why the blinds are still open and wish them closed again.
I'm feeling like my entire life in the last 6 months has been a waste of time and stagnant in nature. We've been distracting ourselves and managed to book up most of our summer weekends on distraction trips. Sometimes that makes matters better, and sometimes worse. We are out of our house and experiencing new things, but know that we'd rather be with Andrew. We'd rather be doing anything with Andrew over all these "fun" things we planned instead. We went for a nature walk yesterday and all I could think about was how wonderful it would've been to carry Andrew in the Bjorn or push him in a jogger. We would've taken photos and talked to him about all the animals, flowers, and trees. Instead, we just commented about how much we're missing out on.
I'm still distant from friends and my entire old life. I don't think that old life will ever be back and I guess in many ways I am okay with that. Because Andrew changed me. He changed us. Our house is looking more beautiful than ever but I could care less about any of that. I'd give it all up in an instant to just have Andrew here. A lot of people have said a lot of stupid things to me recently as 6 months marks a milestone. Many expect you to move on from here or to at least have a hope of new pregnancy. They are hoping we get pregnant, too, so I can be "fixed" and move on. So the old Brandy will come back. That's not how losing your child works. New babies, albeit wonderful, will never fill that gaping hole that Andrew fits.
I'm still very much devastated by losing my son. I still can't look at Parents magazines and still turn my head when I see babies on the street. I still avert my eyes at pregnant bellies and still refuse to attend baby showers. Being around newborns is nearly impossible. Seeing 6-month old babies is painful also, but since I only have one image of Andrew to remember, it's hard to even grasp what having a growing child would look like.
In some ways I feel like I was in a better place a few months ago and am now back in a slump. I was exercising and occupied and withholding sweets (which got me back into my size 2's and made me more health conscious). I'm thankful for my baby loss friends who literally get me through the days in knowing that what I feel is completely normal and acceptable. Knowing that I'm allowed to still cry and feel crushed by this pain. The only thing I am completely thankful for in this sadness is that my marriage is better than it's ever been (though it's always been pretty fantastic).
At 6 months and 1 day, I'm still surviving. Not sure about thriving, still, but getting myself out of bed every morning. Sorry for the downer, but it's right where I'm at in this moment.
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