Friday, April 11, 2014

Thank you...


Been awhile, huh? Yeah. Sorry about that. I sort of crawled in a hole a couple of weeks ago, and I’m not quite sure I’m ready to leave. The rational side of my brain is all like, “OMG, GET OVER IT ALREADY”, but the other side is still an emotional puddle of gloom and doom.

On the plus side, I haven’t cried in days (today doesn't count because I had to go in for my post op check up). But, then again, I’ve also actively avoided even thinking about “that subject” to the best of my ability. Denial and I have been BFFs since childhood.

But since I’ve ignored pretty much everyone for two weeks, I figured it was time to show my (virtual) face again…if only for a moment to let people know that I’m still here. I don’t think I would classify myself as anywhere near “fine”, but I’m working on it.

That's something, right?

I want you to know that I’ve read every single one of the sweet comments, emails, Facebook messages, texts and wall posts you have sent to me. I’ve heard from people from high school and college that I thought I had lost touch with years ago, friends who – unbeknownst to me – had suffered miscarriage(s), museum peeps, family friends, other mothers from church and even a few empathetic strangers. You all have no idea how much your words, thoughts and prayers have meant to me.

And I mean that literally. Because, again, I don't think I even acknowledged a single one. With the exception of the person that told me that they would gladly drive to Dallas and poke the eye of anyone who told me that "God just needed another angel". To that person (and you know who you are), you made me smile.  We should hang out more often.

And, no.  No one has said that particular little ditty to me.  But I have heard other remarks and comments that make my head spin.  Not because they are cliche.  I can handle cliche, because I know the person who said it - deep down - meant well.  Maybe they just couldn't find the words?  The comments I'm referencing are insensitive or just plain mean.  For the record, implying that must be hormonal because I just had a miscarriage is the big, ugly, cracked-out-on-PCP version of "is this your time of the month".

But I digress.

I am simply overwhelmed that so many people took the time and effort to reach out. I've saved every last word - mostly because I've always intended to respond. I just don't know how. Saying "Thank You" doesn't even begin to cover it. Honestly, I do not think I'll ever be able to adequately explain what all those notes, emails and texts have meant to me. They've pulled me through the last couple of weeks...cheesy as that sounds.

(And, wow, does it ever.  Please know I mean it sincerely.)

I feel very guilty for ignoring you. The emotional puddle part of me is just doesn’t feel super worthy of anything right now. The rational side of me knows I did nothing wrong, but I just can’t seem to shake this overwhelming sense of guilt, shame and embarrassment. I always thought it would help if people knew I was pregnant so if something happened they could be there to lean on. But, now...I dunno. It is ridiculous, but I feel like I jinxed it somehow. I like failed somehow. And every time I try to write back to thank those that have tried to be there for me, I feel like I need to apologize and ask for forgiveness.  Which is one of the biggest reasons for my silence, and I'm not even sure it makes any sense.  Because I KNOW I have no reason to feel guilt, shame or embarrassment.  Well, that is, until the next time I have to fess up to someone else, "That I lost the baby."  Me.  I lost it.  Not Trevor.  Not bad chromosomes.  Me.  That entire sentence implies I did something wrong.

Also, did you know the medical term for miscarriage is "Spontaneous Abortion"? 

I’ve been told that my letter to my baby was powerful. That it helped others. That it moved people to tears. But honestly, my only motivation was to pay tribute to a tiny little heart that only beat for three weeks. I almost decided not to post my letter, because it was so personal. So many tears were shed in the simple act of writing down what few precious memories I had. But, at the end of the day (and with Trevor’s blessing and encouragement), I felt like making the whole thing public was the only way to recognize and acknowledge that little life. Keeping it to myself wasn’t an option. I needed to let it go. It was immensely healing. Just knowing that my memories were out there - and that nothing on the internet can ever really go away - was such a comfort. I’ll never get to know that little life here on Earth, but I can make sure – in my own trivially insignificant way – that it is never forgotten.

But don't let any of that fool you.  I'm not strong.  My OBGYN told me he and his wife lost ten babies. 10.  That's strength (he is also the only person that can tell me that all of this is God's plan).  Me, though?  I lose one, and I'm questioning things I've never even thought to question before.  And I absolutely hate the emotions that well up inside when another friend announces she is expecting.  I want so much to celebrate and be happy for them, but all I can do is think about what I lost.

If it makes any difference, the rational side of me is well aware of how lame the emotional side is.  Because last weekend was all about me acting out and doing things I couldn't/wouldn't do while I was pregnant.  Mainly, drinking (I got drunk, y'all.  Off of three glasses of wine.  Because that is all it took after not drinking for three months), drinking Gatorade and chewing gum (artificial sweeteners, you guys!), and schlepping tables and heavy things before getting clearance from my doctor.  I've also completely binged on caffeine and momentarily considered smoking a cigarette.  Because I've never smoked a cigarette (as in ever), and gorging myself on soft cheeses and raw fish just doesn't have the same rebellious ring to it somehow.

(Don't worry.  There was no smoking.)

In related news, I must be the most boring/pathetic person on the planet if the mere thought of smoking a cigarette makes it a "wild" Friday night. 

But I digress.  Again.

One last very special thank you to those very select few friends who know me well enough to KEEP calling, texting, showing up and forcing me to see and hang out despite having busy lives and dramas of their own. My personal favorite was a friend who realized that I’d answer the phone if she called me at work. She even called from a number she knew I wouldn’t recognize just in case I had caller ID. It is times like these that you realize who your true friends are.  Like my high school roommate of three years.  She has called and/or texted me almost every single day since she found out and tried to make me smile.  Yesterday she SANG on my voicemail.  Twice.  For absolutely no reason at all.  And my childhood friend who just showed up on my doorstep with flowers, casseroles and chocolate pie.  And my PhilUP picture compliments of the amazing CJ.  My friends, you guys...both the emotional and rational side of me knows I'm very lucky.

I promise, the next time you hear from me it will be less sap and emotional diarrhea and more Banner jumping in puddles and sassing Trevor.  Until then...thank you.  From the bottom of my heart.

1 comment:

Kelly Maynard said...

What to say, where to start, I too had a miscarraiage and felt all of the same emotions, and every one of them is ok, whatever amount of time it takes you to get over them is ok too. If you want to blubber cry today and get drunk and smoke a cigarette tomorrow do it, it's all fine. You will grieve in the ways that work for you and those that love you will never judge. They may use it for blackmail later but will never judge :-) The relief is gradual and one day you will wake up and it doesn't hurt so bad, maybe it's a month or maybe a year, but you along with your amazing husband and beautiful son with come through this together. Please know that I pray for you Trevor and Banner. Thank you so much for sharing your story, it is a horrible situation that puts you in a sisterhood that lasts forever. I am sending much love your way.