Sunday, July 5, 2009

I don't know anymore

I am a different person.
I'm snappy.
I'm bitter.
I'm sad.
I hate it.
I see glimmers of what used to be-the joy I used to feel with the simplicity of life. When I was home visiting my mom, Brian and I were coming home one night, late. I grew up where it's basically all still farmland-it smells like home, it looks like home. Heck, it sounds like home. My mom and I were driving, 65 mph down a country road, with the windows down, singing along to Oldies at the top of our lungs. I let the air swirl around me, my hair whipping me in the face and gathering into little snarly knots. I knew all the words. My mom doesn't really, but sings along anyway, saying the wrong words when she doesn't know, and grinning when she does. I felt like a kid-carefree.
It never lasts, though.
Today I was mowing the lawn at my mother-in-laws. She has a huge lawn. I was on a riding mower, listening to my ipod, feeling the sun warm every inch of my skin. I sang at the top of my lungs to songs that inspire me; that make me feel. A moment of peace.
But I always return.
To that place where my babies are dead. To that place where I am NOT a mom. To where I talk to my dog as if he were my kid. Where I can't concentrate on anything. Where I snap. Where I cry. Where I feel like I am ruined, that nothing will be right again.
Listen, I know it could be worse. I could have paid 20 grand for fertility treatment and had this happen. I could be 41 years old and this was my only chance at children. I could lose my child to something different after they had lived.
But as much as I rationalize with this, I can't change the agony that I feel. The hell that I live in every day.
I went into school this week. It was terrible. My room was a disaster. There was baby stuff everywhere. It was just a reminder of who I was. Who I used to be.
Seeing everyone from back home was weird. When you don't see people often, it's like I just wanted to talk about the babies. I have one amazing friend, who brought it up right away. I'm so thankful for this. Everyone else ignored it. Pretended it didn't happen to varying degrees. I suppose I don't know what I would do. But I go from wanting to talk non=stop about them to not wanting to talk about them at all.
I just sold the last piece of baby furniture. It's all gone now. All gone.
I swear, there is evidence that this happened. But sometimes it doesn't feel real. Sometimes it feels like a dream that I had. I was never pregnant. I never heard those two heartbeats inside of me. I never laid in bed, Brian rubbing one baby and me the other, trying desperately to do anything to keep them inside of me for even just a little longer.
I don't know anymore.
I just don't know much of anything, it seems.


Anonymous said...

Be angry. Be sad. 'Cause everything did happen and you have every right to all those feelings. Take your time, don't be sad about who you used to be. It's ok that you will never be exactly the same person, 'cause you'll be Sophie and Aiden's mom from now on, and of course you'll always miss them. I'm so glad you had some good moments at home this weekend.

Tina said...

I love when people bring up my babies. It makes me feel validated in some sort of way. Like, yes I do have twin girls and thank you for recognizing it. I don't think anyone that has not suffered our loss would understand, but I am thankful to my friends that are not afraid to ask me about my girls. I am sorry you are feeling so much pain, I will be thinking of you.

Catherine W said...

I don't know much of anything either. I'm so sorry that you lost the person that you used to be.

Sophie and Aiden did exist, even if some people find it difficult to talk about them. You are their mama.


Anonymous said...

I struggle daily with this. I want desperately for people to remember my boys but it's so painful when they do. I hope that it will get less painful but it's been over a year since they died....I'm not the person I was on March 14th, before I lost Baby A and I'm really not the person I was before Baby B died a month later. I'm mad about that. I want that blissful ignorant feeling I had when I was first pregnant...I can't tell you when this will get better because for me it hasn't. I can just tell you that you aren't alone...