How is it that one day in the year can inadvertantly create such melancholy? I'm not sure though, whether it is the day and the insinuation that from tomorrow we start afresh, or whether it's other's reactions and the expectations they place out there.
I'm sure just twenty four hours ago I didn't care to be doing anything at all. I really didn't care one way or the other about the fact that one year was ending, and another was beginning. I don't mean to sound 'bah humbug' on the New Year thing, but I just think the last few years have given me too much to dwell on and left a bitter taste in my mouth. Correction: bittersweet now that we have our boy. But bitter is still in there.
But then I watched a bit of television. I saw the footage of the past year. The earthquakes and tsanami devastations, floods and cyclones in our own country, disasters everywhere. Death and celebration mixed together in reports of the deaths of notorious leaders. Since when did we celebrate the murder of anyone, whether they be good or evil? I struggle to comprehend it all.
At the root of all of this is one thought. One feeling that strikes me in the pit of my stomach. All of these people belong to someone else. They are all someone's son or daughter. In the absence of a parent, they are also someone's wife or husband. Someone's father or mother. Someone's friend.
And so it was the beginning of my impartial demise.
:::
Next was the discussions I witnessed about who was doing what. I really only heard one or two things that took my fancy, so I think it was a kind of peer pressure that formed within me, forcing me into a corner of observation that told me that because I had no invitations to do anything I was a social outcast of kind.
How did that happen though? I truly didn't want to be going to someone's bbq, or partying on at some random club. Nobody put that pressure on me. I simply and inadvertantly put it on myself.
:::
It's 9.27pm and the first text message for the evening has arrived. Do I reply? I guess I will. But funnily enough, I wonder too how I would feel if I simply got no text messages at all. Would I feel unloved and forgotten? I don't intend to send a bunch out. Or maybe I will. I guess it depends on where my mood takes me in the next couple of hours. I do of course wish everyone a happy New Year. But I'm being too bah humbug to put it out there, outside of my mind.
:::
And then there is our good old fa.cebo.ok. We love it, don't we? I'm being relatively serious there, because without it we wouldn't have the close knit support groups that we do. Social networking has indeed come a long way.
But as the night has progressed I am seeing so many NYE wishes. Some are straight forward, wishing friends and family the proverbial. While others are providing a summary of their year. The highs and lows. Some are including the highs and lows of close friends and/or family as well.
It almost enticed me to write my own. But I hesitated. I don't feel like my story is a short one (oh, and those who know my writing will agree that I would struggle to write three words as a "short one" haha!). I also feel that it would be misunderstood by many in real life.
:::
My SIL asked me today if I was partying tonight. TBH it was before any of the above had really registered as "getting" to me. My answer was no. That I am too bitter and twisted these days to be allowed to party, lest it get messy. It was meant as a light hearted way of saying I wasn't up for it. But her reply was to ask why was I bitter and twisted.
It's about then that I think much of it began crashing down. Not because of what she said or anything as such, but just the question asked in all innocence. I guess I would have thought that the answer was plain and simple to anyone who knows me.
My son. My first son. He's not here. He never will be again.
And with that my tongue tied (or my typing fingers twisted) as it dawned on me that there is no way to explain where I am at the moment, without sounding ungrateful for what I have.
:::
In actual fact, there are no words for the depth of my gratefulness. I love Toby with every square millimetre of my heart and soul. He gives me absolute reason for being here. And that love grows with every moment. Who would have thought that you really can love someone more and more and more. And then when you think you've reached capacity, you can love them even more.
He has healed my heart more than I could have asked of a little boy. But although my heart can be healed like that, it can never truly be repaired. There will forever be a hole in it. I don't need to explain that to anyone here, I'm sure.
:::
So then, what is it that bothers me right now?
It is the end of a year. Farewelling what has been. What we know. And heading into a new year which is unknown. I find it somewhat daunting.
The year was good to us, overall. We welcomed our beautiful baby boy. But not before we farewelled my loved Nana. But then she gave me Toby on her 97th birthday. What more could I have asked of her. I am at peace with it, but I miss her every day.
And our baby boy. What more could we ask, really. What more could we ask.
Nothing. The "bads" are only minor compared to the good of his arrival, yet they are still "bads".
:::
I remembered too... this is the first NYE in three years, that I haven't been pregnant. It is the second in five years that I haven't been. What milestones they are.
It is the first in five years that we feel we have something to celebrate.
Yet, I fear the celebration of life when I have learned just how fragile the here and now is. Here today, gone tomorrow.
I see comments from friends on fb and want to ask them to please stay safe. I fear seeing or hearing news tomorrow that is not good. Or will it be next week or next year.
:::
But back to my SILs question, and the fact that I don't feel like celebrating because I still miss my son. That the milestones I just spoke of insinuate a family of five. Or even more. Yet we are a family of three.
How can I say that to anyone? People have their own sadness'. People have their own journeys. To say that to someone who has never had children, will never have children, may never have children, is unfair of me. I am blessed. I am lucky. I know that. But I am selfish enough to give way to the forever yearning for my first son. I am greedy enough to want them both. Greedy enough to want all three of them.
And so I will not say it.
:::
I don't do resolutions. I gave that up years ago. What is a resolution when people seldom reach their promised goal.
I used to say I had no regrets. I can't say that any more, however the regrets that I hold are ones that I had no control over anyway.
But I do do wishes. I have a lot of wishes in my heart, for some of my closest friends. I wish, I wish, I wish...
Saturday, December 31, 2011
Sunday, December 18, 2011
Is the magic forever gone?
Or is it a temporary set back?
I imagined that it was. Temporary, that is. Not that I expected to get over our loss, forget our first son, and party on. But I guess I did expect that the magic that I remember as a kid would come back, somewhere, somehow. So why do I have to feel bah humbug for my second son's first Christmas, and our first with him. Because of course, he does make it a million, zillion times worth getting through. In actualy fact though, if we didn't have Toby, I reckon that Shane and I would have canned this one for sure.
It's a bit silly really, when you analyse it all. What we are going through this year is financially motivated (or demotivated as the case may be). It's material. It's a job and a house. I'm not saying they aren't important, and God knows that financial stability is in my core, as the bank manager of the family. What I am saying though is that we have each other, we have Toby, we have our health, we have family, we have friends. Need I go on. What we don't have, for the fourth year in a row, is Ciaran. That is immaterial.
But still the house thing is dominating our Christmas this year, and it doesn't matter how many times we hear from others (or indeed say to each other) how it could be worse. We know it could be. Absolutely. But it doesn't make the looming unknown, the possible material loss, and the big fat question mark feel any less pressurising.
:::
In all of this thinking, I was revisiting old memories today, of Christmas as a little Bir.
I remember Christmas as a whir of social events, which is kind of funny as my family, my parents, aren't exactly the partying bunch. But I guess in those days my dad was involved in things.
I remember he was in the fire brigade, and for some reason there were always two fire brigade Christmas parties. For one, the fire truck used to drive around town and pick us kids up to take to the fire shed for the evening "do". We would wait outside the house. It was always a warm summer's evening (in my mind anyway), with the sun going or gone down. We would hear them coming. They would put the siren on from time to time, so we could hear them getting closer. We would pile on with all of the other kids and off we go. I guess they couldn't do that anymore, with insurance changes these days. Pity.
When they had us all we would drive around the town looking for Santa. We had to sing Jingle Bells at the top of our lungs. He was always in a different place, and eventually we would find him. He'd be ho ho hoing, and ringing his bell, carrying a big red sack of exciting presents, and climb aboard, and we'd Jingle Bells our way to the fire shed.
Funnily enough I don't remember all that much about the rest of the night. I do remember the smell of fresh pine needles. I remember our names being called out by santa and receiving a gift. Of course we didn't know that our parents had given it to them earlier. To us it really came from Santa, even if we had sussed out that this Santa was someone we knew - he was only giving the real one a hand after all!
And then there was the other fire brigade "do" which was the xmas picnic. It was out of town, on a farm, in a shearing shed. Again it was always a balmy summer's evening. I remember snippets of these ones. I remember lolly scrambles. The best thing for me about these ones were that we were able to ride the horses. I was obviously a little older with these memories, but it was before I owned my own horse, so it was so fab! We would take it in turns of getting on one, and galloping out of control to the top of the hill, and then jog back down again. What an insurance nightmare. I don't even know how my parents allowed me to, given that we had no saddles or helmets, and I was never allowed to ride without a helmet.
We also had another social do for something my dad was involved in. I don't remember much about this one, except once more... the magic.
There were bbq's too. There is the smell of the evening. Walking home in the dark as a family. Seeing the xmas lights in the windows because that was before the days of decorating your house.
There was just simply magic everywhere. It's still there in the memories. But is it still in our lives? Will we get to see it in our children? Child? Hmmm. My bad (no "children" (plural) here...). I hope that I do one day.
:::
But I also got to wondering then... how were our parents feeling, while we were experiencing that magic? What did they have going on in their lives, that might have meant they put on a brave face for us.
I do remember one Christmas... Christmas Eve actually. Playing with my brother in our lounge room. I was six. Mum came in and told us that our grandpa had died. We stopped playing, but I remember us just kind of sitting there, unsure what to do, but obviously "getting" that playing was inappropriate.
I don't remember Christmas though. Perhaps, as kids, we had "forgotten", or at least not understand the fact that my father's father had died.
I guess what I'm saying is that all of a sudden I have a new appreciation for things that my parents, as adults might have had going on, while we were feeling the magic.
I hope that Toby can always feel the magic.
:::
I've been wrapping the family's Christmas presents today. Thankfully they were all bought before Shane's job went kapoot. I don't know what might have been if they hadn't.
But as I was writing the cards, each one stabbed me in the heart.
"with love Bir, Shane and Toby".
Where is my first son? Why was I not writing Ciaran? Should I? Can I? Would I? I questioned myself with each time I wrote it. I rationalised it to myself, saying that these are only the gift cards, and that Ciaran was remembered on our Christmas cards. But it still didn't feel right.
And really, the only reason I can admit to is that putting Ciaran's name felt too hard for other people to understand. So, I didn't put his name. For them. Not for me, but for their own comfort. And I actually have amazing family, so go figure.
Every single one tugged at my heart though, as I felt guilty. As if by being able to now sign Toby's name to things, I can "move on" and even "forget" about our first son, Ciaran. Obviously, that is very much not true, and I know that nobody (close to us) would expect that. But that's just the way the cards rumbled.
It never seems straight forward.
I imagined that it was. Temporary, that is. Not that I expected to get over our loss, forget our first son, and party on. But I guess I did expect that the magic that I remember as a kid would come back, somewhere, somehow. So why do I have to feel bah humbug for my second son's first Christmas, and our first with him. Because of course, he does make it a million, zillion times worth getting through. In actualy fact though, if we didn't have Toby, I reckon that Shane and I would have canned this one for sure.
It's a bit silly really, when you analyse it all. What we are going through this year is financially motivated (or demotivated as the case may be). It's material. It's a job and a house. I'm not saying they aren't important, and God knows that financial stability is in my core, as the bank manager of the family. What I am saying though is that we have each other, we have Toby, we have our health, we have family, we have friends. Need I go on. What we don't have, for the fourth year in a row, is Ciaran. That is immaterial.
But still the house thing is dominating our Christmas this year, and it doesn't matter how many times we hear from others (or indeed say to each other) how it could be worse. We know it could be. Absolutely. But it doesn't make the looming unknown, the possible material loss, and the big fat question mark feel any less pressurising.
:::
In all of this thinking, I was revisiting old memories today, of Christmas as a little Bir.
I remember Christmas as a whir of social events, which is kind of funny as my family, my parents, aren't exactly the partying bunch. But I guess in those days my dad was involved in things.
I remember he was in the fire brigade, and for some reason there were always two fire brigade Christmas parties. For one, the fire truck used to drive around town and pick us kids up to take to the fire shed for the evening "do". We would wait outside the house. It was always a warm summer's evening (in my mind anyway), with the sun going or gone down. We would hear them coming. They would put the siren on from time to time, so we could hear them getting closer. We would pile on with all of the other kids and off we go. I guess they couldn't do that anymore, with insurance changes these days. Pity.
When they had us all we would drive around the town looking for Santa. We had to sing Jingle Bells at the top of our lungs. He was always in a different place, and eventually we would find him. He'd be ho ho hoing, and ringing his bell, carrying a big red sack of exciting presents, and climb aboard, and we'd Jingle Bells our way to the fire shed.
Funnily enough I don't remember all that much about the rest of the night. I do remember the smell of fresh pine needles. I remember our names being called out by santa and receiving a gift. Of course we didn't know that our parents had given it to them earlier. To us it really came from Santa, even if we had sussed out that this Santa was someone we knew - he was only giving the real one a hand after all!
And then there was the other fire brigade "do" which was the xmas picnic. It was out of town, on a farm, in a shearing shed. Again it was always a balmy summer's evening. I remember snippets of these ones. I remember lolly scrambles. The best thing for me about these ones were that we were able to ride the horses. I was obviously a little older with these memories, but it was before I owned my own horse, so it was so fab! We would take it in turns of getting on one, and galloping out of control to the top of the hill, and then jog back down again. What an insurance nightmare. I don't even know how my parents allowed me to, given that we had no saddles or helmets, and I was never allowed to ride without a helmet.
We also had another social do for something my dad was involved in. I don't remember much about this one, except once more... the magic.
There were bbq's too. There is the smell of the evening. Walking home in the dark as a family. Seeing the xmas lights in the windows because that was before the days of decorating your house.
There was just simply magic everywhere. It's still there in the memories. But is it still in our lives? Will we get to see it in our children? Child? Hmmm. My bad (no "children" (plural) here...). I hope that I do one day.
:::
But I also got to wondering then... how were our parents feeling, while we were experiencing that magic? What did they have going on in their lives, that might have meant they put on a brave face for us.
I do remember one Christmas... Christmas Eve actually. Playing with my brother in our lounge room. I was six. Mum came in and told us that our grandpa had died. We stopped playing, but I remember us just kind of sitting there, unsure what to do, but obviously "getting" that playing was inappropriate.
I don't remember Christmas though. Perhaps, as kids, we had "forgotten", or at least not understand the fact that my father's father had died.
I guess what I'm saying is that all of a sudden I have a new appreciation for things that my parents, as adults might have had going on, while we were feeling the magic.
I hope that Toby can always feel the magic.
:::
I've been wrapping the family's Christmas presents today. Thankfully they were all bought before Shane's job went kapoot. I don't know what might have been if they hadn't.
But as I was writing the cards, each one stabbed me in the heart.
"with love Bir, Shane and Toby".
Where is my first son? Why was I not writing Ciaran? Should I? Can I? Would I? I questioned myself with each time I wrote it. I rationalised it to myself, saying that these are only the gift cards, and that Ciaran was remembered on our Christmas cards. But it still didn't feel right.
And really, the only reason I can admit to is that putting Ciaran's name felt too hard for other people to understand. So, I didn't put his name. For them. Not for me, but for their own comfort. And I actually have amazing family, so go figure.
Every single one tugged at my heart though, as I felt guilty. As if by being able to now sign Toby's name to things, I can "move on" and even "forget" about our first son, Ciaran. Obviously, that is very much not true, and I know that nobody (close to us) would expect that. But that's just the way the cards rumbled.
It never seems straight forward.
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
So. What's it like being part of the mother's club?
To be honest? I'm not entirely sure. I can't say I'm entirely in it. I have, of course, got one foot in. And yes, that is certainly better than none. I hear you, I hear you.
But over the past few years I have read, from time to time, other people's posts about how they don't really feel like they fit in. I know I've also posted a bit about it thus far too. The truth is that if you can possibly put all the dead baby stuff out of your mind for a while, then you simply would fit in. Reason? Well, honestly my world is full of teething, dirty nappies, solids and screaming babies (well, babe). So, yes, it is kinda, relatively, sorta easy to fit in. For a bit.
But on Saturday night here we had a small "party" for Shane's 40th birthday. Maybe fifteen people. It started about 4ish in the afternoon. And sometime in those next couple of hours I inwardly spewed. If that's possible.
You see it hit me that I was glad that none of our wonderful baby lost friends were there. It hit me just what, or who, the subject of the party was for those first couple of hours. And certainly the topic of conversation.
"So, is he a good baby?"
"Teething? Oh yeah, when Abs started.... "
"Oh, look how strong he is! Tom used to..."
I'm not going to go on about the examples, but you get my point. There was nothing in the conversation for someone who didn't have children, let alone someone who had lost one (or two or three...).
Somehow we became them. I wondered if any of them had given a second thought to the other little boy who wasn't there.
And as always, a bit of salt for your wound? You might remember me posting about my own birthday back in Feb and the presence of two three year olds - one being miss Molly, my niece, who I love and adore, and the other being the daughter of a lady I befriended when we were doing pregnancy pilates together in our first pregnancies. Abs came along six weeks or so before Ciaran. Safe. Well. Alive. Living.
I'm used to being around Molly. I don't always look at her and "see" Ciaran, and wonder who he would be. I can use Molly as a bit of a guide as to what he might be doing, but mostly it doesn't upset me. Abs on te other hand... well, she doesnt' upset me, but whenever I see her, which isn't often, it hits me like a tonne of bricks and knocks me for a six. Again.
And so, while my own living little boy played in his activity centre and squealed and carried on like an eight month old, in the centre of the circle, I watched the three year old. Her ladylike manners. Her blonde curls and blue eyes. I watched her trying to get Toby to keep the hat on his head, and her exasperated "To-by!!" with her hands on her hips. And I thought of that little boy, the big brother, who should be there doing the same.
I haven't processed the photos yet, but I looked at them in-camera last night and all of this really came home... seeing the three year old at Shane's side as he blew out the candles on his cake, and then had them re-lit for her to blow out. It didn't bother me at the time... it's what you do for kids, right? But now, it kind of bothers me. Those candles should have been blown out by another little three year old.
Sometimes it all sucks.
Or all of the time.
:::
No news on the job/house front.
But over the past few years I have read, from time to time, other people's posts about how they don't really feel like they fit in. I know I've also posted a bit about it thus far too. The truth is that if you can possibly put all the dead baby stuff out of your mind for a while, then you simply would fit in. Reason? Well, honestly my world is full of teething, dirty nappies, solids and screaming babies (well, babe). So, yes, it is kinda, relatively, sorta easy to fit in. For a bit.
But on Saturday night here we had a small "party" for Shane's 40th birthday. Maybe fifteen people. It started about 4ish in the afternoon. And sometime in those next couple of hours I inwardly spewed. If that's possible.
You see it hit me that I was glad that none of our wonderful baby lost friends were there. It hit me just what, or who, the subject of the party was for those first couple of hours. And certainly the topic of conversation.
"So, is he a good baby?"
"Teething? Oh yeah, when Abs started.... "
"Oh, look how strong he is! Tom used to..."
I'm not going to go on about the examples, but you get my point. There was nothing in the conversation for someone who didn't have children, let alone someone who had lost one (or two or three...).
Somehow we became them. I wondered if any of them had given a second thought to the other little boy who wasn't there.
And as always, a bit of salt for your wound? You might remember me posting about my own birthday back in Feb and the presence of two three year olds - one being miss Molly, my niece, who I love and adore, and the other being the daughter of a lady I befriended when we were doing pregnancy pilates together in our first pregnancies. Abs came along six weeks or so before Ciaran. Safe. Well. Alive. Living.
I'm used to being around Molly. I don't always look at her and "see" Ciaran, and wonder who he would be. I can use Molly as a bit of a guide as to what he might be doing, but mostly it doesn't upset me. Abs on te other hand... well, she doesnt' upset me, but whenever I see her, which isn't often, it hits me like a tonne of bricks and knocks me for a six. Again.
And so, while my own living little boy played in his activity centre and squealed and carried on like an eight month old, in the centre of the circle, I watched the three year old. Her ladylike manners. Her blonde curls and blue eyes. I watched her trying to get Toby to keep the hat on his head, and her exasperated "To-by!!" with her hands on her hips. And I thought of that little boy, the big brother, who should be there doing the same.
I haven't processed the photos yet, but I looked at them in-camera last night and all of this really came home... seeing the three year old at Shane's side as he blew out the candles on his cake, and then had them re-lit for her to blow out. It didn't bother me at the time... it's what you do for kids, right? But now, it kind of bothers me. Those candles should have been blown out by another little three year old.
Sometimes it all sucks.
Or all of the time.
:::
No news on the job/house front.
Saturday, December 10, 2011
Now that your baby has died, who are you?
I'm quite an anxious person.
I don't remember being like this before. I've always been a bit of a stress head. I've always been a bit of a control freak. I've probably always been a bit of a drama queen, although (hopefully) not in the extreme sense.
But now that I have a dead baby under my belt, so to speak, I get so anxious at times that my insides are simply in knots. I find it hard to park my fears and anxieties. I also find it hard to talk about them. When I do I easily feel that they are trivialised. My community nurse told me one day, in response to a comment I made that we don't know what will happen tomorrow, and I worry about Toby (or something to that effect), that "it won't happen". I couldn't keep on with the discussion. Trivialised, because we know it might happen!
So I do tend to bottle a bit. I do try to keep a soldier on mentality. But I also know that I do it to the detriment, at times, of smelling the roses. I get busy with "the business end" of life, and suck at the emotional stuff. I have no time for airy fairy, yet I think I'm a bit of an airy fairy myself. I'm a pisces denying myself my birthrite of rose colored glasses.
:::
But for now this rambling airy fairy must go to bed. It's past my deadline of 1am by 15 minutes and I still need to brush my teeth, put my pj's on and climb in.
I don't remember being like this before. I've always been a bit of a stress head. I've always been a bit of a control freak. I've probably always been a bit of a drama queen, although (hopefully) not in the extreme sense.
But now that I have a dead baby under my belt, so to speak, I get so anxious at times that my insides are simply in knots. I find it hard to park my fears and anxieties. I also find it hard to talk about them. When I do I easily feel that they are trivialised. My community nurse told me one day, in response to a comment I made that we don't know what will happen tomorrow, and I worry about Toby (or something to that effect), that "it won't happen". I couldn't keep on with the discussion. Trivialised, because we know it might happen!
So I do tend to bottle a bit. I do try to keep a soldier on mentality. But I also know that I do it to the detriment, at times, of smelling the roses. I get busy with "the business end" of life, and suck at the emotional stuff. I have no time for airy fairy, yet I think I'm a bit of an airy fairy myself. I'm a pisces denying myself my birthrite of rose colored glasses.
:::
But for now this rambling airy fairy must go to bed. It's past my deadline of 1am by 15 minutes and I still need to brush my teeth, put my pj's on and climb in.
Friday, December 9, 2011
The absence of butterflies...
I realised today that I haven't seen many butterflies.
We are ten days into summer. I've missed the entire "spring" butterfly season. I do remember seeing my "first butterfly" of the season, but that seems to have been the highlight.
It got me thinking though.. Well, first of all it hit me with a sadness. Butterflies are a strong symbol to me that Ciaran is around me. Or at least if he's not around me, then it's a reminder to take a moment and breathe with him. To simply take a moment.
So, has it been a season without butterflies? Or have I been so caught up in my new life, that I have failed to miss the butterflies that have adorned my springs for three years now? Sadly, I can't say that I am caught up in total happiness, because it's a happiness always tinged by sadness. I still miss him with an ache in my heart. The thought that I have just rushed around, going about my business with his baby brother, without taking a moment to myself, taking a moment to point out the beautiful butterflies to Toby even... well, it actually made me feel a little ill.
But the next thing I wondered was has he left me. No. I corrected myself there. I had to. I know he would never leave me. But is it because I no longer "need" the signs of hope, as I did for the last three years? I feel like I do, but perhaps it's more a feeling of "don't abandon me". Bible passages are springing to mind there, but I'm not going to go into "what God said...".
I want to take time out to enjoy the butterflies. I want to take moments to sit and devote randomly to Ciaran. When I see a "sign", that reminds my heart to sing.
I'm not sure as I've written theis post very well. Deep seated emotions are hard to find words for. Send me the butterflies.
:::
Life is still very much up in the air. No new positions have come up this week, so we are relying on two applications. I feel like our relationship is strained, simply because we are so different in handling a crisis such as this. Today I've been trying to remember "for better and for worse", and to remind myself of the lessons I had to learn in ttc, that I need to relinquish a certain amount of control. Shane is the head of the family, the breadwinner, the husband and daddy. I need to trust and believe in him. But I also need to protect what little we have, so I need to come up with a plan B.
It's just that plan B isn't coming to mind easily... !
I've been having some extremely anxious days. Today wasn't too bad, but yesterday I actually thought about ringing Lif.elin.e. Not because I was thinking of doing anything drastic, but simply because I needed to chat with someone. About anything. I needed to get my focus away from it all. And the people I normally ring for a chat weren't available, so cheerily I said goodbye, and tried to go about my business.
I am trying to remember that in a month something will have been sorted. Something will have happened. And so there is only so much that my anxiety can achieve now. Can't say it helps, but it's a thought!
We are ten days into summer. I've missed the entire "spring" butterfly season. I do remember seeing my "first butterfly" of the season, but that seems to have been the highlight.
It got me thinking though.. Well, first of all it hit me with a sadness. Butterflies are a strong symbol to me that Ciaran is around me. Or at least if he's not around me, then it's a reminder to take a moment and breathe with him. To simply take a moment.
So, has it been a season without butterflies? Or have I been so caught up in my new life, that I have failed to miss the butterflies that have adorned my springs for three years now? Sadly, I can't say that I am caught up in total happiness, because it's a happiness always tinged by sadness. I still miss him with an ache in my heart. The thought that I have just rushed around, going about my business with his baby brother, without taking a moment to myself, taking a moment to point out the beautiful butterflies to Toby even... well, it actually made me feel a little ill.
But the next thing I wondered was has he left me. No. I corrected myself there. I had to. I know he would never leave me. But is it because I no longer "need" the signs of hope, as I did for the last three years? I feel like I do, but perhaps it's more a feeling of "don't abandon me". Bible passages are springing to mind there, but I'm not going to go into "what God said...".
I want to take time out to enjoy the butterflies. I want to take moments to sit and devote randomly to Ciaran. When I see a "sign", that reminds my heart to sing.
I'm not sure as I've written theis post very well. Deep seated emotions are hard to find words for. Send me the butterflies.
:::
Life is still very much up in the air. No new positions have come up this week, so we are relying on two applications. I feel like our relationship is strained, simply because we are so different in handling a crisis such as this. Today I've been trying to remember "for better and for worse", and to remind myself of the lessons I had to learn in ttc, that I need to relinquish a certain amount of control. Shane is the head of the family, the breadwinner, the husband and daddy. I need to trust and believe in him. But I also need to protect what little we have, so I need to come up with a plan B.
It's just that plan B isn't coming to mind easily... !
I've been having some extremely anxious days. Today wasn't too bad, but yesterday I actually thought about ringing Lif.elin.e. Not because I was thinking of doing anything drastic, but simply because I needed to chat with someone. About anything. I needed to get my focus away from it all. And the people I normally ring for a chat weren't available, so cheerily I said goodbye, and tried to go about my business.
I am trying to remember that in a month something will have been sorted. Something will have happened. And so there is only so much that my anxiety can achieve now. Can't say it helps, but it's a thought!
Monday, December 5, 2011
The memorial service...
With things being the way they are, I very almost didn't go to the SIDS memorial service this year. So close. I mean, on top of everything else, where we are living now is about two hours from the venue. Add to it that it's not just me that I need to get ready in the morning, and it sounded like a good excuse really.
But I woke up at 7.20am - I had planned to be up more like at 6 or before, and for a moment was almost relieved that with only an hour to get ready, there was no way we could do it. But then I thought... this is one thing that I have done, without fail, absolutely and totally for Ciaran. To honor him and remember him and grieve for him. To let the waves wash over me once more. And now I have my rainbow, how could I not go, for the first time in three years.
So, somehow in that hour I managed to iron three outfits, feed myself and another mouth, shower and dress two of us and get to the car. Admittedly I didn't wear makeup other than a dash of lip gloss, and I let my hair dry naturally in the car on the way there - I tend to mainly wear it back now anyway, with little fingers learning to grab and pull.
The service was a little bland I thought, compared to other years. But it was still what I needed it to be. A chance to be in a room with other bereaved parents. To light a candle. To hang a message to my boy on the Christmas tree. To meet my bereaved friends, who we see once a year but are in contact with any day we wish to thanks to modern technology. And to wish each other a gentle holiday season.
I did cry. I kissed Toby a lot. A whole lot. He played, oblivious to it all. But he kissed his mummy a few times too in that.
But I notice that there are a lot of new faces. I notice that there are not so many of the "old". I wonder... are they "over it" now? Have they "moved on"? I know that the answer to that is no. Not really. We don't. And I also know it because I know some of them. They are just in a different place, and not needing to be there. Perhaps one day that will be me too. But the new faces make me feel sadder. It's still happening, this "baby dying" thing. It hasn't stopped. I know it never will, but... well, you know.
And it made me feel very conscious of having Toby there. There are a lot of children, of all different ages, but all I can think of is that very first year that we went. A lady came and sat in front of me, greeted the people around us, who she obviously knew, and settled into a conversation with someone about her baby boy in her arms. So I not only had to sit and watch him, but I also learned that he was just a couple of weeks younger than Ciaran should have been. And as much as I tried to remember that this must have been her rainbow baby, and as much as I tried to take it as a message of hope, it just plain old hurt.
So this year, I was afraid that was me. Shane is not very "attentive" at things like this. Too much like a church service I think. And also, he is the proud daddy, so he wants to... well, maybe show off a little with Toby. I tried to subtly remind him a few times that getting Toby to giggle while someone was reading a poem wasn't really the done thing. He's such a man (pffft!).
This year, just for something different, I was also conscious of how my life has changed. Whilst I mingled with my bereaved friends, and we spoke of our angel children however briefly, we also spoke of our rainbows. We did what most "normal" mothers do, and spoke of routines, solids, toilet training. It's an abridged version of that movie "Sliding Doors", I think.
:::
We are still jobless and homeless. I have no real updates. Shane had hope for a conversation today to come off with something good, but nope. So, we are still where we were three days ago. Stuck.
But I woke up at 7.20am - I had planned to be up more like at 6 or before, and for a moment was almost relieved that with only an hour to get ready, there was no way we could do it. But then I thought... this is one thing that I have done, without fail, absolutely and totally for Ciaran. To honor him and remember him and grieve for him. To let the waves wash over me once more. And now I have my rainbow, how could I not go, for the first time in three years.
So, somehow in that hour I managed to iron three outfits, feed myself and another mouth, shower and dress two of us and get to the car. Admittedly I didn't wear makeup other than a dash of lip gloss, and I let my hair dry naturally in the car on the way there - I tend to mainly wear it back now anyway, with little fingers learning to grab and pull.
The service was a little bland I thought, compared to other years. But it was still what I needed it to be. A chance to be in a room with other bereaved parents. To light a candle. To hang a message to my boy on the Christmas tree. To meet my bereaved friends, who we see once a year but are in contact with any day we wish to thanks to modern technology. And to wish each other a gentle holiday season.
I did cry. I kissed Toby a lot. A whole lot. He played, oblivious to it all. But he kissed his mummy a few times too in that.
But I notice that there are a lot of new faces. I notice that there are not so many of the "old". I wonder... are they "over it" now? Have they "moved on"? I know that the answer to that is no. Not really. We don't. And I also know it because I know some of them. They are just in a different place, and not needing to be there. Perhaps one day that will be me too. But the new faces make me feel sadder. It's still happening, this "baby dying" thing. It hasn't stopped. I know it never will, but... well, you know.
And it made me feel very conscious of having Toby there. There are a lot of children, of all different ages, but all I can think of is that very first year that we went. A lady came and sat in front of me, greeted the people around us, who she obviously knew, and settled into a conversation with someone about her baby boy in her arms. So I not only had to sit and watch him, but I also learned that he was just a couple of weeks younger than Ciaran should have been. And as much as I tried to remember that this must have been her rainbow baby, and as much as I tried to take it as a message of hope, it just plain old hurt.
So this year, I was afraid that was me. Shane is not very "attentive" at things like this. Too much like a church service I think. And also, he is the proud daddy, so he wants to... well, maybe show off a little with Toby. I tried to subtly remind him a few times that getting Toby to giggle while someone was reading a poem wasn't really the done thing. He's such a man (pffft!).
This year, just for something different, I was also conscious of how my life has changed. Whilst I mingled with my bereaved friends, and we spoke of our angel children however briefly, we also spoke of our rainbows. We did what most "normal" mothers do, and spoke of routines, solids, toilet training. It's an abridged version of that movie "Sliding Doors", I think.
:::
We are still jobless and homeless. I have no real updates. Shane had hope for a conversation today to come off with something good, but nope. So, we are still where we were three days ago. Stuck.
Thursday, December 1, 2011
No job, no home... what next?
Yep, you read right. Shane was sacked on Wednesday. Out of the blue. No warnings. Apparently, when you have been employed for less than 6 months they can do that. Shane was here for five months two weeks. Nice, hey?
So, three weeks or so before Christmas we have no income. Someone said "at least you got your xmas shopping done early", and yes that had passed through my mind. At least hey. In fact, I got much of Toby's done three years ago because many of his pressies are what I had bought for Ciaran's first Christmas. Ouch. But they are right. At least I'm not having to face a present-less Christmas for my boy's first. And you can pretty much fake joy for an eight month old, right?
But add to that the fact that we live in employer provided housing, so we also now have nowhere to live. The arsehole boss didn't give details at the time, though I'm sure that was partly due to Shane going off his nut then getting in his vehicle and donutting away. Which I can hardly blame him, although I don't handle things with his temper. The boss waited twenty four hours to ring and tell us that they're not expecting us to be out straight away (gee thanks) and that we can take a month, and if we need longer then "it can be discussed". Mind you, he is an arsehole, so just because he's saying we can discuss it, doesn't mean much at all other than he knows he holds control, which he enjoys.
Kudos to him for being such a "nice" man though, as in that first twenty four hours I discovered that they are only legally required to give us a week. How nice is that?
So, tell me... how do you find somewhere to live, in the weeks before Christmas, when you have a team of 20 working dogs (so we need a rural rental), and no income? Rural rentals are like hen's teeth anyway, let alone one that will take animals, let alone those numbers (and we can't offload them without losing thousands of dollars and then having to fork out thousands more to replace them so that Shane can get a job again), let alone jobless. Once more I will have to delve into the only money I have left and use it to pay a year's rent or something up front. And then of course, there is the cost of moving, and then if we go into a rental, also the cost of moving again when (if) Shane gets a job.
My mother snapped at me because I was apparently getting grumpy - well, I said I would "make a run for it with Toby to get to the house in the rain"... obviously not meaning I would sprint down the grassy slope to the house, but rather that we would just duck our heads and head for the house... she told me not to be stupid running with him I would slip over etc so apparently i snapped at her, so she snapped at me for getting grumpy and said there's no need and "everyone has their problems".
So, yes they do. Completely. Big ones. And as I reminded Shane yesterday, things could certainly be worse. I can tell you it felt pretty heartless to be told that though, because as we know, when shit is happening in your own life it can still be pretty tough regardless of what others might be going through or what you know.
Thus for now, I'm sorry that I am completely self absorbed. Shane is bottoming out. He spent yesterday pretty much sitting on the couch. This morning I started a screaming match as he was still in bed at 7.45 and obviously not in a hurry to get up, but the thing is I struggle to keep Toby in routine on weekends when he's home, so I really need him to allow me to keep him in routine during the week at least. And Toby won't go to sleep with daddy in there as he's the good time daddy and Toby just wants to play then, but obviously is also fractiously tired. Oh, and Toby has gone off his breastfeeds so much, that even when he wants one he won't take it if there are any distractions whatsoever which is another reason I needed Shane out and a quiet bedroom with no movement, to at least get Toby to have a small drink. The only full breastfeed he has these days is the midnight one, in the dark, while he's virtually still asleep. I don't overly know what to do about this, but need Shane to at least work with me in parenting.
:::
But that comment "everyone has their problems" has really gotten under my skin, in that it's all I keep saying to myself now and I can tell you it's not helpful, because all it's doing is making me feel bad for feeling worried, anxious, stressed. Our mate and daughter, lost his wife and her mother last week in an accident. They are looking at a sad Christmas. We have already buried one child. Another friend who has a terminal illness got a bad medical report yesterday to say that things are getting a lot worse and ... well, we won't go into the "and", but now she has to tell her son that dying is not so far away. And this morning another friend, who was complaining about her ex yesterday, saying that he was "having" her kids for xmas in another state, but shipping them to his parent's as he and his new partner would have a newborn baby in the house... well, the bub was born yesterday by emergency c-section but the mum didn't make it and died from complications.
So I'm really trying to feel that our situation is not so bad. I'm really trying to just push on, sort things out, and get something organised, somehow. But in truth I don't know what to do.
So, three weeks or so before Christmas we have no income. Someone said "at least you got your xmas shopping done early", and yes that had passed through my mind. At least hey. In fact, I got much of Toby's done three years ago because many of his pressies are what I had bought for Ciaran's first Christmas. Ouch. But they are right. At least I'm not having to face a present-less Christmas for my boy's first. And you can pretty much fake joy for an eight month old, right?
But add to that the fact that we live in employer provided housing, so we also now have nowhere to live. The arsehole boss didn't give details at the time, though I'm sure that was partly due to Shane going off his nut then getting in his vehicle and donutting away. Which I can hardly blame him, although I don't handle things with his temper. The boss waited twenty four hours to ring and tell us that they're not expecting us to be out straight away (gee thanks) and that we can take a month, and if we need longer then "it can be discussed". Mind you, he is an arsehole, so just because he's saying we can discuss it, doesn't mean much at all other than he knows he holds control, which he enjoys.
Kudos to him for being such a "nice" man though, as in that first twenty four hours I discovered that they are only legally required to give us a week. How nice is that?
So, tell me... how do you find somewhere to live, in the weeks before Christmas, when you have a team of 20 working dogs (so we need a rural rental), and no income? Rural rentals are like hen's teeth anyway, let alone one that will take animals, let alone those numbers (and we can't offload them without losing thousands of dollars and then having to fork out thousands more to replace them so that Shane can get a job again), let alone jobless. Once more I will have to delve into the only money I have left and use it to pay a year's rent or something up front. And then of course, there is the cost of moving, and then if we go into a rental, also the cost of moving again when (if) Shane gets a job.
My mother snapped at me because I was apparently getting grumpy - well, I said I would "make a run for it with Toby to get to the house in the rain"... obviously not meaning I would sprint down the grassy slope to the house, but rather that we would just duck our heads and head for the house... she told me not to be stupid running with him I would slip over etc so apparently i snapped at her, so she snapped at me for getting grumpy and said there's no need and "everyone has their problems".
So, yes they do. Completely. Big ones. And as I reminded Shane yesterday, things could certainly be worse. I can tell you it felt pretty heartless to be told that though, because as we know, when shit is happening in your own life it can still be pretty tough regardless of what others might be going through or what you know.
Thus for now, I'm sorry that I am completely self absorbed. Shane is bottoming out. He spent yesterday pretty much sitting on the couch. This morning I started a screaming match as he was still in bed at 7.45 and obviously not in a hurry to get up, but the thing is I struggle to keep Toby in routine on weekends when he's home, so I really need him to allow me to keep him in routine during the week at least. And Toby won't go to sleep with daddy in there as he's the good time daddy and Toby just wants to play then, but obviously is also fractiously tired. Oh, and Toby has gone off his breastfeeds so much, that even when he wants one he won't take it if there are any distractions whatsoever which is another reason I needed Shane out and a quiet bedroom with no movement, to at least get Toby to have a small drink. The only full breastfeed he has these days is the midnight one, in the dark, while he's virtually still asleep. I don't overly know what to do about this, but need Shane to at least work with me in parenting.
:::
But that comment "everyone has their problems" has really gotten under my skin, in that it's all I keep saying to myself now and I can tell you it's not helpful, because all it's doing is making me feel bad for feeling worried, anxious, stressed. Our mate and daughter, lost his wife and her mother last week in an accident. They are looking at a sad Christmas. We have already buried one child. Another friend who has a terminal illness got a bad medical report yesterday to say that things are getting a lot worse and ... well, we won't go into the "and", but now she has to tell her son that dying is not so far away. And this morning another friend, who was complaining about her ex yesterday, saying that he was "having" her kids for xmas in another state, but shipping them to his parent's as he and his new partner would have a newborn baby in the house... well, the bub was born yesterday by emergency c-section but the mum didn't make it and died from complications.
So I'm really trying to feel that our situation is not so bad. I'm really trying to just push on, sort things out, and get something organised, somehow. But in truth I don't know what to do.
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