Around the Watercooler

My job is becoming less boring. Or more productive. Basically, the principal has decided I should have more on my plate (Can I get an amen? You mean, this chick is qualified and stuff?). As usual around the ol' elementary school, I overhear conversations that strike me in one way or another that would've never even caused me to bat an eye pre-doomsday.

1. Another teacher's mom just died suddenly last Friday. At 51, they just assumed she had the flu. Her two daughters found her dead on the couch that morning. It's completely tragic. As soon as I heard the news, I felt such empathy for her and just knew that I'd give her a big hug when I saw her next. As I sat in the teacher's lounge, I listened to a few teachers question aloud what they were going to do when she returned. "How will we act around her?" they asked one another. I couldn't help but think that they must have had similar conversations about my return after losing Andrew. People want to be so deliberate of how to act, but they just don't know how in such cases. Losing Andrew did make me more aware of others and their heartbreak. I didn't once question how I would act around her, as I don't see her as an outcast. I see her as part of my posse-- bereaved, heartbroken, and pitied by others. I didn't find the comment insensitive, but more startling. They don't understand, but they want to. They care enough to want to and that is wonderful.

2. The beautiful, talented, sweet, and very pregnant art teacher finished up her job on Friday and gave birth Saturday to her little boy. Alive. DUH. And then another comment that I also found startling. "I can't believe she worked until the day before she gave birth! I could never do that!" Andrew was born on a Sunday, but I worked that Friday and only contemplated stopping because people kept voicing their surprise that I wasn't home preparing or something. Sure glad I didn't prepare too much. I would've worked that Saturday if schools were in session. I felt great and was active. But in that moment, when she voiced her opinion about the art teacher being some mother-extraordinaire, I felt forgotten. I knew that it would be too awkward to chime in with, "That was me just 9 months ago! I gave birth just 48 hours after last working, too!" Hah. Not allowed, Brandy. You have a dead baby so nobody wants to hear about your sad birthing story because they'll just make too many assumptions or disregard your participation or place on the mothership.

3. Again, setting takes place in the teacher's lounge. The woman I am long-term subbing in the place of is on leave because she's 12 weeks pregnant and uncontrollably vomiting to the point of hospitalization. Her other teacher friend is also pregnant at 14 weeks. Said pregnant chick pulled up photos of M's baby and then pulled up photos of her own baby by way of ultrasound photos. Dude, this was good times for me. I shamefully put my head down and wouldn't allow the phone to be passed to me as they all discussed awesome new technology that allows you to see so much-- as other teachers pointed out were not available to them 30 years ago. Yep, and that awesome technology was unable to detect a thing to save my child. Super-D-duper.

I'm not having a terrible time (despite boredom), but I am just sharing some of the stories that burned their way into my brain matter the last few days. Among other things, we've had a nice week over here at the Wilson residence. Ray's work picnic was on Saturday and it was fantastic. I appreciated meeting some people I hadn't met before and all of the families that make up his company. Sunday was a day with friends. I had a lovely lunch with 4 of my girlfriends and a friend of mine from LA (turned New Yorker) came to visit. In this time, we managed to squeeze in a couple hours for dessert and finally met her husband of 1.5 years! I'm looking forward to resting tonight...

I signed up to bring some items to school on Friday. I found incredible produce deals and plan to make the following: Asian Slaw, Black Bean Quinoa Salad, Broccoli Salad with vinaigrette (basically broccoli marinated in vinaigrette), a couple dips, some crackers, hummus, and some zucchini, carrot, and bell pepper strips for dipping. My teacher friend will be making dessert items. Better recipes for any of the following are welcome in the comments. ;)

Never Forgotten

I took a (stealth) trip to Los Angeles to visit my parents this week. On my Virgin America flight, I watched a Tom Brokaw {I <3 him} special on the 9/11 tragedy. It's not out of the ordinary for this time of year considering tomorrow being the 10th anniversary of such devastation.

Although I lived on the opposite coast, I will never, ever forget where I was that day when I found out. I remember something before leaving the house for class about the World Trade Center and planes, but little did I know the devastation this meant or the act of hatred that caused such attacks. It just seemed impossible. I was in college and walking to my morning class when I found out that they were canceled and we were to go home. I spent hours in the student parking lot that day just trying to connect with my mom on the phone and discuss the enormous loss that had occurred that morning.

Last night, as I sat on that airplane back home to Chicago, I was just crying as I watched these stories again. And in the wake of losing my own son to devastation and abrupt loss, I felt a tinge of understanding for those families who lost loved ones that day. Never would I have expected to ever understand even a portion of their sadness and now, 10 years later, I do. When I attempt to go to that place of self-pity and why me, I think of them. Why them? Why thousands of people? Why did their families have to suffer such enormous loss and destruction for no reason? Sometimes there just aren't answers. Sometimes bad things happen and life just sucks. Explanations wouldn't matter in cases of death, anyway, because the damage is irreparable.

We just simply have to remember. At the very least, they deserve the honor.

A Not Always Beautiful Mess

Now 9 months gone from our arms, we're still left with his beautiful mess. I like to think of it that way; the hell being still so beautiful because of the love we have for Andrew.

But let's get real for a hot second here, mmkay?

In these 9 months, the following has occurred:

• I've collectively used more Kleenex wiping up snot and buckets of tears than I have in my entire life up until December 2010.
• I've definitely used more curse words to describe my superlative of sadness and grief and struggle with the hardships of ttc.
• I've dropped out on lots of friendships (at least for now) because I'm a completely selfish person who can't think past her own grief to ask how the heck someone else is doing in their life.
• I've spent days and days watching more TV than I've watched ever.
• I've questioned God, his existence, his love for us and all things I've ever believed in before tragedy struck.
• I've been unmotivated and drab.
• I've all but given up on my appearance most days-- taking great effort to look presentable.
• I've offended family members and probably friends with my rage and lunacy 
• I've avoided phonecalls and door knocks.
• I've lost most of my carefree personality and have definitely transformed into a downer who can't even smile when looking at the innocence of a baby-- because instead I'm oozing with jealousy. 

Thank God I'm married to my soulmate because I'm a pretty attractive beast these days and would be hard-pressed to find someone who was attracted to such ugly qualities. 

So it's not all pretty over here. It's beautiful that our son has spurred so much love inside of us that's passionate and fierce, but I was kind of hoping that passion and ferocity would be used to say, potty train him or something. Turns out all milestones are a wash and our sadness lives on through the ebbs and flows that it is. It's a brutal beast that gets the best of us. But it's out of love. How love can translate through all of this madness and ugliness is beyond my comprehension.

Loving our little boy just as much today as we ever did. Nine months little man. Can't even believe it. And I really don't want to.

What Makes a Family

I'd like to think that we're already a family. Before Andrew. Before losing him. I'd like to think that Ray and I were a family of two.

Our church is starting this series on Family Ties next week. They have a photo booth set up to photograph congregation members and regular attendees (that's us) to display in one of their excellently-crafted videos (no really, they have talent and all the Apple equipment necessary) what makes a family. The whole premise is that families come in all shapes, sizes, and formations.

But like all things related to stillbirth, I'm sure it'd make everyone uncomfortable if we sat down on that bench and held up that heart-shaped urn holding {most of} the remains of our son. What about the rest of him that sits in a container within a box typed in Courier font with his precious name picked so perfectly for our firstborn? He's a family member and will always be remembered as such. I never thought the idea of a family photo would be so numbing and painful.

When asked by a friend if we were going to have our "family" photo taken this morning, I replied with a stern, "Not a chance." He then responded with, "Not even for a church thing? I'm making the video this week and we could use your photo." I'm pretty sure they won't be missing one solitary photo in the pile. I told Ray on the drive home and he commented sarcastically and appropriately, "Sure, let's just go home and get the rest of our family." Not so simple, is it?

Most of me understands this concept. Families are made in many ways. Some are adopted families and not of blood. Some are single-parent homes. Some are same-sex partnerships. Some are inclusive of grandparents, parents, and grandchildren. Whatever it may be, there are many variations of the same. It all boils down to a group of people who have chosen one another to love and care for. It's not very complex.

Or is it? Because I can tell you right now that bringing my deceased child and displaying him in our photo would represent a very bleak and uncomfortable image of family. I'm pretty sure our Lutheran church would much easier accept a same-sex partnership (with kids!) over the image of our reality. I'm also sure no one would stop me from this photo opportunity, but it would be unlikely that we'd make the first half of the video, as to not upset people or make anyone else uncomfortable. Part of me wants to have a b-roll over my photo (which will never be taken) of me saying in my best Jack Nicholson voice, "You Can't Handle the TRUTH!"

What does the future of our family look like? Are families only comprised of those with children? Will I feel a void in every single photo we ever take as a "family" together? Will I put Andrew in my pocket for a photo-opp? My lap? Hold up an ultrasound photo or even more uncomfortable, a photo of my deceased son in my arms?

I can tell you this. I will always, always think of how wrong it is that our entire family could not "make it" in the photo. That we will never be completely whole. At the very least, I did walk away feeling okay this morning. It was baptism Sunday but we decided to go to the early service (which we never do) because we were awake and ready. It turns out our service had no baptisms but all of the other services did. Thankfully so, otherwise I'd probably have to awkwardly slip out the back of the auditorium because I can't handle it. Small victory I guess. Shameful that I even give out a sigh of relief because I was "lucky" enough to avoid seeing babies and their happy parents. Their families. Their complete (maybe?) families. I'll never be too quick to assume that all families, even with small children, are ever complete because we all do have our struggles. Who would have ever thought that I'd be here. I sure didn't.

Mind Vomit

I'm being lame. Like most bloggers around, I've been in a blogging rut-- that, and I've been working every day and it's really not something I've been used to since late May. So I'm tired. By the time I get home, I have no desire to make dinner, grocery shop, or blog. I'm reading most, but even my reader has more saved than read each day.

I miss my son. So much. Unspeakable amounts.

I'm working and attempting to make money that will hopefully be used to take us on vacations... like the trip we planned to D.C. in October and our escape from the frickin' holidays trip to South Padre Island, TX conveniently over Christmas. Waterfront. Seventy degrees. Pool. Relaxation. I can't wait. Texas is on the list of states I've never visited and I'm excited to spend time in the warm weather during Chicago's coldest time of year. Can anyone help me figure out how to cancel the entire months of November-January please? Because they're coming and I'm so not ready. I may be lucky enough to meet my good blogger friend Brooke around Thanksgiving as we both attempt to pass the holidays like they aren't even happening around us. The -er months have started, folks. Holy. Holy. Crap. I'm not ready.

Kind of freaks me out to think we're 3/4 of a year back around the circle to the worst day of my life. I've been thinking about how to celebrate Andrew's life, but parties aren't really my thing. Well, for my live 1-year old they'd probably be, but I'd still be subdued since early ages need nothing more than a cake face celebration. But celebrating the life of a now dead child. My child? We'll probably go out to dinner and eat dessert. Because it's a birthday and we're celebrating. It's what we do for our own birthdays, so why not Andrew's? I guess it's not so toddler-like, but my baby is practically a teenager in my mind now since I've never experienced a day as his mama. He's living in heaven and probably so wise. And he'd probably choose crab cakes over corndogs just like his mama. So we celebrate in style.

My mind is a million places. And most of those thoughts are on repeat. I miss him. I love him. I want him here.