I think I'm having a breakdown. I went to work and started to itch. I haven't been this edgy for a long time. It's palpable, the pain and sadness makes it hard to breathe. I tried to talk to Michelle and I just started to cry. She is so kind and patient. She listens without saying anything. I have never known anyone who listens so intently without commentary, just listening. It is the most wonderful gift. She is the most wonderful gift.
But there's this itching. I have a rash and I itch all over. I am pretty sure it's psychological even though I have physical symptoms. I just don't know how to make it go away. Marie says I should try yoga. I think that was a nice way to agree with my psychological diagnosis. Of course, I think she is right. I will give it serious consideration but I don't think I have the energy to take the initiative to follow through right now. I listen intently to any advice from Marie, she's had similar tragedy in her life so she understands my suffering. I am so grateful that she is so close to me, she makes me comfortable when I am at work.
I just wish I could be lifted from all this pain. I'm really glad I have Michelle or I don't think I could go to work at all.
The weekend was weird. Everyone was thinking of us. Between email and phone calls, everyone wants to check up on us to see how we're doing. Although it is sweet and thoughtful, it is emotionally draining every time we answer one of these calls. There's this fine line between telling the truth and telling everyone what they want to hear. The thing is if we tell them the truth, that everything just sucks we risk the connection - maybe they won't call again and we certainly don't want to push people away. On the other hand, if we tell them what they want to hear, it's pretty unbearable to say we're doing OK when we're not. The only good we get out of it is that sense of making everyone else feel better. You can hear the feelings of relief in their voices, they are glad they called. Of course, obviously we answered the latter. The heavy feelings of sadness that blankets us now seems even worse.
Bailee and Adam are moving. They knew they couldn't stay where the baby died. There was just too much sadness in the air. The bad memory of that one horrible day outweighed all the other days. She can't even take a shower with her eyes closed because of her last good memories was bathing the baby the night before he died. It just haunts her.
Once the decision was made and the deal was sealed on the new house in Racine, reality set in. And I knew it would come - that feeling of leaving behind all the good memories. Bailee called to tell me that she is moving and I could hear the sadness in her voice. So I asked. How does that make you feel? She said she was afraid that she was leaving some of his spirit behind since this was the place with all the good baby memories. The place where he lived in his short time here. I told her that his spirit and all the love in that house was in her heart and in her memories and she would never be leaving that behind.
Bailee said that Adam calls it's a fresh start. So the planning begins. She spent the next two weeks packing and planning and getting ready for the move. When the time got closer she asked me to keep the baby's urn so she didn't have to worry about this little precious cargo during her move. I told her fine, I would keep the little jar in a safe place until she was ready to have it back. She just didn't want to worry about anything bad happening to it. I think everything bad has already happened. I didn't begin to fathom the effects of the baby's ashes in that little urn and how it would make me feel.
Maybe it wasn't so much the urn, maybe it was Bailee's treatment of it. She dropped it off on Friday night and when she left, she made sure to say good-bye. She talked to the urn like she was talking to the baby. "Good-night, sweet dreams, grandma and grandpa will take good care of you." My heart was breaking all over again. I cry everyday but it's been a while since I cried this hard.
All I can think of is the urn, the sadness, and my poor baby girl clinging to it. Thing's just don't get better.
Once the decision was made and the deal was sealed on the new house in Racine, reality set in. And I knew it would come - that feeling of leaving behind all the good memories. Bailee called to tell me that she is moving and I could hear the sadness in her voice. So I asked. How does that make you feel? She said she was afraid that she was leaving some of his spirit behind since this was the place with all the good baby memories. The place where he lived in his short time here. I told her that his spirit and all the love in that house was in her heart and in her memories and she would never be leaving that behind.
Bailee said that Adam calls it's a fresh start. So the planning begins. She spent the next two weeks packing and planning and getting ready for the move. When the time got closer she asked me to keep the baby's urn so she didn't have to worry about this little precious cargo during her move. I told her fine, I would keep the little jar in a safe place until she was ready to have it back. She just didn't want to worry about anything bad happening to it. I think everything bad has already happened. I didn't begin to fathom the effects of the baby's ashes in that little urn and how it would make me feel.
Maybe it wasn't so much the urn, maybe it was Bailee's treatment of it. She dropped it off on Friday night and when she left, she made sure to say good-bye. She talked to the urn like she was talking to the baby. "Good-night, sweet dreams, grandma and grandpa will take good care of you." My heart was breaking all over again. I cry everyday but it's been a while since I cried this hard.
All I can think of is the urn, the sadness, and my poor baby girl clinging to it. Thing's just don't get better.
I had a nightmare that I lost all my computer files. This is where I keep all my digital photos so it made me very uneasy. It's been a long time since I made a CD copy of my files. The thought of losing my baby photos forever was so unbearable that I am backing up all my files to DVD right now. Thank you baby for making me do this important thing!
I really tried to move on today. If Jeff wouldn't have mentioned it, I probably wouldn't have even tried. He said it was time to put the swing away. I agreed.
I've been thinking about it for a while now. But when the process of taking the batteries out, getting the box from the garage, going over the instructions so to take it apart properly, just the thought of those many steps felt overwhelming. So every time I considered it, just mentally taking it apart wore me out and so I stopped before I even got started.
But today I took it more seriously because Jeff said it out loud. I would really try this time, and it seemed do-able. Mentioning the swing didn't have a negative emotional effect as it sometimes does so I thought I was ready to pack it up. I picked up the swing and moved it to the foyer so I could vacuum the entire living room. I thought about where I would store the blankets and the little stuffed horse, the dangling toys from the attached mobile, and that was it.
I found myself on my hands and knees on the floor sobbing uncontrollably. Nothing could console me, nothing could stop the terrible pain and grief over putting away the baby's swing. Even the cat was concerned about my horrible wailing. The pain was so palpable I couldn't get up off the floor. I was so distraught, I cried myself to sleep and napped for a good hour.
When I got up I was still out of sorts, so deeply saddened. I felt like I was physically traumatized as much as emotionally. I told Jeff that I was sorry for not completing the task but I just couldn't. He thought that was part of the reason to put it away-it might just ease my sadness-if it wasn't there to remind me as it does. He's right, I'm sure, but it's physically impossible for me to do.
I've been thinking about it for a while now. But when the process of taking the batteries out, getting the box from the garage, going over the instructions so to take it apart properly, just the thought of those many steps felt overwhelming. So every time I considered it, just mentally taking it apart wore me out and so I stopped before I even got started.
But today I took it more seriously because Jeff said it out loud. I would really try this time, and it seemed do-able. Mentioning the swing didn't have a negative emotional effect as it sometimes does so I thought I was ready to pack it up. I picked up the swing and moved it to the foyer so I could vacuum the entire living room. I thought about where I would store the blankets and the little stuffed horse, the dangling toys from the attached mobile, and that was it.
I found myself on my hands and knees on the floor sobbing uncontrollably. Nothing could console me, nothing could stop the terrible pain and grief over putting away the baby's swing. Even the cat was concerned about my horrible wailing. The pain was so palpable I couldn't get up off the floor. I was so distraught, I cried myself to sleep and napped for a good hour.
When I got up I was still out of sorts, so deeply saddened. I felt like I was physically traumatized as much as emotionally. I told Jeff that I was sorry for not completing the task but I just couldn't. He thought that was part of the reason to put it away-it might just ease my sadness-if it wasn't there to remind me as it does. He's right, I'm sure, but it's physically impossible for me to do.
Dear Baby,
Grandma loves to run outside. This week is the first week that I can do that. I haven't been outside since November and this sure feels good. It's still pretty dark in the morning because of daylight savings time, but it doesn't matter, the moon and stars light my path. The fishermen are on the lakefront, making my run feel familiar. By the end of last years' running season they had familiar faces and we always said good morning to each other.
My run starts at work and I head through downtown to the lakefront. As soon as I take the turn along the lake everything seems to change. The city disappears and all I can see is nature and the heavens. And that's when I think of you. I imagine that you are in heaven watching me trot by. I talk to you like you're in the stars. I have always felt closer to God on my morning runs. And now I feel like I can be closer to you as well. I play music on my iPod while I run but for some reason, when I think of you I can't hear the music anymore, I can only hear you. There have been times when running is hard, like I can't wait to get through it but on the lakefront when I am thinking of you, it goes by so fast that I wish the run wouldn't end. It's a nice feeling to think of you.
I had planned a future running with you. At first with a stroller, then when you were old enough, you could run with me, side-by-side. I had visions of you winning medals as the youngest person to finish a 5K. We would spend Saturdays doing these races in the morning, stopping for breakfast where ever you wanted to go, then, swimming with grandpa in the back yard.
I had your little Nikes all picked out for you. I just realized that no matter what, you will always be runnng with me, forever and ever.
Grandma loves to run outside. This week is the first week that I can do that. I haven't been outside since November and this sure feels good. It's still pretty dark in the morning because of daylight savings time, but it doesn't matter, the moon and stars light my path. The fishermen are on the lakefront, making my run feel familiar. By the end of last years' running season they had familiar faces and we always said good morning to each other.
My run starts at work and I head through downtown to the lakefront. As soon as I take the turn along the lake everything seems to change. The city disappears and all I can see is nature and the heavens. And that's when I think of you. I imagine that you are in heaven watching me trot by. I talk to you like you're in the stars. I have always felt closer to God on my morning runs. And now I feel like I can be closer to you as well. I play music on my iPod while I run but for some reason, when I think of you I can't hear the music anymore, I can only hear you. There have been times when running is hard, like I can't wait to get through it but on the lakefront when I am thinking of you, it goes by so fast that I wish the run wouldn't end. It's a nice feeling to think of you.
I had planned a future running with you. At first with a stroller, then when you were old enough, you could run with me, side-by-side. I had visions of you winning medals as the youngest person to finish a 5K. We would spend Saturdays doing these races in the morning, stopping for breakfast where ever you wanted to go, then, swimming with grandpa in the back yard.
I had your little Nikes all picked out for you. I just realized that no matter what, you will always be runnng with me, forever and ever.
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