I like to do things fast. In school, I was almost always the first person done with my test. I like lists of tasks that I can check off. I always wake up in the morning with my head swimming of things I need to do, thinking I will never get them done, and knock them out by noon. My speed reading is legendary (well, not really, but several people know about it.)
The thing is, with all of these things I can do so quickly, it is mostly just so I can get to the end. For example, with the books, I almost always read the end of the book first. That way, I know the outcome, knowing full well through whether the hero will be saved or ruined. Then I get them there as quickly as I can...it's not knowing how the ending is going to go that stresses me out, so I get there as fast I can.
If there is one thing I have learned in these past three weeks, it is that you cannot get to the end of grief quickly no matter what you do. I was a psychology minor in college, and listened to all of those "stages" the experts listed when it came to loss. I probably even finished the test in record time. What I did not realize was that you could go through your anger, sadness, denial, and acceptance all within an hour (if not a few minutes) and then do it all over again. Thousands of times. I did not realize you could literally be on your knees crying so hard you can barely breathe, only to be laughing an hour later.
I am not "good" at grief. I want it to be over. I want to read the end of the book and find out whether or not I turn out okay. But no matter how hard I try I can't outrun, check off, or get to the end of grief before it is done with me. Doesn't mean I have to like it though.
Monday, December 13, 2010
Friday, December 10, 2010
Two Things...
When I was pregnant, I wrote a lot on here about what not to say/do around pregnant women. I completely understand that there is just no appropriate thing to say/do when someone has lost a child. Nobody is going to be able to tell us what we want to hear (that this whole thing never happened), but most people are so sincere in saying that they are so sorry for our loss that it does actually help. That being said, in the past two weeks I have experienced two circumstances that I just thought I should write down as what, under no circumstance, should you do when someone has experienced the loss of their baby.
My first encounter with "what not to do" occurred when I got back to work. I received plenty of hugs and warm welcomes, all of which made re-entering the work place much easier. Even those that did not know about Rip were so sympathetic when they heard the news... that is until I ran into a woman I did not know very well from another office.
She knew I was pregnant so she asked how the baby was doing. While this is always hard, I can hardly blame people for asking a totally understandable question. It was only after I explained what happened that she came up with a real gem. "Oh" says she, " at least it was just a baby and not really like you lost a child." I'm really not prone to violence but let's just say she is lucky not to have a black eye right now.
As bad as that was, I think this second situation was worse, if only because it occurred with a "professional". Parke and I went to see a grief counselor, with my hope that she could provide us with guidance and better ways to cope. What she did was talk for the full hour about how life was really about loss... how she in fact had lost two husbands, a father, and a girl she went to college with...how her daughter has also lost a child but that she (the trained grief counselor) had been too sad to go to her daughter...and then just when I thought I could not be any more depressed she ended the session by sticking her iphone in our faces so that we could watch a two minute video of her happy healthy baby granddaughter squealing and laughing...just in case we did not realize what we had lost, I guess. Then she charged us one hundred dollars and asked when we would be back. Needless to say, we won't.
My first encounter with "what not to do" occurred when I got back to work. I received plenty of hugs and warm welcomes, all of which made re-entering the work place much easier. Even those that did not know about Rip were so sympathetic when they heard the news... that is until I ran into a woman I did not know very well from another office.
She knew I was pregnant so she asked how the baby was doing. While this is always hard, I can hardly blame people for asking a totally understandable question. It was only after I explained what happened that she came up with a real gem. "Oh" says she, " at least it was just a baby and not really like you lost a child." I'm really not prone to violence but let's just say she is lucky not to have a black eye right now.
As bad as that was, I think this second situation was worse, if only because it occurred with a "professional". Parke and I went to see a grief counselor, with my hope that she could provide us with guidance and better ways to cope. What she did was talk for the full hour about how life was really about loss... how she in fact had lost two husbands, a father, and a girl she went to college with...how her daughter has also lost a child but that she (the trained grief counselor) had been too sad to go to her daughter...and then just when I thought I could not be any more depressed she ended the session by sticking her iphone in our faces so that we could watch a two minute video of her happy healthy baby granddaughter squealing and laughing...just in case we did not realize what we had lost, I guess. Then she charged us one hundred dollars and asked when we would be back. Needless to say, we won't.
I realize I am a little on edge right now, and probably a lot more sensitive than I will ever be again. And I know these people probably meant well. But honestly folks...
So, that is my vent for the day.
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Don't you know I like my life that way...
You will probably think I am crazy after reading this post, but as Pat Green says, if this is crazy then I like my life that way.
My mother-in-law was kind enough to get us fuel for our gas fire as an anniversary gift. The "gas guy" came by yesterday to fill the tank while I was not there...by the time I did get there the house smelled strongly of gas. I figured blowing up the house at this point would be the last straw for a lot of people, so I called the company.
They were little to no help, had me running around turning on and off gas and finally asking me to re-light the pilot light to the darn fire. I am not mechanically inclined under the best of circumstances and I can barely get myself dressed right now so you can imagine how thrilled I was to be playing with fire.
So there I sat, my big head directly in the fireplace, mashing every button in sight trying to get this alleged pilot light to do its thing while the whole place still smelled terrible, no clue whether I was making things better or worse.
I lost it. I screamed and yelled and shook my fist at God, let Him know I could not handle ONE MORE THING.
And the fire came on.
And then I heard very clearly, "you will have another baby."
And then I cried some more.
So...I realize that makes me sound crazy and I don't care. If it takes me melting down (no pun intended) over a fireplace in North Charleston, SC to feel God again then so be it. I know that I will have so many more days of breaking down and crying my eyes out, but I also now know that we are going to be okay. That's my kind of crazy.
My mother-in-law was kind enough to get us fuel for our gas fire as an anniversary gift. The "gas guy" came by yesterday to fill the tank while I was not there...by the time I did get there the house smelled strongly of gas. I figured blowing up the house at this point would be the last straw for a lot of people, so I called the company.
They were little to no help, had me running around turning on and off gas and finally asking me to re-light the pilot light to the darn fire. I am not mechanically inclined under the best of circumstances and I can barely get myself dressed right now so you can imagine how thrilled I was to be playing with fire.
So there I sat, my big head directly in the fireplace, mashing every button in sight trying to get this alleged pilot light to do its thing while the whole place still smelled terrible, no clue whether I was making things better or worse.
I lost it. I screamed and yelled and shook my fist at God, let Him know I could not handle ONE MORE THING.
And the fire came on.
And then I heard very clearly, "you will have another baby."
And then I cried some more.
So...I realize that makes me sound crazy and I don't care. If it takes me melting down (no pun intended) over a fireplace in North Charleston, SC to feel God again then so be it. I know that I will have so many more days of breaking down and crying my eyes out, but I also now know that we are going to be okay. That's my kind of crazy.
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
A Good Mama
Growing up, I was one of the best dressed little girls around. My mother made sure of that.
When I was in elementary school, each outfit was picked out the night before (complete with matching hair bow) and every afternoon when Mama picked me up the question was the same, "Did anybody tell you how cute you looked?" I would roll my eyes and say no (although 9 times out of 10 they had), to which she would reply, "Well, they were thinking it."
As I grew older and came to appreciate the power of looking good, my mother went right on making sure that "they were thinking it." Each milestone in my life was marked with the perfect outfit. My friends were in amazement when I was the only person that they knew that still got a "trousseau" when I got married (which was really just a bunch of cute clothes).
When I was pregnant and on bed rest in the hospital, Mama rushed down each week with Old Navy Maternity bags bulging because as she put it, "nobody ever feels better from looking bad." And it was true, I was the cutest girl on the Labor and Delivery ward.
One of the hardest parts for me after Rip was born was how little I got to do for him. Even before he got sick, the nursery changed his diapers and fed him and even when I got to hold him there were so many wires that he never really felt like mine.
When things got bad and we knew we were going to lose him, I'd done very little that made me feel like his Mama. That last day in the NICU, our wonderful nurse gave me the best opportunity. She let me pick out his outfit. I went through bags and bags of clothes at the hospital, making sure to find something comfortable, cute, and just a little trendy. When I held him that day, he finally felt like mine. I knew that I'd done something for him that showed how much I loved him, something only the best mothers did.
After we lost Rip, I still looked like I just had a baby. My swollen chest and pouchy stomach were just a constant painful reminder. Getting dressed and finding something that fit left me sobbing.
The day before the funeral, my mom and sister took a very sedated me, put me in a dressing room and went to work finding the most figure flattering dress TJ Maxx had to offer, complete with sky high heels.
To say I was dreading the day of the funeral would be an understatement. Somehow I got up and in to my new dress. I made it through the service and to the receiving line. The weather was perfect and as I stood there with the sun on my face, I felt peaceful. I felt like myself, even a little pretty.
I know that clothes and outfits are just materials and all of this may sound a little petty. But behind each outfit is the security of my mother's love. That is what she taught me, and what I tried to give to Rip on that last day. Because I know that is what a good mama does.
When I was in elementary school, each outfit was picked out the night before (complete with matching hair bow) and every afternoon when Mama picked me up the question was the same, "Did anybody tell you how cute you looked?" I would roll my eyes and say no (although 9 times out of 10 they had), to which she would reply, "Well, they were thinking it."
As I grew older and came to appreciate the power of looking good, my mother went right on making sure that "they were thinking it." Each milestone in my life was marked with the perfect outfit. My friends were in amazement when I was the only person that they knew that still got a "trousseau" when I got married (which was really just a bunch of cute clothes).
When I was pregnant and on bed rest in the hospital, Mama rushed down each week with Old Navy Maternity bags bulging because as she put it, "nobody ever feels better from looking bad." And it was true, I was the cutest girl on the Labor and Delivery ward.
One of the hardest parts for me after Rip was born was how little I got to do for him. Even before he got sick, the nursery changed his diapers and fed him and even when I got to hold him there were so many wires that he never really felt like mine.
When things got bad and we knew we were going to lose him, I'd done very little that made me feel like his Mama. That last day in the NICU, our wonderful nurse gave me the best opportunity. She let me pick out his outfit. I went through bags and bags of clothes at the hospital, making sure to find something comfortable, cute, and just a little trendy. When I held him that day, he finally felt like mine. I knew that I'd done something for him that showed how much I loved him, something only the best mothers did.
After we lost Rip, I still looked like I just had a baby. My swollen chest and pouchy stomach were just a constant painful reminder. Getting dressed and finding something that fit left me sobbing.
The day before the funeral, my mom and sister took a very sedated me, put me in a dressing room and went to work finding the most figure flattering dress TJ Maxx had to offer, complete with sky high heels.
To say I was dreading the day of the funeral would be an understatement. Somehow I got up and in to my new dress. I made it through the service and to the receiving line. The weather was perfect and as I stood there with the sun on my face, I felt peaceful. I felt like myself, even a little pretty.
I know that clothes and outfits are just materials and all of this may sound a little petty. But behind each outfit is the security of my mother's love. That is what she taught me, and what I tried to give to Rip on that last day. Because I know that is what a good mama does.
Sunday, December 5, 2010
Why I Wish Life Was Like A Cooking Show
I spent the morning lying on the couch while Parke watched the Food Network, and I realized I would really prefer life to be like a cooking show.
The beauty of these shows is that they are generally only allotted about thirty minutes to create something from nothing.
The first part is when everything is raw and not so good. In my case, this would translate to bawling my eyes out 24 hours a day, sitting around in my pajamas, with little or no motivation to do anything (aka this morning).
But then in the blink of an eye, you are at the fifteen minute mark. Here, something raw and not so good has started to simmer, now you are starting to get somewhere. Maybe this means I am up and dressed, tearing up a time or two, but basically holding it together.
And then with or without the BAM! (depending on whether or not you are an Emeril fan), you have the finished product. You have hours of mixing, stirring, and baking, all of which have produced something so much better than you started with...but nobody really seemed to have to do any of the work. It just kind of happened, all in thirty minutes or less.
And that is what I wish would happen, I could just say the magic words and I would be "there" wherever there ends up being...the place where we are healed and better than we were to begin with.
I know that is not an option, I know that even Emeril himself actually has to do all of those hours of hard work to come up with the perfect meal. But it would be really nice if he (and I) didn't.
The beauty of these shows is that they are generally only allotted about thirty minutes to create something from nothing.
The first part is when everything is raw and not so good. In my case, this would translate to bawling my eyes out 24 hours a day, sitting around in my pajamas, with little or no motivation to do anything (aka this morning).
But then in the blink of an eye, you are at the fifteen minute mark. Here, something raw and not so good has started to simmer, now you are starting to get somewhere. Maybe this means I am up and dressed, tearing up a time or two, but basically holding it together.
And then with or without the BAM! (depending on whether or not you are an Emeril fan), you have the finished product. You have hours of mixing, stirring, and baking, all of which have produced something so much better than you started with...but nobody really seemed to have to do any of the work. It just kind of happened, all in thirty minutes or less.
And that is what I wish would happen, I could just say the magic words and I would be "there" wherever there ends up being...the place where we are healed and better than we were to begin with.
I know that is not an option, I know that even Emeril himself actually has to do all of those hours of hard work to come up with the perfect meal. But it would be really nice if he (and I) didn't.
Saturday, December 4, 2010
Today Sucked
Today was just a really sucky day. I've pretty much been crying since the minute I woke up. Parke and I got in a stupid fight. We are both just too sad and worn out to be much help to each other. I feel lonely and scared and like this whole situation is pretty much unbearable.
Everyone keeps telling me that this is just going to take time, that one day it will get better and I hate that. I am not a patient person, I don't want to have to go through days and days of miserable. I want to fast forward through this whole awful process, fix it for me and for Parke and for our families.
My basic feeling is that this just was not supposed to happen and for today at least, I don't want anybody to comfort me about how or why it did.
So, bottom line, today sucked.
Everyone keeps telling me that this is just going to take time, that one day it will get better and I hate that. I am not a patient person, I don't want to have to go through days and days of miserable. I want to fast forward through this whole awful process, fix it for me and for Parke and for our families.
My basic feeling is that this just was not supposed to happen and for today at least, I don't want anybody to comfort me about how or why it did.
So, bottom line, today sucked.
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Heaven Help Us
As a Christian, I have always been pretty vague. A "yeah, sure I believe we all go to heaven and God, yep he sounds like a good enough guy" kind of Christian. I have had times in my life where I have been closer to God, and I have had times where I felt like I pretty much had it all under control.
Since Rip has been gone, one of the things I have been so surprised by is my desire to read the Bible. At first I just could not figure it out, I was so angry at God for taking my baby, why in the world would I want to read all about Him?
But then it started to make sense. If I truly believed in God, then I truly believe my child is now in Heaven. Not that I have not questioned my faith these past few weeks (I have), but at the end of the day that is what I believe. I believe Rip is in Heaven with God and I, as his mother, need to know as much as possible about where he is and who is taking care of him.
I would never have sent him to daycare without doing plenty of research, or left him with a babysitter without a background check...so why would I not learn everything I can about his new home?
Learning about God and Rip's Heaven is the best way I can continue to be his mama. And thankfully, everything I've read leads me to honestly believe that my baby is well loved and still perfect in every way. And that makes me so happy.
Since Rip has been gone, one of the things I have been so surprised by is my desire to read the Bible. At first I just could not figure it out, I was so angry at God for taking my baby, why in the world would I want to read all about Him?
But then it started to make sense. If I truly believed in God, then I truly believe my child is now in Heaven. Not that I have not questioned my faith these past few weeks (I have), but at the end of the day that is what I believe. I believe Rip is in Heaven with God and I, as his mother, need to know as much as possible about where he is and who is taking care of him.
I would never have sent him to daycare without doing plenty of research, or left him with a babysitter without a background check...so why would I not learn everything I can about his new home?
Learning about God and Rip's Heaven is the best way I can continue to be his mama. And thankfully, everything I've read leads me to honestly believe that my baby is well loved and still perfect in every way. And that makes me so happy.
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