I'm having a rough time of it this cycle. My PMS is out of control and my mood keeps swinging all over the place. I go from being perfectly calm and content in one minute to feeling sad and like nobody cares about me in the next, and I'm in a state of constant irritation at my husband. Most of these feelings are completely irrational, but some aren't--I do have reasons to feel sad, and I think it's probably healthier to acknowledge them than to shrug them off and chalk it all up to wacky hormones.
It's frustrating because this is my favorite time of year. I love fall, I love the weather we're having right now, I love pumpkin season and I'm eating and drinking pumpkin-flavored everything and loving that, too. I also love Halloween, although it's definitely one of those holidays that are more fun with kids than without, especially when you're beyond the partying stage (although I don't think I ever really had much of a partying stage). Even so, it's always been my favorite holiday, even more than Christmas, because for me it's all about fun and nostalgia for the good things about my childhood.
I was thinking to myself the other day that I love Halloween so much because it's not tinged with sadness and loneliness the way Christmas often is. But then I remembered that Emma's due date fell around Halloween of last year, and I realized that if I'd had her we'd most likely be planning her (or his--again, it was way too early to tell; I just have this feeling it was a girl) first birthday party as well as her first trick-or-treat outing. So there's that.
We're also right around the corner from having to face the first full set of holidays without Matt's parents. I keep thinking about last Thanksgiving, how that was the last time we got to be with both of them outside of a hospital, how happy and thankful we all were that Rob got released from his hospital stay in time to come home for Thanksgiving, and how none of us had any idea that in just a few weeks, Mom would be gone, and so would Rob just a couple of months later.
So this season is bittersweet. I'm trying to focus on the sweetness, but my hormones keep dredging up the bitterness. I want to curl up with a blanket and watch sad movies and eat all the chocolate, but instead I'm making myself stay busy (I opened up a new Etsy shop for all of the knitting and crocheting I've been doing lately) and stick to my diet and workout plan, and that's helping. I'm also praying a lot, which also helps. And every now and then I let myself have a good cry, and a little chocolate, and I remind myself that I just need to hang in there, because this cycle is almost over and then my thought patterns and coping abilities will be back to normal, at least for a week or two, and then my husband can stop sleeping with one eye open.
Showing posts with label grief. Show all posts
Showing posts with label grief. Show all posts
October 4, 2011
May 8, 2011
Mother's Day
Today is a tough one, I won't lie. There's just so much to be sad about today: missing Matt's mom who's no longer with us, missing our babies who never got to be with us, and that heartbreaking longing that I battle every day seems to be cutting just a bit deeper.
We're trying to stay distracted and keep our minds occupied with less upsetting things, treating this like just another day. Matt's reading, and I've caught up on my shows for the week, and I have writing and housekeeping to keep me busy for the rest of the day. And yet I still have to call my mom and wish her a happy day and thank her for being awesome.
I received a really touching text message from my Big Sis, saying that she thinks it's appropriate to tell me Happy Mother's Day, that I am and will be a great mom. It made me cry--just typing that is making me tear up all over again--but in the good way. Well, in a mixed-feeling kind of way, really, but mostly good. It definitely feels good to have someone acknowledge my children. I might not have given birth to them or had the opportunity to see or touch them, but that makes them no less real to me. It always helps when other people acknowledge them as real, too.
So here's to the moms out there today, but here's also to the forgotten, those who have lost their moms, and who've lost their children, who are still fighting their own personal hell in the battle to become mothers, and those who have retreated from the battlefield to nurse their wounds and find a way to carry on in the face of shattered dreams. You are not forgotten, and you are not alone.
We're trying to stay distracted and keep our minds occupied with less upsetting things, treating this like just another day. Matt's reading, and I've caught up on my shows for the week, and I have writing and housekeeping to keep me busy for the rest of the day. And yet I still have to call my mom and wish her a happy day and thank her for being awesome.
I received a really touching text message from my Big Sis, saying that she thinks it's appropriate to tell me Happy Mother's Day, that I am and will be a great mom. It made me cry--just typing that is making me tear up all over again--but in the good way. Well, in a mixed-feeling kind of way, really, but mostly good. It definitely feels good to have someone acknowledge my children. I might not have given birth to them or had the opportunity to see or touch them, but that makes them no less real to me. It always helps when other people acknowledge them as real, too.
So here's to the moms out there today, but here's also to the forgotten, those who have lost their moms, and who've lost their children, who are still fighting their own personal hell in the battle to become mothers, and those who have retreated from the battlefield to nurse their wounds and find a way to carry on in the face of shattered dreams. You are not forgotten, and you are not alone.
April 23, 2011
365: 14 and Birthday Party Blues
About to run to the store:
Yes, that is the old school (middle school?) Burton/Keaton era Bat signal on my chest, and yes, I have had this shirt since high school. *is old* *so is shirt*
Stats:
Weight - 176
Mood - tired & headachey
It appears I was right about weighing over an hour later than usual throwing off my results. I weighed today at my usual time and came out at 176 -- the weight I was expecting. I know it must seem silly, and possibly vain or even heading into eating disorder territory, to get so discouraged over a one-pound difference, but hopefully it seems less so when you remember why I'm losing weight: to get my BMI to a point that's healthy enough to start trying for another baby. I've got a lot of hopes pinned on being able to get it down by at least two pounds a week. If that rate slows down, then that means I'll have to wait that much longer before we dare start trying again. And I'm so baby-crazy right now that I just might have to punch somebody if that happens.
Speaking of which, I'm missing my eight-year-old nephew's birthday party today, and I hate myself a little for it. I wrestled long and hard with the decision of whether to go, but in the end I knew that I'm still too fragile to put myself in that sort of situation. Of course nobody in my family has ever said anything to make me feel like they don't understand (at least, not to my face), but I still feel a need to explain, just in case somebody's thinking that my last MC was over a year ago now, and it's time for me to let it go and move on.
Well, first of all, you never let it go and completely move on. I've learned that from spending some time in the online MC community--this is normal, what I'm feeling, and there's really no way to rush the healing. It takes a long time. But also, related to but separate from the grief of the miscarriages is the grief of still being childless. And I don't think that goes away unless and until you, y'know, have a child. Or three.
It's the latter grief that I'm mostly dealing with right now, and the jealousy that comes with it of pretty much every mother on the face of the planet. That's why I'm avoiding these parties -- it's not being around the kids and babies that sends me into a downward spiral tailspin so much as it's being around all of the young mothers and pregnant women who'll be there. It feels like this secret club that I'm barred from being part of, and it hurts, and that's, of course, nobody's fault, which makes it even harder.
It's gotten so bad that I can hardly even stand to watch TV or movies that feature mother-child relationships. Not even older mothers with grown or teenage children, and ESPECIALLY not mothers and daughters. It sends me down this rabbit hole of thinking about everything I'll never get to have with Emma Grace, who I don't even know for certain was a girl, but my heart doesn't particularly care one way or another.
Oh good, I've made myself cry just writing this.
Anyway. As I said yesterday, I'm also hormonal right now, so that plus the lack of sleep and headache and ALL OF THE ABOVE is a bad enough combo without adding a kid's birthday party to the mix. I most certainly would have spent the whole party either locked in the bathroom and crying or hiding in a corner consoling myself with too much cake.
And that's why I didn't go. I'm sorry, Ash. I hope you had a good birthday and the weather didn't keep you from getting to have your bouncy castle, and I hope you know how much your Aunt Jeanie loves you.
Yes, that is the old school (middle school?) Burton/Keaton era Bat signal on my chest, and yes, I have had this shirt since high school. *is old* *so is shirt*
Stats:
Weight - 176
Mood - tired & headachey
It appears I was right about weighing over an hour later than usual throwing off my results. I weighed today at my usual time and came out at 176 -- the weight I was expecting. I know it must seem silly, and possibly vain or even heading into eating disorder territory, to get so discouraged over a one-pound difference, but hopefully it seems less so when you remember why I'm losing weight: to get my BMI to a point that's healthy enough to start trying for another baby. I've got a lot of hopes pinned on being able to get it down by at least two pounds a week. If that rate slows down, then that means I'll have to wait that much longer before we dare start trying again. And I'm so baby-crazy right now that I just might have to punch somebody if that happens.
Speaking of which, I'm missing my eight-year-old nephew's birthday party today, and I hate myself a little for it. I wrestled long and hard with the decision of whether to go, but in the end I knew that I'm still too fragile to put myself in that sort of situation. Of course nobody in my family has ever said anything to make me feel like they don't understand (at least, not to my face), but I still feel a need to explain, just in case somebody's thinking that my last MC was over a year ago now, and it's time for me to let it go and move on.
Well, first of all, you never let it go and completely move on. I've learned that from spending some time in the online MC community--this is normal, what I'm feeling, and there's really no way to rush the healing. It takes a long time. But also, related to but separate from the grief of the miscarriages is the grief of still being childless. And I don't think that goes away unless and until you, y'know, have a child. Or three.
It's the latter grief that I'm mostly dealing with right now, and the jealousy that comes with it of pretty much every mother on the face of the planet. That's why I'm avoiding these parties -- it's not being around the kids and babies that sends me into a downward spiral tailspin so much as it's being around all of the young mothers and pregnant women who'll be there. It feels like this secret club that I'm barred from being part of, and it hurts, and that's, of course, nobody's fault, which makes it even harder.
It's gotten so bad that I can hardly even stand to watch TV or movies that feature mother-child relationships. Not even older mothers with grown or teenage children, and ESPECIALLY not mothers and daughters. It sends me down this rabbit hole of thinking about everything I'll never get to have with Emma Grace, who I don't even know for certain was a girl, but my heart doesn't particularly care one way or another.
Oh good, I've made myself cry just writing this.
Anyway. As I said yesterday, I'm also hormonal right now, so that plus the lack of sleep and headache and ALL OF THE ABOVE is a bad enough combo without adding a kid's birthday party to the mix. I most certainly would have spent the whole party either locked in the bathroom and crying or hiding in a corner consoling myself with too much cake.
And that's why I didn't go. I'm sorry, Ash. I hope you had a good birthday and the weather didn't keep you from getting to have your bouncy castle, and I hope you know how much your Aunt Jeanie loves you.
April 22, 2011
365: 13
No time for a workout today, so these are just my hanging around the house clothes:
Stats:
Weight - 177 :(
Mood - Discouraged
According to today's weigh-in, I only lost one pound all week. Of course, the fact that I almost forgot to weigh and when I did it was over an hour later than my usual weigh-in time might be a factor. But then again so might the fact that I indulged in some Chinese takeout last Sunday, and let Matt talk me into some fried catfish last night. I'll try weighing again tomorrow at the usual time to see if that makes any difference. At any rate, at least the scale's still moving in the right direction. I just hope this isn't a sign that I'm about to plateau.
This plus PMS plus another nephew's birthday party that I'll be missing tomorrow are all conspiring to put me back in the sad place. And I just plucked another whisker-like hair from my jawline, which means my PCOS is still raging strong. Fortunately, my work is keeping me too busy to dwell on any of it for very long, but I'm struggling, and I have a feeling it's going to be a long, hard weekend.
Stats:
Weight - 177 :(
Mood - Discouraged
According to today's weigh-in, I only lost one pound all week. Of course, the fact that I almost forgot to weigh and when I did it was over an hour later than my usual weigh-in time might be a factor. But then again so might the fact that I indulged in some Chinese takeout last Sunday, and let Matt talk me into some fried catfish last night. I'll try weighing again tomorrow at the usual time to see if that makes any difference. At any rate, at least the scale's still moving in the right direction. I just hope this isn't a sign that I'm about to plateau.
This plus PMS plus another nephew's birthday party that I'll be missing tomorrow are all conspiring to put me back in the sad place. And I just plucked another whisker-like hair from my jawline, which means my PCOS is still raging strong. Fortunately, my work is keeping me too busy to dwell on any of it for very long, but I'm struggling, and I have a feeling it's going to be a long, hard weekend.
April 14, 2011
Grownup
If there's one truly positive thing to come out of the last couple of years' worth of turmoil, I think it's that I've finally learned to put away childish things and have truly become a grownup. I think there are few things that force you into that role faster than becoming a caretaker to your parents -- whether your own parents or your spouse's -- and being the one responsible for their estate after they die.
(I know you probably thought I was going to say losing your babies. That definitely contributed; but after that ordeal I felt more like a child who needed her mother than like a parent or a caretaker of anything.)
I was 22 when my dad died. Technically and legally an adult, but still very much a child. I reacted to his death as a child, and I still had my mom to take care of everything, to take care of me, and I had all of my siblings to share the load.
But with the death of Matt's mom, there wasn't anybody else to take care of things, or of us. We had to step up and get everything done, and take over caring for Matt's step-dad, making sure he was provided for and had everything he needed, and that he was coping with the loss. And then, shortly afterward, he passed too, leaving us with even more to deal with.
I think the day I became a grownup was shortly after Christmas, when we were still cleaning out Mom and Rob's apartment and getting Rob transitioned into the nursing home, when I had an epiphany. And that epiphany was this:
There is no magical moment where being an adult suddenly becomes easy, where the Grownup Fairy swoops down and imbues you with magical Grownup powers. Instead, you're grown up when you realize this, that it will never get easier, but you keep doing it anyway because it has to be done. As much as your parents made it look easy, that's just because they shielded you from how hard it really was for them. And if anything, it's just going to get harder.
I know that now, and I've stopped waiting for that magic switch to flip and suddenly make me some kind of Grownup Superwoman who can handle all of these responsibilities and trials with ease. I know it won't get easier, but I also know that I can handle it, that I AM strong enough, that I can cope. And that, Lord willing, I will be a kick-ass parent if He ever allows it.
I think knowing and accepting this truth is what has made me a grownup at last.
(I know you probably thought I was going to say losing your babies. That definitely contributed; but after that ordeal I felt more like a child who needed her mother than like a parent or a caretaker of anything.)
I was 22 when my dad died. Technically and legally an adult, but still very much a child. I reacted to his death as a child, and I still had my mom to take care of everything, to take care of me, and I had all of my siblings to share the load.
But with the death of Matt's mom, there wasn't anybody else to take care of things, or of us. We had to step up and get everything done, and take over caring for Matt's step-dad, making sure he was provided for and had everything he needed, and that he was coping with the loss. And then, shortly afterward, he passed too, leaving us with even more to deal with.
I think the day I became a grownup was shortly after Christmas, when we were still cleaning out Mom and Rob's apartment and getting Rob transitioned into the nursing home, when I had an epiphany. And that epiphany was this:
There is no magical moment where being an adult suddenly becomes easy, where the Grownup Fairy swoops down and imbues you with magical Grownup powers. Instead, you're grown up when you realize this, that it will never get easier, but you keep doing it anyway because it has to be done. As much as your parents made it look easy, that's just because they shielded you from how hard it really was for them. And if anything, it's just going to get harder.
I know that now, and I've stopped waiting for that magic switch to flip and suddenly make me some kind of Grownup Superwoman who can handle all of these responsibilities and trials with ease. I know it won't get easier, but I also know that I can handle it, that I AM strong enough, that I can cope. And that, Lord willing, I will be a kick-ass parent if He ever allows it.
I think knowing and accepting this truth is what has made me a grownup at last.
April 6, 2011
38
You guys have no idea how much I wanted to be able to write a positive post today, about this being my new New Year and starting over with a clean slate and looking forward and blah blah blah happy birthday cake.
But instead today I'm full of grief and sadness. One of the first things I did after I got up was to burst into tears in the kitchen, standing there bawling over my coffee while my husband is at the other end of the house, oblivious to my little breakdown. I finally had to log in to blog about it because that was the only way I could get myself to stop crying.
Part of the problem is that, for some reason, Matt decided to get me up at nine. I stayed up till two this morning and was counting on being able to sleep in till at least 10, because it's my birthday. He said he thought I'd want him to get me up because we need to start turning our sleep schedules around so we can start going to church again, but BIRTHDAYS ARE NOT DAYS FOR DOING THAT! I'd have dealt with it better if this wasn't the third or fourth night in a row that I didn't get more than six or seven hours of sleep, but it is, and it's all catching up to me and making me feel really fragile.
And part of it is that it hit me that I didn't get my yearly birthday card signed "Mom, Rob & Bobo," and that I'll never get that card again, and my mom-in-law won't be calling me to wish me happy birthday and make plans to get together to give me my gift. That's actually a big part of it. I miss my in-laws, and their cat, and I hate hate hate that they're all gone, that half of our family just doesn't exist anymore.
Of course, the bulk of it is simply that birthdays are hard when you're over 35 and you're having reproductive problems and you want kids more than anything else in the world. Every day that you're not pregnant you're aware of that clock ticking away, that little whisper that you're running out of time, and birthdays are the stroke of twelve on the clock, the big bong clanging in your ear and screaming that your risk factors just multiplied and your chances of having a healthy baby before time runs out completely just went down a percentage.
I keep reminding myself that my mom had my little sister at 38, and everything was fine. But mom didn't have my history, and she'd already had three healthy children by that point, which keeps that from being as comforting as it could be.
I see birthday messages piling up on Facebook. It's helping me feel cared for and loved, but it's also making me feel bad that I can't say, "Yes, I AM having a happy birthday, thanks!" But maybe it's not too late for that. Writing all of this has already helped me feel a little better. I was going to do some work on my blogging course today, but I think I'm just going to take the day off and read a book or something. I haven't had time to read a book in ages. We've been debating whether to do my birthday sushi night tonight or wait for the weekend, but I think I'll push for tonight. And maybe later I'll take a nap and then work out, and then my outlook will be better, and I can get to that Happy Birthday New Year Clean Slate place. Maybe.
But instead today I'm full of grief and sadness. One of the first things I did after I got up was to burst into tears in the kitchen, standing there bawling over my coffee while my husband is at the other end of the house, oblivious to my little breakdown. I finally had to log in to blog about it because that was the only way I could get myself to stop crying.
Part of the problem is that, for some reason, Matt decided to get me up at nine. I stayed up till two this morning and was counting on being able to sleep in till at least 10, because it's my birthday. He said he thought I'd want him to get me up because we need to start turning our sleep schedules around so we can start going to church again, but BIRTHDAYS ARE NOT DAYS FOR DOING THAT! I'd have dealt with it better if this wasn't the third or fourth night in a row that I didn't get more than six or seven hours of sleep, but it is, and it's all catching up to me and making me feel really fragile.
And part of it is that it hit me that I didn't get my yearly birthday card signed "Mom, Rob & Bobo," and that I'll never get that card again, and my mom-in-law won't be calling me to wish me happy birthday and make plans to get together to give me my gift. That's actually a big part of it. I miss my in-laws, and their cat, and I hate hate hate that they're all gone, that half of our family just doesn't exist anymore.
Of course, the bulk of it is simply that birthdays are hard when you're over 35 and you're having reproductive problems and you want kids more than anything else in the world. Every day that you're not pregnant you're aware of that clock ticking away, that little whisper that you're running out of time, and birthdays are the stroke of twelve on the clock, the big bong clanging in your ear and screaming that your risk factors just multiplied and your chances of having a healthy baby before time runs out completely just went down a percentage.
I keep reminding myself that my mom had my little sister at 38, and everything was fine. But mom didn't have my history, and she'd already had three healthy children by that point, which keeps that from being as comforting as it could be.
I see birthday messages piling up on Facebook. It's helping me feel cared for and loved, but it's also making me feel bad that I can't say, "Yes, I AM having a happy birthday, thanks!" But maybe it's not too late for that. Writing all of this has already helped me feel a little better. I was going to do some work on my blogging course today, but I think I'm just going to take the day off and read a book or something. I haven't had time to read a book in ages. We've been debating whether to do my birthday sushi night tonight or wait for the weekend, but I think I'll push for tonight. And maybe later I'll take a nap and then work out, and then my outlook will be better, and I can get to that Happy Birthday New Year Clean Slate place. Maybe.
April 1, 2011
Emma Grace
It shows a fetus about 7.5 weeks along. Much too early to be able to recognize facial features, and we know that that hint of an eye and nose and cheekbone are tricks of the light and shadow, but that doesn't stop Matt from insisting that she looked like me.
I never told anyone that her name was Emma. Emma Grace. I didn't tell because we had no idea whether "she" was actually a she or a he, and because it was far too early to discuss names, and if she had gone on to be born there would most certainly have been disagreements and compromises made on the naming front.
But in my heart, this was my daughter Emma. Named for my grandma, Erma, which is a variant of Emma and much too old-fashioned and grandmotherish for a baby girl. Middle name Grace, because I knew it was only by the grace of God that she'd actually be born.
If I ever do go on to have a healthy daughter, she'll probably keep Grace as a middle name, if not a first name. But this name, as a whole, belongs to this baby, whose heart apparently gave out at only 7 and a half weeks, uniting little Emma with her namesake in Heaven, unbeknownst to Matt and I, who believed all was well.
I was 9 weeks along when the miscarriage symptoms started, and I had the ultrasound. They sent me for a D&C the very next morning, which was one year ago today. April fools.
My mom and sister went in together for a frame for the ultrasound photo. Mom took me to Hallmark to pick something out to remember Emma by. It was hard, and I broke down quietly in the back of the store, but ultimately I was pleased with my selection. The poem beneath the picture is a Chekov quote that reads:
We shall find Peace.Your mama misses you, Emma.
We shall hear Angels.
We shall see the sky sparkle
like diamonds.
March 28, 2011
Melancholy and the Office of Sadness
I'm back in my office today, for the first time since Bobo died. I'd already gotten so used to him hanging out on the pallet we'd made for him on the floor next to my desk, that I haven't had the heart to break the pallet down, or remove his food and water bowls, or sit here next to that empty space.
This room has become a sad room; but it's also the room where I do my best being focused and productive, and I need to take it back. So this morning I made myself remove the bowls and re-cover his pillow for the other cats (and Pete) to use. It was hard, and sitting here at my desk with him gone is hard. I just feel so much like we failed him, and like we failed Mom and Rob, even though I know that we did everything we possibly could for him, and that he just didn't want to go on without his people.
So the mood in my office is melancholic. The gray skies and chilly weather are certainly contributing to that. Today would be an excellent day to curl up in bed and listen to emo music and write more angsty lyrics, but I have too much work to do. I guess I'd best go do it.
This room has become a sad room; but it's also the room where I do my best being focused and productive, and I need to take it back. So this morning I made myself remove the bowls and re-cover his pillow for the other cats (and Pete) to use. It was hard, and sitting here at my desk with him gone is hard. I just feel so much like we failed him, and like we failed Mom and Rob, even though I know that we did everything we possibly could for him, and that he just didn't want to go on without his people.
So the mood in my office is melancholic. The gray skies and chilly weather are certainly contributing to that. Today would be an excellent day to curl up in bed and listen to emo music and write more angsty lyrics, but I have too much work to do. I guess I'd best go do it.
March 25, 2011
Tearballs
Tomorrow will mark a full week of Project Oven Repair, a full week during which I've had no sweets and 95% of my meals have consisted mainly of vegetables and lean protein, I've been taking prenatal vitamins and tons of fish oil, and I've been working out consistently; and I have to say that, physically, I'm already feeling about a million times better. I have more energy, I'm sleeping better, and I'm pretty sure I've lost a couple of pounds.
And of course this is having a positive impact on my emotional state. I'm still weepy, but I'm feeling more hopeful about everything, and better able to cope. With everything that's happened lately, I expect that it will take more than a new diet to get past the sad days. There's just so much to be sad about, and it hits us both in waves. Like yesterday, when out of the blue I started crying over Bobo, which led to more crying over Rob, which led to still more crying over Mom. It was a crying snowball. A tearball. Or maybe more like a snot ball. Anyway, I cried. A lot.
And then somebody compliments my song, or tells me that they're praying about the baby situation, and that makes me weepy, too. And next week, of course, is the anniversary that I'm struggling with. I'd make plans to do something nice for myself on that day, but I'm not sure which day to do it on, since it was drawn out over 4 days. On the 29th I started spotting, on the 31st I got the ultrasound that confirmed the miscarriage, and on April 1st I had the D&C. Talk about April Fool's.
So which of those days actually counts as the anniversary? I guess if I have to pick one it would be anniversary of the D&C, since that finalized it. So I'm going to try to do something nice for myself that day, although I don't know what yet, since our funds are still pretty limited. Maybe I'll give myself a home pedicure. Lord knows my feet could use it.
You know, when this post started it was going to be all about my diet and what I'm doing to get healthy, but then it turned left at Albuquerque and headed straight for the sad place. Sigh.
And of course this is having a positive impact on my emotional state. I'm still weepy, but I'm feeling more hopeful about everything, and better able to cope. With everything that's happened lately, I expect that it will take more than a new diet to get past the sad days. There's just so much to be sad about, and it hits us both in waves. Like yesterday, when out of the blue I started crying over Bobo, which led to more crying over Rob, which led to still more crying over Mom. It was a crying snowball. A tearball. Or maybe more like a snot ball. Anyway, I cried. A lot.
And then somebody compliments my song, or tells me that they're praying about the baby situation, and that makes me weepy, too. And next week, of course, is the anniversary that I'm struggling with. I'd make plans to do something nice for myself on that day, but I'm not sure which day to do it on, since it was drawn out over 4 days. On the 29th I started spotting, on the 31st I got the ultrasound that confirmed the miscarriage, and on April 1st I had the D&C. Talk about April Fool's.
So which of those days actually counts as the anniversary? I guess if I have to pick one it would be anniversary of the D&C, since that finalized it. So I'm going to try to do something nice for myself that day, although I don't know what yet, since our funds are still pretty limited. Maybe I'll give myself a home pedicure. Lord knows my feet could use it.
You know, when this post started it was going to be all about my diet and what I'm doing to get healthy, but then it turned left at Albuquerque and headed straight for the sad place. Sigh.
March 24, 2011
About that song, part 2
Here's the melody, with caveats:
1. I had to play it on my bass, because my acoustic is out of tune and needs strings. Imagine it about an octave higher.
2. I'm still learning said bass, so I had to slow down the tempo. Imagine it a little faster.
3. I didn't have a mic or an amplifier, so I had to put my laptop's built-in mic right up to the fretboard, and pluck really hard to get the recorder to pick it up. So... imagine it sounds less weird and totally amateurish.
But anyway, I think this will help you get the gist of how the song goes. And if you missed it, the lyrics are in the post right before this one.
Oh, and also I left out the second verse. So the tune here goes verse one, chorus, bridge, chorus.
Here you go.
1. I had to play it on my bass, because my acoustic is out of tune and needs strings. Imagine it about an octave higher.
2. I'm still learning said bass, so I had to slow down the tempo. Imagine it a little faster.
3. I didn't have a mic or an amplifier, so I had to put my laptop's built-in mic right up to the fretboard, and pluck really hard to get the recorder to pick it up. So... imagine it sounds less weird and totally amateurish.
But anyway, I think this will help you get the gist of how the song goes. And if you missed it, the lyrics are in the post right before this one.
Oh, and also I left out the second verse. So the tune here goes verse one, chorus, bridge, chorus.
Here you go.
March 22, 2011
So about that song...
I done went and wrote it.
It's been percolating in my head ever since I got the notion to write one, and when I finally sat down this morning to get started on it, the whole thing came to me. Lyrics, melody and all. I waited all day to post it to step back and make sure it doesn't suck. I don't think it does. I mean, it's definitely not the best song ever. It's full of song cliches, yes, but it would be hard to convey the fairy-tale imagery I was going for without those cliches. And it's still a little rough, even though I've been tweaking and polishing it all day. At any rate, it says what I feel, and that's what important. It's also the first purely creative writing I've done since NaNoWriMo, and that sure felt nice.
I came thisclose to also posting an MP3 of me singing it, just so you'd get the melody, even though I can't sing, but the last thing I need right now is haters coming here to make fun of me and tell me I can't sing, LIKE I DON'T KNOW ALREADY, so I chickened out. But the next step, if Matt doesn't think it sucks (he's not up to reading it yet; I think this has been a tough day for him), to get him to help me compose a guitar arrangement for it. And maybe in another day or two I can pick out the melody on my old acoustic guitar so you'll get a better idea of how it goes.
Anyway, here it is. Remember: ROUGH DRAFT
###
UNTOUCHABLE
by Jean Marie Bauhaus
© 2011
Tower of glass
(unbreakable)
Atop the highest mountain
(unscalable)
Across the deepest chasm
(unreachable)
Behind the tallest fortress
(unbreachable)
Where you sleep
Where you dream
Where you wait to feel my touch
(CHORUS)
And I would climb the highest mountain
I would swim the deepest sea
I would slay the fiercest dragon
To have you here with me
I would raise the mightiest army
To knock down Heaven's door
I would gladly lay my life down
If it could give you yours
Just to touch you...
But you're untouchable.
Cradle of wood
(unfillable)
A room that's still a guest room
(unlivable)
A dream that's lost forever
(unbearable)
Two hearts go on without you
(so breakable)
I can't sleep
But I dream
And I long to feel your touch
REPEAT CHORUS
One kiss upon your sweet brow
to wake you from your slumber
One caress of your tiny hand
falls through my grip like sand
REPEAT CHORUS 2X
###
There you have it. If nothing else, writing it was very therapeutic.
It's been percolating in my head ever since I got the notion to write one, and when I finally sat down this morning to get started on it, the whole thing came to me. Lyrics, melody and all. I waited all day to post it to step back and make sure it doesn't suck. I don't think it does. I mean, it's definitely not the best song ever. It's full of song cliches, yes, but it would be hard to convey the fairy-tale imagery I was going for without those cliches. And it's still a little rough, even though I've been tweaking and polishing it all day. At any rate, it says what I feel, and that's what important. It's also the first purely creative writing I've done since NaNoWriMo, and that sure felt nice.
I came thisclose to also posting an MP3 of me singing it, just so you'd get the melody, even though I can't sing, but the last thing I need right now is haters coming here to make fun of me and tell me I can't sing, LIKE I DON'T KNOW ALREADY, so I chickened out. But the next step, if Matt doesn't think it sucks (he's not up to reading it yet; I think this has been a tough day for him), to get him to help me compose a guitar arrangement for it. And maybe in another day or two I can pick out the melody on my old acoustic guitar so you'll get a better idea of how it goes.
Anyway, here it is. Remember: ROUGH DRAFT
###
UNTOUCHABLE
by Jean Marie Bauhaus
© 2011
Tower of glass
(unbreakable)
Atop the highest mountain
(unscalable)
Across the deepest chasm
(unreachable)
Behind the tallest fortress
(unbreachable)
Where you sleep
Where you dream
Where you wait to feel my touch
(CHORUS)
And I would climb the highest mountain
I would swim the deepest sea
I would slay the fiercest dragon
To have you here with me
I would raise the mightiest army
To knock down Heaven's door
I would gladly lay my life down
If it could give you yours
Just to touch you...
But you're untouchable.
Cradle of wood
(unfillable)
A room that's still a guest room
(unlivable)
A dream that's lost forever
(unbearable)
Two hearts go on without you
(so breakable)
I can't sleep
But I dream
And I long to feel your touch
REPEAT CHORUS
One kiss upon your sweet brow
to wake you from your slumber
One caress of your tiny hand
falls through my grip like sand
REPEAT CHORUS 2X
###
There you have it. If nothing else, writing it was very therapeutic.
March 20, 2011
Good Grief
I'm skipping my great-nephew's 1st birthday party today. I feel bad about it, but not as bad as I know I'd feel if I went. There is no doubt in my mind that if I went I'd end up spending most of the party locked in the bathroom, sobbing my guts out. Because I just cannot deal with babies right now. Not even family babies who I love.
I'm still mystified by how hard and heavy this MC grief has settled back on me. Yes, the anniversary of #2 is coming up, but I got through the anniversary of #1 with only a vague feeling of sadness and wistfulness. Otherwise, I was fine. I have to wonder if this anniversary would be affecting me so deeply if I wasn't so freshly primed for grief by recent events.
Or maybe it's because the second loss hurt so much more than the first one. Don't get me wrong--my first MC was devastating. But I was able to accept it more easily, as if it was simply a due I had to pay before going on to have a family. And I thought that was exactly what I was doing when I got pregnant with #2. When I lost that one too, it felt personal, like a slap in the face, adding insult to injury. I had anger with the second one that I didn't feel with the first. Or maybe it's just that the second pregnancy and MC happened before I got to finish dealing with #1. Who knows?
All I know for certain is that everything feels fresh again, for some reason, like this loss just happened. My eyes constantly burn and my chest constantly aches from all the crying I keep doing. I'm really tired of it, all this grief and sadness and crying. I'm tired of being the girl who brings all the sad stuff to the table. But I'm not allowing myself to stifle it, or ignore it, because that just isn't healthy. I'm allowing myself to feel what I feel, and I'm trying to work through it constructively instead of letting it take over.
Part of that involves reading blogs from the Adoption, Loss & Infertility community (ALI for short). This is helping a lot (except for when one of said bloggers suddenly gets pregnant and then I can't deal with all of the conflictedness of wanting to be happy for them but being envious and sad for me instead, and all of the fun, fun guilt that that entails; seriously, I had to weed through this list to find blogs by women who weren't currently pregnant or had just had babies, and just in the week since I found the blogs I really like by women in more or less the same boat as me, TWO of them have discovered that they're pregnant. I mean, damn!) and helping me feel less alone and like the universe is picking on me.
It also involves listening to emo music and sad songs to help me connect with the pain and cry it all out. This list from Invisible Mother has some especially sob-inducing songs, particularly the ones by Kellie Cofffey and Avril Lavigne, of all people (since I'm not really a fan of either country music or of Avril). And blogging here, of course. And praying on a deep, intimate level, pouring out my heart to God in total surrender and giving all of my tears and sorrow over to Him.
And I've been thinking about writing a song. I've never written a song before, and I haven't written any poetry in years, and my instrument is a backup instrument that's not really suitable for melodizing, and I sing about as well as the people on American Idol auditions who make you cringe with embarrassment and pity. But in spite of all of this I'm feeling a powerful urge to write a song for my babies. It doesn't have to be good, and I don't have to show it to anybody. But I think I have to do it, and I think I'll get some healing from the process.
Happy Birthday, Aedan. I'm sorry Aunt Jeanie's dealing with all of this on your special day.
I'm still mystified by how hard and heavy this MC grief has settled back on me. Yes, the anniversary of #2 is coming up, but I got through the anniversary of #1 with only a vague feeling of sadness and wistfulness. Otherwise, I was fine. I have to wonder if this anniversary would be affecting me so deeply if I wasn't so freshly primed for grief by recent events.
Or maybe it's because the second loss hurt so much more than the first one. Don't get me wrong--my first MC was devastating. But I was able to accept it more easily, as if it was simply a due I had to pay before going on to have a family. And I thought that was exactly what I was doing when I got pregnant with #2. When I lost that one too, it felt personal, like a slap in the face, adding insult to injury. I had anger with the second one that I didn't feel with the first. Or maybe it's just that the second pregnancy and MC happened before I got to finish dealing with #1. Who knows?
All I know for certain is that everything feels fresh again, for some reason, like this loss just happened. My eyes constantly burn and my chest constantly aches from all the crying I keep doing. I'm really tired of it, all this grief and sadness and crying. I'm tired of being the girl who brings all the sad stuff to the table. But I'm not allowing myself to stifle it, or ignore it, because that just isn't healthy. I'm allowing myself to feel what I feel, and I'm trying to work through it constructively instead of letting it take over.
Part of that involves reading blogs from the Adoption, Loss & Infertility community (ALI for short). This is helping a lot (except for when one of said bloggers suddenly gets pregnant and then I can't deal with all of the conflictedness of wanting to be happy for them but being envious and sad for me instead, and all of the fun, fun guilt that that entails; seriously, I had to weed through this list to find blogs by women who weren't currently pregnant or had just had babies, and just in the week since I found the blogs I really like by women in more or less the same boat as me, TWO of them have discovered that they're pregnant. I mean, damn!) and helping me feel less alone and like the universe is picking on me.
It also involves listening to emo music and sad songs to help me connect with the pain and cry it all out. This list from Invisible Mother has some especially sob-inducing songs, particularly the ones by Kellie Cofffey and Avril Lavigne, of all people (since I'm not really a fan of either country music or of Avril). And blogging here, of course. And praying on a deep, intimate level, pouring out my heart to God in total surrender and giving all of my tears and sorrow over to Him.
And I've been thinking about writing a song. I've never written a song before, and I haven't written any poetry in years, and my instrument is a backup instrument that's not really suitable for melodizing, and I sing about as well as the people on American Idol auditions who make you cringe with embarrassment and pity. But in spite of all of this I'm feeling a powerful urge to write a song for my babies. It doesn't have to be good, and I don't have to show it to anybody. But I think I have to do it, and I think I'll get some healing from the process.
Happy Birthday, Aedan. I'm sorry Aunt Jeanie's dealing with all of this on your special day.
December 31, 2010
It's Done
I haven't been this bone-tired in a long time, but it's a good kind of tired, because we are DONE with that apartment. I cleared out everything (except, of course, the furniture that the charity was supposed to pick up yesterday) and did a final walk-through with our video camera, since the office was closed. We'll have to drive by and drop off the keys tomorrow (I didn't have an envelope to put them in, since I didn't realize that the office would be closed), and then we'll never need to go there again.
Which is pretty bittersweet, actually. It was sad saying goodbye to Mom's apartment, because it felt like saying goodbye to her. It was a sad ending. Also, Matt lived in that same complex while we were dating, so every time we'd go visit Mom and Rob we'd drive by his old apartment and the courtyard out front where we spent a lot of time cuddling in the porch swing, and get nostalgic warm fuzzies. So that's gone, too. But we're nothing but happy to be able to mark the apartment off our monster To Do list once and for all.
We still need to take care of Rob's finances and social security, and notify Mom's bank of her death. We also still need to go through her address book and call all of her friends to make sure they know about her passing. And, of course, we still have to plan the memorial. But these are all things we can do at our own pace, so that the other areas of our lives can start getting back to normal. And I can finally get back to work next week. I won't be nearly as well rested as I would've been if December had gone according to plan (before all of this happened, I'd been planning to give myself a vacation from Christmas Eve through New Year's Day), but after not even having time to think about my business since the moment we found out about Mom's passing, it will still feel good to get back to it.
Of course, the old normal is gone for good. It will take a while yet to establish the new normal, getting back to a routine that includes regular visits to Rob and overseeing his care. And, of course, caring for his cat. It's going to take a long time for that empty, Mom-shaped hole in our lives to heal, and our lives will never be quite the same again.
Which is pretty bittersweet, actually. It was sad saying goodbye to Mom's apartment, because it felt like saying goodbye to her. It was a sad ending. Also, Matt lived in that same complex while we were dating, so every time we'd go visit Mom and Rob we'd drive by his old apartment and the courtyard out front where we spent a lot of time cuddling in the porch swing, and get nostalgic warm fuzzies. So that's gone, too. But we're nothing but happy to be able to mark the apartment off our monster To Do list once and for all.
We still need to take care of Rob's finances and social security, and notify Mom's bank of her death. We also still need to go through her address book and call all of her friends to make sure they know about her passing. And, of course, we still have to plan the memorial. But these are all things we can do at our own pace, so that the other areas of our lives can start getting back to normal. And I can finally get back to work next week. I won't be nearly as well rested as I would've been if December had gone according to plan (before all of this happened, I'd been planning to give myself a vacation from Christmas Eve through New Year's Day), but after not even having time to think about my business since the moment we found out about Mom's passing, it will still feel good to get back to it.
Of course, the old normal is gone for good. It will take a while yet to establish the new normal, getting back to a routine that includes regular visits to Rob and overseeing his care. And, of course, caring for his cat. It's going to take a long time for that empty, Mom-shaped hole in our lives to heal, and our lives will never be quite the same again.
December 27, 2010
One day at a time
Slowly but surely, the mountain is closer to being conquered. It's still pretty dang big, though.
Yesterday, my mom came and helped me and Matt pack stuff up at the apartment. We bagged up a lot of stuff for the charity, and we packed a lot more stuff to bring over here and stash in the garage until Matt's ready to sort through it and make a final decision. There's still more to get -- for such a small apartment, and for two people who didn't own anything to speak of, they sure had a lot of stuff. But the charity is coming on Thursday to pick up the rest of the furniture and Mom's clothes, and I think one more afternoon of packing will take care of the rest. I hope. We're both really tired of going over there.
Today we stuck close to home to rest and recover. I ran some small errands, and spent the rest of the day on the phone, closing Mom's accounts and cancelling utilities. I told myself that today I would spend some time on the stationary bike and do some stretches, and that I'd stop eating fast food, but I'm so sore, and exercise is so hard, and fast food is so easy, and I'm so out of shape right now, but at the moment I'm too tired to care. And New Year's Day is right around the corner, and that's the official day to start doing healthy stuff again, right? So I'm off the hook for a few more days. Right? Riiiight.
Tomorrow, we can pick up Mom's cremains and death certificate from the funeral home, and I'll mail copies of the latter to her creditors. Other than that, I don't know what we'll be doing, but it will probably involve more packing and carrying.
Yesterday, my mom came and helped me and Matt pack stuff up at the apartment. We bagged up a lot of stuff for the charity, and we packed a lot more stuff to bring over here and stash in the garage until Matt's ready to sort through it and make a final decision. There's still more to get -- for such a small apartment, and for two people who didn't own anything to speak of, they sure had a lot of stuff. But the charity is coming on Thursday to pick up the rest of the furniture and Mom's clothes, and I think one more afternoon of packing will take care of the rest. I hope. We're both really tired of going over there.
Today we stuck close to home to rest and recover. I ran some small errands, and spent the rest of the day on the phone, closing Mom's accounts and cancelling utilities. I told myself that today I would spend some time on the stationary bike and do some stretches, and that I'd stop eating fast food, but I'm so sore, and exercise is so hard, and fast food is so easy, and I'm so out of shape right now, but at the moment I'm too tired to care. And New Year's Day is right around the corner, and that's the official day to start doing healthy stuff again, right? So I'm off the hook for a few more days. Right? Riiiight.
Tomorrow, we can pick up Mom's cremains and death certificate from the funeral home, and I'll mail copies of the latter to her creditors. Other than that, I don't know what we'll be doing, but it will probably involve more packing and carrying.
December 24, 2010
Christmas Eve
Right now, my Christmas fantasy is that tomorrow Matt and I will sleep in as late as we want, wake up and do coffee and presents, and then spend the rest of the day in our PJs, snuggled on the couch watching movies and noshing on Christmas goodies, not having to leave the house for anything. Just resting.
But in reality we have to keep up what's become our daily routine of going to the apartment and then going to see Rob. We need to go to the apartment to gather the rest of Rob's things, and then go have Christmas with him at the nursing home and, hopefully, get him out of there for a little while and feed him some proper Christmas dinner.
That place is so depressing, you guys. I know beggars can't be choosers, but, dang. The staff seems friendly enough, but it's a depressing atmosphere. Rob has to have a roommate, and his half of the room, which is tiny, has no window, and the only window in the room is blocked by the curtain separating his half from his roommate's. We'll get some pictures on the wall and try to brighten it up for him, but it's so dreary there. We're both wishing so hard that there was another option. Rob is a survivor, and he's managing to maintain a pretty good attitude, all things considered, but he's seriously hurting. His entire world has been yanked out from under him, and I just wish we could do more to make it easier for him.
Right now we just need to focus on getting through tonight. It's been our Christmas Eve tradition to go over to Mom and Rob's, where she would make Chef Boyardee pizza, and we'd hang out and exchange gifts and watch old movies and eat pizza. We're missing that tradition, and we're missing Mom's pizza, but mostly, of course, we're missing Mom. Christmas Eve isn't supposed to hurt so much.
But in reality we have to keep up what's become our daily routine of going to the apartment and then going to see Rob. We need to go to the apartment to gather the rest of Rob's things, and then go have Christmas with him at the nursing home and, hopefully, get him out of there for a little while and feed him some proper Christmas dinner.
That place is so depressing, you guys. I know beggars can't be choosers, but, dang. The staff seems friendly enough, but it's a depressing atmosphere. Rob has to have a roommate, and his half of the room, which is tiny, has no window, and the only window in the room is blocked by the curtain separating his half from his roommate's. We'll get some pictures on the wall and try to brighten it up for him, but it's so dreary there. We're both wishing so hard that there was another option. Rob is a survivor, and he's managing to maintain a pretty good attitude, all things considered, but he's seriously hurting. His entire world has been yanked out from under him, and I just wish we could do more to make it easier for him.
Right now we just need to focus on getting through tonight. It's been our Christmas Eve tradition to go over to Mom and Rob's, where she would make Chef Boyardee pizza, and we'd hang out and exchange gifts and watch old movies and eat pizza. We're missing that tradition, and we're missing Mom's pizza, but mostly, of course, we're missing Mom. Christmas Eve isn't supposed to hurt so much.
December 21, 2010
So this is Christmas
This has been a long, depressing day. After getting the news about Rob's nursing home application rejections, we headed over to the apartment to pack up some more of Mom's things. Matt played the tape on the answering machine, and we discovered that the entire last conversation between Mom and Rob got recorded. Her voice sounded like she felt terrible, and she said she'd been up all night throwing up. Rob encouraged her to get to a clinic and get checked out, but she just told him not to worry, that she'd be fine, all she needed was to get some rest.
A lot of questions went through our minds while we listened to that conversation, but the primary one was, why didn't she call us? It was so typical of her to downplay her own symptoms, to not want to be a bother to anybody. Now it's haunting us both to think that if she'd just called us to tell us she was sick and needed some help, she might still be here with us.
I wish they'd done an autopsy to determine exactly how and when she died, because it's really frustrating to not know. The medical examiner just chalked it up to natural causes, and assumed a heart attack while she slept. Today is the first we heard of her being sick, of having any symptoms other than a cough. But if she was vomiting and feeling sick... did she have the flu? Did she have food poisoning? Was she having a blood sugar attack? There are so many possibilities, and they all point to something that could have been treated, something she could have been saved from if only she'd been a better communicator.
Side note: I think the fact that Rob forgot such an important fact regarding his wife's death says a lot about his competence.
We both just feel so frustrated right now. And tired. I can't believe Christmas is just a few days away. We haven't even had time to think about Christmas plans since this happened. Even if we get time to wrap our gifts, I doubt we'll have the energy. Our Christmas will probably bear a striking resemblance to this this year.
A lot of questions went through our minds while we listened to that conversation, but the primary one was, why didn't she call us? It was so typical of her to downplay her own symptoms, to not want to be a bother to anybody. Now it's haunting us both to think that if she'd just called us to tell us she was sick and needed some help, she might still be here with us.
I wish they'd done an autopsy to determine exactly how and when she died, because it's really frustrating to not know. The medical examiner just chalked it up to natural causes, and assumed a heart attack while she slept. Today is the first we heard of her being sick, of having any symptoms other than a cough. But if she was vomiting and feeling sick... did she have the flu? Did she have food poisoning? Was she having a blood sugar attack? There are so many possibilities, and they all point to something that could have been treated, something she could have been saved from if only she'd been a better communicator.
Side note: I think the fact that Rob forgot such an important fact regarding his wife's death says a lot about his competence.
We both just feel so frustrated right now. And tired. I can't believe Christmas is just a few days away. We haven't even had time to think about Christmas plans since this happened. Even if we get time to wrap our gifts, I doubt we'll have the energy. Our Christmas will probably bear a striking resemblance to this this year.
December 20, 2010
Gina Paula Harden Bauhaus Gray (1949 - 2010)
Mom had been nagging us for years to get her a print of this picture of her and Matt at our wedding. We've been slow (really slow) in having any special prints made of our wedding pictures, but I decided that we weren't going to make her wait any longer. I ordered an 8x10 and put it in a nice frame, and planned to give it to her for Christmas. I picked it up the day before (we think) she died.I've never seen a more proud mother-of-the-groom than she was that day, and I think it probably ranked as one of the happiest days of her life. It's such a cliché,the mother-in-law and daughter-in-law not getting along; but we couldn't have been further from it. Gina always told me that I was the answer to her prayers for Matt. She made me feel cherished, and treated me like the daughter she never had. She wasn't just a mother-in-law to me. She was a second mommy, and I cherished her in return.
She was a tough lady, but this past year was one of the most challenging she'd ever faced. She went through losing her job, and then losing her eyesight, and those hindrances to being able to provide for her disabled husband weighed heavily on her. His failing health and hospital stays certainly didn't make things easier on her. She was so busy worrying about Rob, and about her eyes, that she neglected other things, like a cough that she assumed was nothing to be concerned about, at least not enough to make it a priority.
It seemed like things were starting to turn around. Rob's health was stabilizing, and she finally secured financial assistance for cataract surgery. Her first surgery was scheduled for this week. She was going to be able to see again by Christmas, and Rob was going to come home, and they were going to rest and hope for a better year.
It's one of mine and Matt's biggest regrets that we weren't able to help her more, to do more to make life easier for her and take away some of her burdens. But it's our comfort, as believers in Christ, to know that all of her burdens are lifted, and she can see perfectly now, and she has no more cough, no more diabetes, no more need to stick herself with needles every day. We're left behind to pick up the pieces and figure out how they fit without her as part of the picture, and that hurts. To say we miss her is a huge understatement. But we know we'll see her again, and it would be the ultimate in selfishness to wish her back to such a difficult life.
Your kids love you and miss you, Mom. Now it's time to rest.
I will turn their mourning into gladness; I will give them comfort and joy instead of sorrow.
-Jeremiah 31:13 (NIV)
You have turned for me my mourning into dancing;
You have loosed my sackcloth and girded me with gladness,
That my soul may sing praise to You and not be silent.
O LORD my God, I will give thanks to You forever.
You have loosed my sackcloth and girded me with gladness,
That my soul may sing praise to You and not be silent.
O LORD my God, I will give thanks to You forever.
-Psalm 30:11-12 (NASB)
December 15, 2010
Just Breathe
My mom-in-law passed away over the weekend. I want to write up a proper obituary eventually, but right now I'm still processing everything, and I just need to do a brain dump to help put it all in order.
It was totally unexpected. The last time we heard from her was last Thursday, when she called to update us on the status of her husband, Rob, who was taken back to the hospital last Tuesday with some internal hemorrhaging. She promised to keep us posted on his condition, so we assumed that no news was good news.
Then on Monday I got a text message from the Tulsa Police Chaplain saying that he needed to get a hold of Matt ASAP. My heart started pounding when I read the message, because police chaplains who want to get a hold of you ASAP rarely have anything good to tell you. As Matt called him, our first thought was that Rob took a turn for the worst -- but that didn't make sense. Why would the police chaplain call us about Rob and not, say, Mom, or if she was unable, the hospital chaplain?
Because he wasn't calling about Rob, that's why. Rob was actually doing much better and was ready to be discharged, but when he couldn't get a hold of Mom to tell her, he called a family friend, who went over to the apartment to check on her. When she didn't answer the door, the police were called. They forced their way into the apartment and found Mom in her bed, where she had apparently died in her sleep.
We spent the rest of Monday in shock. Even after going over to her apartment to rescue her cat, it didn't really sink in that she was gone. It wasn't until that evening that the reality and the grief started to sink in, and we had a night full of tears and lacking in sleep.
On Tuesday, we knew we had to suck it up, because there was so much to deal with. She didn't leave a will. She didn't have any life insurance, or money in the bank, which would have gone into probate, anyway, because of the lack of a will.
We didn't know yet what was going to happen to Rob. We thought he'd probably have to stay with us, at least temporarily, but that first we'd have to take him home to get his things. So first we went back to the apartment to change the sheets on the bed where she passed. And all I will say about that is that it was one of the most horribly sad things I've ever had to do. Then we went to the hospital, where the staff convinced us that we can't possibly provide all of the care that he needs, so he'll have to go to an assisted living facility. He's not happy about that at all, but he understands that there's really no choice. He's staying at the hospital while they apply to different facilities, and we'll be able to tour the ones that accept him and pick the best fit.
I'm just so heartbroken for him, you guys. Mom was his whole world, and his life is completely turned upside down. She took care of all of his finances in addition to everything else, and he doesn't even have his own bank account. We're going to have to get power of attorney over his finances and everything so that we can at least take care of that for him. I don't know what all getting that done will involve.
After we left the hospital, we went to the funeral home where she'd been taken, and learned that we definitely can't afford to have her buried, which was what she wanted, and we can't even afford to have her cremated, so today we went to the social services office and applied for a county-funded cremation. It will probably be next week before we know if our application is accepted, but I don't know why they'd turn it down, since we just flat out don't have the money for it. We've decided to wait until after the holidays, and after Rob is settled, to plan a memorial service. That's just one too many things to deal with right now.
Meanwhile, we've brought all of her papers home and have been going through them hoping by some miracle to discover that she had a life insurance policy she never told anybody about, but that's not looking too likely. The list of things we have to take care of keeps getting longer and longer. We've got until the end of the month to get her apartment cleaned out, and we have to figure out what to do with all of her things. We have to enlist people to help us move her furniture, because we can't afford movers. I don't know how much of it Rob will be able to take with him to the nursing home. The rest of it will have to come back here until Matt's ready to start letting go.
We're both so tired. Grief alone makes you tired, but we just have so much to DO. I haven't had any time for work since Monday, and I don't know when I will have time. We both need a good night's sleep, and a massage, and... well, we need for Matt's mommy to not be gone anymore. But we don't always get what we need, do we?
It was totally unexpected. The last time we heard from her was last Thursday, when she called to update us on the status of her husband, Rob, who was taken back to the hospital last Tuesday with some internal hemorrhaging. She promised to keep us posted on his condition, so we assumed that no news was good news.
Then on Monday I got a text message from the Tulsa Police Chaplain saying that he needed to get a hold of Matt ASAP. My heart started pounding when I read the message, because police chaplains who want to get a hold of you ASAP rarely have anything good to tell you. As Matt called him, our first thought was that Rob took a turn for the worst -- but that didn't make sense. Why would the police chaplain call us about Rob and not, say, Mom, or if she was unable, the hospital chaplain?
Because he wasn't calling about Rob, that's why. Rob was actually doing much better and was ready to be discharged, but when he couldn't get a hold of Mom to tell her, he called a family friend, who went over to the apartment to check on her. When she didn't answer the door, the police were called. They forced their way into the apartment and found Mom in her bed, where she had apparently died in her sleep.
We spent the rest of Monday in shock. Even after going over to her apartment to rescue her cat, it didn't really sink in that she was gone. It wasn't until that evening that the reality and the grief started to sink in, and we had a night full of tears and lacking in sleep.
On Tuesday, we knew we had to suck it up, because there was so much to deal with. She didn't leave a will. She didn't have any life insurance, or money in the bank, which would have gone into probate, anyway, because of the lack of a will.
We didn't know yet what was going to happen to Rob. We thought he'd probably have to stay with us, at least temporarily, but that first we'd have to take him home to get his things. So first we went back to the apartment to change the sheets on the bed where she passed. And all I will say about that is that it was one of the most horribly sad things I've ever had to do. Then we went to the hospital, where the staff convinced us that we can't possibly provide all of the care that he needs, so he'll have to go to an assisted living facility. He's not happy about that at all, but he understands that there's really no choice. He's staying at the hospital while they apply to different facilities, and we'll be able to tour the ones that accept him and pick the best fit.
I'm just so heartbroken for him, you guys. Mom was his whole world, and his life is completely turned upside down. She took care of all of his finances in addition to everything else, and he doesn't even have his own bank account. We're going to have to get power of attorney over his finances and everything so that we can at least take care of that for him. I don't know what all getting that done will involve.
After we left the hospital, we went to the funeral home where she'd been taken, and learned that we definitely can't afford to have her buried, which was what she wanted, and we can't even afford to have her cremated, so today we went to the social services office and applied for a county-funded cremation. It will probably be next week before we know if our application is accepted, but I don't know why they'd turn it down, since we just flat out don't have the money for it. We've decided to wait until after the holidays, and after Rob is settled, to plan a memorial service. That's just one too many things to deal with right now.
Meanwhile, we've brought all of her papers home and have been going through them hoping by some miracle to discover that she had a life insurance policy she never told anybody about, but that's not looking too likely. The list of things we have to take care of keeps getting longer and longer. We've got until the end of the month to get her apartment cleaned out, and we have to figure out what to do with all of her things. We have to enlist people to help us move her furniture, because we can't afford movers. I don't know how much of it Rob will be able to take with him to the nursing home. The rest of it will have to come back here until Matt's ready to start letting go.
We're both so tired. Grief alone makes you tired, but we just have so much to DO. I haven't had any time for work since Monday, and I don't know when I will have time. We both need a good night's sleep, and a massage, and... well, we need for Matt's mommy to not be gone anymore. But we don't always get what we need, do we?
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