Thursday, July 29, 2010

Can I Borrow the Car, Ma?

So, Julia posted the question on Glow in the Woods today about what do you want people you meet now to know about you? (in regards to your child who is no longer here.....)

I want them to know that even though we are blessed with her, we will always miss him. And a day doesn't go by that I don't wonder 'what if'. Even 2.5 years out.

I want people to stop asking me when will I get pregnant with my 'second' baby. The next baby (God-willing) will be my third, people.

I want people to know that I take nothing for granted. I sing You Are My Sunshine to my sweet girl every night, and pray that she is alive the next time I go to check on her. There is a section on the MISS site dedicated to the loss of young children/toddlers. I can't even look on that thread. It breaks my fucking heart to think a thread like that exists.

I want people to know that the grief I carry is a shapeshifter. It is a fuzzy bunny one day and the next day is a freaking rabid wolverine. And I never know the shape it will take until I stumble upon it.

I want people to know that there are times I wish I never knew this world existed. But then I feel guilty for wishing that, because it means that I will be undoing all the true beauty and joy I have witnessed that only comes from being in a place of true sorrow and despair.

I want people to know that it's not easy being me. But I get that it's not easy being you either.

I want people to respect the journey I am on, but don't dwell on it, or marvel that you could never be on it or yourself or you would DIE or KILL YOURSELF. Doesn't make me feel better, and it makes you look weaker than you probably are.

I just want people to know. To get it. To understand.

And if you don't get it exactly, that's ok.

That's ok.

But please say "sorry to hear that."

That's enough, and it's ok.

Thursday, July 22, 2010

Back to the Future

We're moving.

Have I mentioned this already?

To Ohio of all places.

The Job is moving. I am an 'integral' part of the team. I make good money. I have wonderful benefits. I need to go with my team. My career is on a specific track. It makes perfect sense.


The logistics of moving back to the Midwest (as you may recall, P and I came down to Texas from Michigan, so we are effectively doing an about-face just over 3 years later) are rather daunting. Both personally (Jesus, I need to clear out my garage) and my lab. MY LAB!

Ever move a lab 1200 miles? Yeah, I moved a lab 2 floors down and lost a ton of stuff. The very thought of that is making me pop Zantac like Chiclets.

Am I thrilled it's the Midwest? Meh. I feel kind of been-there-done-that. I am looking forward to the LACK of ridiculous commute. 10 minutes to get to work? HEAVEN. FOUR seasons? Imagine that!

Will I miss my family? Meh. My family barely sees us without some monumental effort on our part. P's parents are making their exit of Texas as well and will most likely end up on the East Coast, so, a day's drive.

Will I miss my friends? Sure. But what the hell is it about life that really gets in the way of connecting with your friends? I used to be really disappointed about it, but realized that I should just be grateful for the moments of time carved out with other people who love(d) you. The truth is that my friendships have evolved since Ronan died. Some for good, some for bad, and some TBD. I have no idea what the future holds, really. My friends from Michigan are excited to have us within driving distance of them again, but 4 hours is a long trip. And truth be told, I expect to have phone/Facebook contact like always and prepare for the carving of moments once a year if I am lucky.

Although Texas is my home, I feel that when we came back here September 2007 we were just visiting. I accepted the job knowing that another move was eminent. But I reasoned that being home for the birth of our son was logical (versus Iowa, which would have been my other option). That our family would have the opportunity to get to know him--even if it was only for 3 years.

I didn't know it would be for only 1 day. Shortly after Ronan died, P and I were laying in bed, crying for the 100th time and he said that he wanted to leave Texas. Said that this place would always be the place where our son died, overshadowing all the wonderful memories we had shared here, back when we first met in 1997.

I wonder sometimes what would have happened if we had been in Iowa when this happened to us. Alone with just us dealing. Sometimes I feel it wouldn't have made much difference, as the obstacles and the day-to-day were still awkward and hard, but just witnessed by more people who knew us from before.

In the meantime I look up homes in Ohio. I imagine life there, less complicated, and me less jaded.

Maybe leaving is a good thing...

Sunday, July 11, 2010

Never Say Goodbye

I don't quite know what to do when a fellow blogger decides to stop blogging.

It started with Antigone. At first I thought she was taking a break, busy with Perseus and all, but then the break was two weeks, a month. And that was all she wrote.

I wonder if Antigone still reads my blog---passes by to get glimpses of what the girl looks like now. I sometimes wish she would give me a glimpse of P now. I can imagine what he looks like--I assume that he is hitting all similar milestones, since he was born 5 days before Radha.

And of course I don't blame her. She had to do what was right for her, but I still felt like I lost a tether---someone who was holding me taut during this new, crazy adventure we shared.

I don't know if Charmed is still blogging. She set her blog to private, and I have to believe that she felt exposed or just took it down when she decided to try to move away from DBL. She too was a voice, a fiercely strong one, that I grew to love and depend on.

And now it appears that another is also taking her leave. I was reading her {last} entry a few days ago and felt a wave of sadness just overcome me.

Or was it jealousy?

Is there a point where you stretch your wings to check to see if they have healed enough to try to fly away? Leave the security of the nest for good?

I don't feel that I will ever leave this nest, but I do feel strong enough to wander away from it for stretches at a time. But when others leave for good, I am left feeling torn between my loss and sadness for seeing them go and a sense of that I should be following suit.

I wrote once that this was a journey, not a destination. Losing Ronan and the grieving process has been anything but linear, with snags of grief that knock me on my ass when I least expect it. I have become more matter-of-fact in the last year about his passing, a nice thick wall of scar tissue has covered my broken (but healing) heart. But things like seeing my OB/GYN a couple of weeks ago (for potentially the last time as we are set to move to Ohio in a few months) really, REALLY cut me deep. For every step I try to live away from the nest, it is still my safety net, and I feel (or fear?) I will never be able to leave it.

But why should I fear that?

Is there anything wrong with sticking around? Am I like a 5th year senior if I stick around? Old, uncool and ridiculous looking?

I just don't know anymore....