Friday, March 27, 2009

Here I go again on my own

It's a normal day. The sun is shining. I have a healthy 2yo asleep in bed. I have housework to do. I have the weekend with my family to look forward to.

But it's always, always there.

I feel sad that the LGBB is the only one of my children who gets "the best" of me. And it's a questionable best because I feel like it's tainted. So often. And forever. Because of what we've been through.

Granted, this feeling of inadequacy where the LGBB is concerned isn't helped by the upbringing I had - my self confidence and belief in my self has been self-taught in my adult years, more than anything, so I am still getting there on that one. But this. This experience of loss undoes even the strongest, the happiest of people.

And just while I'm on the (loose) subject, if motherhood of a healthy, normal child can be one's undoing...... well, why isn't more done to ensure the childless mothers (and fathers) haven't fallen through the cracks??? They rushed to help me when I finally admitted outside of my four walls that I was going under (and found someone who didn't just pat me on the shoulder and say "yes, babies are hard aren't they!") when Lolly was four months old. The only contact I had from any doctor or MCHN after I had Ella was a condolence card and a sympathies phone call to my answer machine. After that.... zilch.

How is that hole there in the health care system? And why?

My tears are really close to the surface today, don't know why. These are the days where I cannot see the good I have done, the progress I have made, the friends I have. Ooops (sorry! It shall pass, it always does). This time, I want to capture it in text. To read it back later when I'm "all better" again for the time being and just see what I can see. It is a time where none of my usual supports I have meticulously put in place do me any good. And from that, I can only deduce that this is a necessary, growing, permitted experience for me to have. This is all part of me lining my tool kit. Perhaps it's the d├ęcoupage day for my soul's housing? ;P

There's nothing significant about today. But that's just my point: over five years since the last time I said goodbye to my daughter's body as they wheeled her away in the opposite direction and the thing is, the normal thing is, there shouldn't HAVE to be a reason ("it's been only x months", "it's your due date anniversary"..... ETA: oh holy crap I just realised... this WAS Ella's due date!!! OMG OMG OMG, that's possibly why?! it was only 'significant' to me that first year, I didn't want yet another date to have to think past, iykwim, and commemorate every year).

There's nothing to say, nothing to be done. I don't want to call anyone because I don't want anyone to *fix* anything. I just MISS HER today cry1.gif cry1.gif

A gf called this morning about something totally different. She lost her little girl through still unknown causes after 7 days. She was born at full term the year our dd was born - 2004 - and went on to have another bub the same year as our second - 2006 - and we both go months and months without mentioning our daughters. And then today for no known reason to the two of us, she called, I don't even remember who brought it up, but we got chatting about how we must somehow be so "evil" that we just can't twitter anymore about ANYONE having a baby these days. I told her I was genuinely always pleased and relieved that bub and mum are ok..... I know too well how different it could be. But any more than that and I find it so difficult to be "happy" for them. My heart pulls too much.

I recounted to her my recent stint at a phone support grief counselling course where I befriended a lovely woman in her 60's who had just one child and that child died at full term, was delivered and she never laid eyes on her baby. She never had any other children. She was the MOST fantastic woman. She leaned over and said to me "My dear, it never goes. You never truly feel 'happy' for anyone" and I knew what she meant - she brought it up, not I, and that was even more comforting!

And then my gf and I got to talking about how utterly grateful we are for our second children, our only surviving children to date for the two of us (and our partners). She spoke of how her DH sometimes comes out with glassy eyes, simply from seeing his child, happy and resting in bed. I concurred. It's ALWAYS there. I told her how last night, I had this missing Ella feeling coming on and that I had locked eyes with my DH. He smiled, I couldn't tell him. "I miss her" was all I needed to say. But I just could not be bothered with the mental and emotional exhaustion that this sometimes brings with it. I am getting over a cold. We didn't have time, at *that* time of night - the toddler bedtime routine - for me to go under. And the moment had passed by the time it was a *good* time.

We left the call with her in tears and me close to it. But enriched and nurtured for sharing and admitting these things we hitherto thought were SO wrong of us to feel. It was a relief and a comfort to us both, as we verbally expressed, that we were not completely alone. Mercy.

So in those moments, I tell myself I miss her. I silently scream it, in fact. This is the feeling that never goes. That silent yearning scream. And it feels so lonely.

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