When the time came for Parke and me to get married, I chose to put the word "Home" as the inscription on his wedding ring...it was the one word I knew that showed how I felt about him (as an aside, he chose to put the words "no bologna" in my wedding ring...I am probably the only person in the history of the world to have the word "bologna" on my body at all times).
I was raised in a home so filled with love it was almost sickening, it was the one place in the world I knew I was loved unconditionally. I am one of the lucky ones for whom the word home equals comfort.
After Rip died, I did not want to go home. I could not imagine walking back through the door where I'd waited and hoped and dreamed for this baby. When I told my fears to Parke he said, "You should never be afraid to go home".
And from that horrible day forward I've realized how right he was. Home is the place where I have again found comfort. Home is the place where family and friends will come to you in your darkest moments and make you laugh. Home is where Christmas tree lights and wagging dog tails can ease some of the pain. Home is where I can go after a long, sad day and sit on the couch with someone who knows exactly how I feel. Home is the place where the memory of our baby will live forever, because that is where he is most loved.
Home is the place that will change many times over the course of my life, but it is the place I will never again be afraid to go.
Friday, January 7, 2011
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
A Separate Peace
Every year, my parents have a "themed" Christmas...this year, appropriately, the theme was "Peace on Earth".
Here we are being peaceful...even the snowman is flashing the peace sign.
Yesterday was my first day back at work full-time. Things were going fine until about 4:30 when some poor guy I had not seen for months asked how the baby was doing. I almost felt worse for him than I did for me when I told him what happened, he looked like he wished the floor would open up and swallow him whole. I, on the other hand, got angry...really, really angry at everything and everyone. All of it just seemed so unfair.
For lack of socially acceptable options, I hit the gym. I pounded out almost an hour on the treadmill, ran like a maniac or someone in a bad 80's movie montage, blasted every angry workout song I had in my repertoire. After I was done, I felt a little better...or at least less likely to punch out the person on the treadmill next to me. That might not be what most people would call a sense of peace, but that was as close as I was getting.
My theme for the year is still peace on earth. The peace I felt a month ago is different that the peace I found yesterday, and I can only pray it will be different than the peace I find tomorrow.
Yesterday was my first day back at work full-time. Things were going fine until about 4:30 when some poor guy I had not seen for months asked how the baby was doing. I almost felt worse for him than I did for me when I told him what happened, he looked like he wished the floor would open up and swallow him whole. I, on the other hand, got angry...really, really angry at everything and everyone. All of it just seemed so unfair.
For lack of socially acceptable options, I hit the gym. I pounded out almost an hour on the treadmill, ran like a maniac or someone in a bad 80's movie montage, blasted every angry workout song I had in my repertoire. After I was done, I felt a little better...or at least less likely to punch out the person on the treadmill next to me. That might not be what most people would call a sense of peace, but that was as close as I was getting.
My theme for the year is still peace on earth. The peace I felt a month ago is different that the peace I found yesterday, and I can only pray it will be different than the peace I find tomorrow.
Monday, January 3, 2011
One of these things is not like the other
Most of the time, I try to stay really positive...and most of the time I do feel pretty positive. But the whole point of me writing this blog is so that I can look back and see how far I have come. I feel like I need to be able to look back and see some of the bad things in order to appreciate the good.
Right now I need to be sad, even mad, about some things. It makes me sad that I have to think about what to say when people ask if I have children. It makes me sad that I can be standing in the middle of Urban Outfitters and suddenly feel like I have been kicked in the gut because I see a pregnant woman. It makes me sad that I have to worry about how to tell my future children about their brother. It makes me sad when I think about having another baby, something I know I would not be thinking about, at least not yet, if Rip was here. It makes me sad to see the people I love hurting.
This song, I think it may be from Sesame Street, has been popping in my head every so often, "one of these things is not like the other, one of these things just doesn't belong". That is how I feel when I am out in the world sometimes, I am not sure exactly where I belong...I'm not like the other mothers out there, but I am a mother. Being a mother to a baby in heaven is really hard work.
I think in time (good old time again) I will find my place, but right now all of this is still very new and raw. It sounds strange, but I think taking time to feel the sadness will make me more ready to accept the good when it comes.
Right now I need to be sad, even mad, about some things. It makes me sad that I have to think about what to say when people ask if I have children. It makes me sad that I can be standing in the middle of Urban Outfitters and suddenly feel like I have been kicked in the gut because I see a pregnant woman. It makes me sad that I have to worry about how to tell my future children about their brother. It makes me sad when I think about having another baby, something I know I would not be thinking about, at least not yet, if Rip was here. It makes me sad to see the people I love hurting.
This song, I think it may be from Sesame Street, has been popping in my head every so often, "one of these things is not like the other, one of these things just doesn't belong". That is how I feel when I am out in the world sometimes, I am not sure exactly where I belong...I'm not like the other mothers out there, but I am a mother. Being a mother to a baby in heaven is really hard work.
I think in time (good old time again) I will find my place, but right now all of this is still very new and raw. It sounds strange, but I think taking time to feel the sadness will make me more ready to accept the good when it comes.
Friday, December 31, 2010
Fixed!
The New Year is looking better already, I finally figured out how to change the blog address to http://wontibesurprised.blogspot.com/
Here is to 2011 bringing LOTS of happy surprises!
Here is to 2011 bringing LOTS of happy surprises!
Thursday, December 30, 2010
I Think I Can...
In one of those foggy days right after Rip died, I remember telling someone, "I'm not doing anything I don't want to do for the rest of my life."
My New Year's Resolution this year is a variation of just that, except I think I will phrase it, " I am going to do everything I want to do with the rest of my life."
Before we lost Rip, I would say my self-esteem was pretty bad. I never thought I was smart enough, skinny enough, or just plain ol' good enough. Instead of trying new things, I convinced myself that playing it safe was the better option. Basically, I settled.
I can think of nothing worse than living this way after everything that has happened. I don't ever want to settle... I want to make sure that everything I do with the rest of my life is something that I can be proud of, maybe more importantly something I think my son would be proud of.
When I was younger, my family was a big fan of the Little Engine That Could...I can't tell you how many swim meets and horse shows I did with " I think I can, I think I can" going through my head.
So I know that living my life to the fullest is a pretty broad and lofty resolution...but I think I can, I think I can.
My New Year's Resolution this year is a variation of just that, except I think I will phrase it, " I am going to do everything I want to do with the rest of my life."
Before we lost Rip, I would say my self-esteem was pretty bad. I never thought I was smart enough, skinny enough, or just plain ol' good enough. Instead of trying new things, I convinced myself that playing it safe was the better option. Basically, I settled.
I can think of nothing worse than living this way after everything that has happened. I don't ever want to settle... I want to make sure that everything I do with the rest of my life is something that I can be proud of, maybe more importantly something I think my son would be proud of.
When I was younger, my family was a big fan of the Little Engine That Could...I can't tell you how many swim meets and horse shows I did with " I think I can, I think I can" going through my head.
So I know that living my life to the fullest is a pretty broad and lofty resolution...but I think I can, I think I can.
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Life with an asterisk
I feel like I am living my life with one big asterisk beside everything I say. If I were to write out any conversation I have right now, for instance if I said "We had a good Christmas", I would then have to add "*but it was sad and we missed Rip", somewhere below.
This is completely my doing, I know nobody else thinks for a minute that whatever good time I have is not coupled with some sadness. I think it is mainly guilt that makes me feel like I have to add a disclaimer, like somehow I am not being a loving mother if I don't remind everyone how much I miss my child. Like having fun is somehow disrespectful.
What I am slowly coming to realize is that the asterisk is there whether I choose to voice it or not. Missing and loving Rip is a part of me now, just like my smile or my shoe size. I am a different person than I was before he was born. Are some of those differences for the better? Absolutely. Do some of those differences completely suck? Yes again.
The point I am trying to reach, and I think I am doing better about getting there, is that despite the sadness there can still be fun, good times.*
*and it is still okay for me to enjoy them
This is completely my doing, I know nobody else thinks for a minute that whatever good time I have is not coupled with some sadness. I think it is mainly guilt that makes me feel like I have to add a disclaimer, like somehow I am not being a loving mother if I don't remind everyone how much I miss my child. Like having fun is somehow disrespectful.
What I am slowly coming to realize is that the asterisk is there whether I choose to voice it or not. Missing and loving Rip is a part of me now, just like my smile or my shoe size. I am a different person than I was before he was born. Are some of those differences for the better? Absolutely. Do some of those differences completely suck? Yes again.
The point I am trying to reach, and I think I am doing better about getting there, is that despite the sadness there can still be fun, good times.*
*and it is still okay for me to enjoy them
Monday, December 27, 2010
Who I Am
I woke up this morning in a funk. Partially just the normal "day after (after) Christmas" funk, compounded by the overall crumminess of my situation.
Right now, I mainly wish that I could have Rip back, which I also realize is not going to be possible on this earth. On top of that, my reason for getting pregnant in the first place has never changed, I wanted and want a baby...but my body (and probably my mind) is not ready to get pregnant again. So I here I sit in limbo, unable to do anything about what I want most in the world. Hence the funk.
In an attempt to be productive, I decided to clean out my wallet (mainly because this type of productivity did not involve getting out of bed). After going through many years worth of insurance and Bilo bonus cards, I moved on to the side pocket where I stick notes, pictures, etc.
The first item I pulled out was I notice from the Social Security Office, acknowledging that I had completed the final step to becoming Anne Hassold Harris.
The second was a sheet of photo booth pictures Parke and I took at a wedding several years ago. We are dying laughing in most of them, in the last one I am leaning into his neck while he hugs me close.
The third was a note from my mom, written on a birthday a few years back. It reads, "We all love you so so much, You've always had that special touch, No one else could take your place, with your smart little self and beautiful face."
Fourth was a note I must have written after we lost Rip, although I don't remember doing it. It reads "Dear Lord, please let me be a mom again to a healthy baby".
Finally I pulled out a very old piece of paper. It reads, "Don't worry about anything; instead, pray about everything; tell God your needs and don't forget to thank him for his answers. If you do this you will experience God's peace, which is more wonderful than the human mind can understand, Philippians 4: 6-7"
With five pieces of paper, my wallet managed to remind me of who I am, who loves me, and where to go from here. Not bad for a Monday morning, right?
Right now, I mainly wish that I could have Rip back, which I also realize is not going to be possible on this earth. On top of that, my reason for getting pregnant in the first place has never changed, I wanted and want a baby...but my body (and probably my mind) is not ready to get pregnant again. So I here I sit in limbo, unable to do anything about what I want most in the world. Hence the funk.
In an attempt to be productive, I decided to clean out my wallet (mainly because this type of productivity did not involve getting out of bed). After going through many years worth of insurance and Bilo bonus cards, I moved on to the side pocket where I stick notes, pictures, etc.
The first item I pulled out was I notice from the Social Security Office, acknowledging that I had completed the final step to becoming Anne Hassold Harris.
The second was a sheet of photo booth pictures Parke and I took at a wedding several years ago. We are dying laughing in most of them, in the last one I am leaning into his neck while he hugs me close.
The third was a note from my mom, written on a birthday a few years back. It reads, "We all love you so so much, You've always had that special touch, No one else could take your place, with your smart little self and beautiful face."
Fourth was a note I must have written after we lost Rip, although I don't remember doing it. It reads "Dear Lord, please let me be a mom again to a healthy baby".
Finally I pulled out a very old piece of paper. It reads, "Don't worry about anything; instead, pray about everything; tell God your needs and don't forget to thank him for his answers. If you do this you will experience God's peace, which is more wonderful than the human mind can understand, Philippians 4: 6-7"
With five pieces of paper, my wallet managed to remind me of who I am, who loves me, and where to go from here. Not bad for a Monday morning, right?
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