Treading Water
Just when I think I’ll surely fall apart, life hands me a respite. Yesterday I woke up feeling the bleakest yet and could barely hold it together. But we turned on the TV (the silence is not a good thing) and just started cleaning our house. We’re cleaning in a way we haven’t done ever – pulling everything out of closets to wash out the shelves, tossing things ruthlessly (it’s really weird what you’ll find stuffed in the back of a closet), organizing everything carefully. I guess it’s just like all the detailed records I kept through infertility… putting something in order helps us feel more in control while everything else is spinning.
I feel anger too. What weighs on my mind is the fact that we will never be the same again. This is not something you can ever fix or truly move past – it will always be there, it will always affect us. It will affect us, our future pregnancy/ies, our future child(ren), for the rest of our lives. It has forever altered who we are. I struggle to accept that reality… that everything has changed. In one way we are right back where we started: childless, infertile. But it’s not the same. It’ll never be the same. We have hope, because we know we can get pregnant. But the weight of the loss will be there forever.
I do believe it will, in many ways, make us stronger – it has already made us stronger as a couple. We have been through a lot in our six years together, and each time of stress brought us closer together in the end. Every day I feel thankful that I have him at my side. I cannot possibly even describe to you what a wonderful husband I have. He makes me laugh when I really need to laugh, he holds me when I really need to cry, and every day he tells me how beautiful I am inside and out, and how lucky he is to have me as his wife.
After giving birth I couldn’t bear to touch my stomach. I would catch myself resting my hand there like I have been doing for months, then I would remember that there was no baby there anymore and I would choke up. It took a couple days before I could rub my shrinking belly without tears. Den and I cuddle up in bed all the time, and he used to always rest his hand protectively on my belly. It was comfortable, safe. After we got home from the hospital and were huddled up in bed against each other I noticed he was taking care to place his hand above my belly, on my ribs. I figured he was having the same problem I was. Last night he spoke up and admitted to me that he’d been careful to avoid my belly because he wasn’t sure if I would be okay with it. That’s just how he’s been…. he’s always checking in with me to see how I’m feeling, to make sure that I’m okay.
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I slept pretty well last night, considering. I am relieved that, at least temporarily, nights are getting a little easier. It’s not quite as raw as it was before, and every moment isn’t full of far too many thoughts. I woke up feeling… well, I don’t know if “okay” is the right word, but I didn’t wake up crying. We cleaned some more today, me taking breaks to respond to emails and try to write a little bit (I didn’t get too far).
By afternoon I was feeling a little bit anxious… anxious because it felt like I wasn’t remembering enough. I ended up pulling out Devin’s footprints and just stood there crying. I just felt like I needed to. Sometimes it feels like I’m settling too fast into being “just me,” infertile me… like the last 9 months were just a dream. And to be fair, sometimes I wish I could forget the last 9 months. There are times when it would be so much simpler to act like it never happened. But then I feel horrified by the thought and want to cling to all the memories. Good memories. Important memories. So I pull out his footprints as a reminder.
Den found me there, crying, and asked me what I had stumbled across. That has been happening a couple times a day: we’ll pull out something and find a baby item stored inside. Today I opened up my desk drawer and found the four positive pregnancy tests I had never been able to throw out. It sucks the breath right out of us as we remember when we bought the item, the plans we had for it, the hope it carried.
Today I had to go to Walmart. I was out of pads (it’s amazing how many you go through) and realized I really need breast pads as well. The engorgement sucks in a big way, but I wasn’t leaking at least. And then yesterday, probably about the exact same moment I said, “Well at least I’m not leaking,” they started leaking. Not only were my boobs extremely sore, itchy and smelled like cabbage, but now I had to walk around with a washcloth stuffed in my bra. I had intended to buy breast pads the first time we stopped at Walmart… but they are unfortunately to be found in the baby section. So that first trip to Walmart we “forgot” to go get them. I thought I would handle it better today… I’ve been doing pretty well in general. I think my infertility experience has made me a little more inured to seeing babies and baby things. I told Den I would be fine going alone, but he said he’d go with me. I walked quickly through the baby clothes (gulp) and straight to the “feeding” aisle… but couldn’t see the breast pads. It became increasingly harder to breathe as I quickly tried to find them among the bottles and formula and bibs…. I felt like I was underwater and couldn’t hold my breath for very much longer. There was a woman stocking shelves there and I asked her where they were (right in front of my nose, of course). I grabbed some and rushed out. I found Den in the men’s clothing section. “I got two steps in and changed my mind,” he said unsteadily. We had to take a moment to breathe before continuing to the register.
This grief thing is such an up and down journey…. you expect to zig, and instead you zag.
::
Today we cleaned the living room and kitchen in an effort to get everything looking nice in time for dinner. We had invited BIL and SIL over – I hadn’t talked to them or seen them in a week, and as much as I wanted to talk to SIL I wanted to do it in person, not over the phone or email. This is the SIL who is due 7 weeks after I was, and obviously it’s going to be hard emotionally for us in so many ways. It was hard, I won’t lie. It was hard to see her looking pregnant, remembering how close Devin and their baby were going to be, cousins born mere months apart. But talking helped. I realized that I need to talk about him. I need for people to understand who he was.
I wasn’t sure how to read SIL at first – and I’m sure she wasn’t sure how to read me at first either. I could tell she felt unsure about being here, pregnant and knowing it would be a reminder to me of what we had lost. She and I got to sit down and talk. We cried. I could see the deep sorrow in her eyes.
I told her what Den and I had talked about yesterday: that their baby, our neice, was important to us… that we felt connected to her and we wanted to be involved in her life. It would be hard at times, for sure, but we desperately want to be able to celebrate this child and take part in her life. SIL teared up when I told her. She said she was glad, that she had hoped so but worried. A lot of the tension left the air. We talked for quite a while… about Devin, about pregnancy, about the future. It was a relief.
::
I am trying to navigate these new waters, negotiate the new rules in life. Obviously I have had to shift things around a little bit, mentally.
I love all my friends – do not doubt that. But I’m sure they understand that I haven’t been able to read and post all that much. I think it’ll take a while before I’m able to follow along with those friends who were due around the same time I was. I have been checking everyone to make sure babies are born healthy…. I have been terrified for everyone.
I am finding so much comfort in those who have been through this before. I do not know how useful an in-person support group would be, especially one that meets only once a month. I need more than that right now – and to be honest, in-person support groups have never really done much for me. I find so much more support in my online support groups…. a place where I can go vent and talk every day, where I can form close friendships. But either way there is a definite solace to be found in talking to other bereaved parents. I know I have several comments and emails from other bereaved parents… I will be reading blogs and sending emails when I get a chance to.
I can certainly tell that the forums that I frequent/float in are going to be changing. I don’t intend to leave any place entirely, and I certainly don’t want to ignore any friends, but things will change. I guess change is inevitable.
::
I’ve been thinking a lot about “next time.” Like I’ve said before, I have to believe that there will be a next time. Whether it happens on its own or we need to save up everything to afford IVF, Den and I agree that we will not stop trying. We will not give up. This cannot end with Devin.
If I were a praying type of person I’d be praying so hard that we could get pregnant on our own, without intervention. You hear stories of that happening after a pregnancy. We’ve never been the lucky type, but at some point you hope the universe has to balance itself out.
I just read something on a forum written by a bereaved parent that struck me: she mentioned wanting another child, not just desperately wanting your lost child back. That’s what made me most anxious about the thought of getting pregnant again, the idea that it’s a different child. Even if I get pregnant again right away with no help, even if I have a perfect pregnancy with a perfect outcome, it will never be Devin. The fear of never getting pregnant again is an added worry, an added grief. But I can never believe that being pregnant again will ever, ever change this. It will give us renewed hope that this journey will end with a live child. But it will never change what has happened.
I think about this future child. I actually feel guilty in some way, that this child will have to carry the weight of knowing that their older sibling died. I don’t know why that bothers me so much, but it does. It feels like an unfair burden to place on any child. Devin will always remain perfect in our eyes. One of my first thoughts after he was born was, “How will any other baby we have ever, ever be as perfect as this one?” It feels like Devin was everything we ever wanted. Even his name was perfect – it took us 3 years to find the perfect name for him. We were so happy to be able to use it.
Den worries that Devin was his only chance to have a son. Not that he would ever, ever love a daughter any less, but Devin was his dream come true. At that horrible ultrasound when they told me my baby was dead the first thing I said while freaking out was, “Oh my god, my husband, my husband!” I’m sure it sounded like I was asking for him… and yes, I wanted – needed – him there right now. But what was going through my head was, oh my god, my husband, how is he ever going to survive this? This is going to break his heart a million times over. It was all I could think about… how this was our miracle baby, the son he’d been waiting 20 years for. And I know he thinks about it too.
On the other hand sometimes I worry if our second baby is another boy, like there will always be a comparison. More of that guilt for baggage the child must live with. Will we use the same theme? How much of what we picked out for Devin is appropriate to use for someone else? Not like it really matters, not like a baby would notice, not like Devin would mind. But in some ways it feels wrong. And what the hell would we name him? Even Devin’s name was freaking perfect, and nothing else comes close. It’s upsetting to me, thinking that our next child would have a name that we didn’t love as much…. that it’s unfair.
It’s just crazy and stupid how many weird thoughts and emotions come and go through my brain in a day. I try not to judge them, I try not to obsess on any of them. I have to feel them, I can’t deny them… as I keep telling Den, you feel what you feel, there is no right and wrong. But sometimes that’s hard to really believe in your heart.
All I can really say is… It’s early days, hon. I share your belief that you and Den will have another chance (I picture you with at least a few kids).
I work with a lady who lost her first baby, but she has 3 sons in the aftermath of that. They’re all growing up just fine.
I hope you guys are all right today. *big hugs*
Natalie, I just stumbled on your blog tonight. I am so, so sorry for your recent loss. There truly are no words to describe how awful this loss is. Everything you wrote about in this post is normal. I have had many of the same feelings. the “it will never change what happened” is true. I hope one day you will have a living child, but Devin will always be in your heart, a huge part of your family.
It’s funny to me that you metion your feelings on Devin’s name, because I love, love my M’s name, and I still get sad that I don’t get to say it out loud as often as I would like.
((((Hugs)))) Please take very good care of yourself right now, grief is hard work.
natalie, this is another beautiful post. it’s amazing how lucid you are — and I mean that in the best way. you are so coherent and clear-headed and filled with hope even though your grief is still so raw. I love what you said about grief: “you expect to zig, and instead you zag.” so true. ~luna
Your post today was wonderful. I can see the strength in your writing. You and Den are so strong. I’m thinking of you always!
**big hug**
I couldn’t make it entirely through your post for the tears in my eyes and I feel a bit like an intruder reading such a personal post as a stranger, but I couldn’t read and not post. My heart aches for you. Our thoughts and prayers are sincerely with and for you.
*silent hugs*
I admire you for being able to put your thoughts so coherently on paper – if this can be called paper. I also feel it is a privilege that you share these thoughts with us. *big hug*
I’m going to send you an email later today.
Thank you for that post. It’s so beautiful.
You are so lucky you found a name that was beautiful in both of your eyes. I wish I could have thought that about my son when my husband suggested his name. I felt like such an ass after I found out the meaning of his name – which my husband didn’t know the meaning of either, incidentally.
You are still in my prayers, daily. Big hugs to you!
You are right– this is forever. The people I get angry with these days are the people who think we can or expect us to “get over this.” It blows my mind.
A was my second child, my first son. So if that helps, I can only tell you that both my babies were beautiful and perfect, one no more so than the other. It may not help now, I know.
I have a friend who was due 4 weeks after me, and we had a very similar dynamic happen to what you describe with your SIL, except that there wasn’t tension in the air when she came in person because I told another friend to make sure she knows I don’t want her to hide. That baby will be a year old in a couple of weeks. Walking into their hospital room was hard for me. Walking into their house a few days later was also hard (as it was for my husband). Now, most of the time, I can look at him and not see my missing son, his intended best friend, just the baby who is here and is very cute.
We ended up never going to in-person support groups either. The bereaved blogosphere is my support group, and it has been my rock. I am glad to hear you will be looking for support there as well.
After reading your last few entries, I woke up in the middle of the night thinking about you and Devin. Grief of this magnitude is one of the hardest things in life to deal with. There are no shortcuts; the only way out is through. You have shown such grace and courage in the past week. My thoughts are with you.
*hugs* I’m glad the two of you have each other. Together I know you can get through the hardest parts of this. I think about you all the time, check your blog even when there is nothing new written. I only wish we were closer so we could see you and hug you both.
The one thing I know about grief, hon, is that it’s non-linear. And it’s so early. You have to do whatever is easiest to get through these dark times.
I know I say this with every comment, but I think of you and Den all the time – wish you both peace and love.
Hugs from Boston.
xxx
Sending you some hugs. You and Den obviously make a great team, and it’s so wonderful that you can lean on each other right now. Things will never be the same, but I hope for you eventually you will have peace.
I am a praying person, so I have been and continue to pray for you, Den, and Devin, and your ability to eventually have another child. I do agree that things balance themselves out and eventually luck runs its course for everyone.
Nat – I don’t know or understand the full grief of losing a baby – but I do understand grief of losing someone quickly and tragically. There will be bad days and good days and both are ok. You don’t have to feel guilty (but you will) and I think it is wonderful that you are worrying about Den’s grief as much as your own. You are handling it exactly as YOU need to handle it. And you are doing wonderfully. As Serenity said – it IS still early – and it is going to go up and down and up and down. And as Star said – there is only one way around it – and that is through it. I think of you often and my heart feels for you in the only way a mother’s heart can.
Hugs you tight
jen
Nat,
this is another beautiful post. I check your blog everydya to see what u have posted. I think about you, Den and Devin many times a day, I feel so sorry for you loss and I wish there was more I could do. Take it slow girl, and never give up hope, I am sure you will have many children in the future
*hugs you tightly* Hang in there sweethearts.
Beautiful banner for Devin you made there…
I just wanted to send you some ((((hugs)))) and that You, Den and Devin are in my prayers many times a day. I think about you a lot. I think it is really good for you to be writing all that you are, you are very courageous.
I wanted to say what Luna said, but she said it better. So I will just add that the forums you need a break from will understand, and we will all be here if and when you want to come back. Huge hugs to you and Den both.
*hugs*
You and I found out about our babies’ death only two days apart…I was 19 weeks, but in my mind I might as well have been full term…that’s how attached I was/am to our little guy.
Your post shows me that we’re all not all that different. I’ve spent this week pulling out everything in our closet, sweeping out dust bunnies, organizing like there’s no tomorrow.
I relate to putting your hand on a tummy that used to be round and hard, that’s now flabby and yucky…I lost one of two babies, so unfortunately I’ll continue carrying our baby boy who died until his sister is born in July. The space he occupies is no longer firm…as his amniotic sac shrinks, his spot in my tummy gets flabbier and flabbier. I am so thankful to still have our daughter, his twin, and at the same time find this grieving very conflicting.
I also relate to the tragedy strengthening the relationship with your husband. I feel the same way…as if this is something that the two of us share wholly and together. We cling to each other in a way that we haven’t before. I feel like I need him like I haven’t felt before.
I also relate to the feeling of not remembering enough…in our case, we were going to have twins. Now there’s somebody who will forever be missing from that picture—I keep hoping he’ll wake up and live again and at my next ultrasound I’ll find out that miraculously he’s bounced back. On one hand my mind needs to move on from the pain of loss, and focus on our little girl and how fortunate we are to still have her, and on the other hand I feel like it’s not fair to him to divert attention away from losing him. And I am constantly afraid of losing our daughter, too.
I also have two SILs that are pregnant…I had also imagined in great detail the four kids growing up together…our Baby Boy being surrounded by girls….his twin sister, and two little girl cousins all within a few months of each other. Now the picture is incomplete…there won’t be a little boy to chase the little girls with slimy things.
Our babies were also conceived thru IVF. I too am already thinking of next time, and I too have hoped for the miracle to conceiving on our own without having to go through all that again.
I am also concerned about Baby Boy’s twin sister…will she feel cheated that she doesn’t have him? Guilty because she survived?
Finally, I relate to what will come of our Baby Boy’s things that we had bought…can our little girl wear a brown onesie with a puppy on front? Could I add a cardigan to it to make it more femanine? Or will it be a painful reminder of the fact that she’s wearing the clothes of a little guy that isn’t there.
I am so amazed that our minds are thinking such similar thoughts. I wish you and your husband continued progress and coping.
I’m just a stranger aghast at the magnitude of your loss. I’m so deeply sorry for your pain, and I wish you peace. I believe that someday you will have little baby laughter filling your home and your life, yet it will never erase Devin’s memory, only make it all the more poignant. God bless you.
~bcc
*hugs*
I read your post through tears. I am so sorry for your loss. Truly sorry, to the core of my heart.
It’s amazing how we all feel the same way. When you first have these thoughts, I think I am going crazy, but then I read another blog and realize that I am not. I think about another child all the time, and then find myself thinking how unfair it is the next child will have to know about his/her older sister. And she’s perfect in my eyes, so how can anyone ever live up to that? But hopefully, as time goes on these feelings will subside. But you are right, this grief definitely makes you zig and then zag.
Found my way back to your blog via Ms. C @ It Could Take Three Months.
Sariel and I have cried for you both — we don’t know what to say other than to say how very, very sorry we are. Although we don’t know each other you are in our thoughts often.
Thank you for sharing it with all of us…your blog is a gift.
peace
shlomit
I just caught up on everything, from your IVF journey to present day. What joy and love you had for Devin! You made me laugh and sob so many times.
I am so sorry. Everyone has already put it far more eloquently than I ever could, words seem so futile to me sometimes. But I am still sorry. I will pray for you, your husband, and your little boy.
Hugs from Alabama. My thoughts are with you and Den.
I think of you often, I know you from another site (LP). I’m still in shock and could only imagine what you and den’s pain and grief must be like. My heart aches for you, I almost feel like I’m mourning Devin’s loss as well. I’m sure Devin is watching over you and your husband every minute missing you but also in great peace. Have you thought about getting some kind of necklace or other jewelry that you can wear at all times with his name and birth date on it? Maybe something like this will help make you feel better like you are not forgetting him (which I promise you never will).
Try not to worry about another child being able to be as perfect as Devin, because they won’t. That child will be the perfect child they were meant to be, your second child. Just like Devin was your perfect little angel. Each child holds their own special place in your heart, you will love that child too. Trying to compare them to one another…they’ll never measure up to one another.
You are a truly amazing mom and woman. I will continue to think of you daily and say a prayer for your family.
HUGS
OMG, now I feel f’n horrible for not warning you about the leaking, or getting your address so I could spare you the trip to the baby aisle, or telling you that for a few days you could just cut some maxi pads in half. Please forgive.
I only recently read the following: of the people you know now, the third rule applies — one third will treat you no differently, no better, no worse; one third will be very supportive; the last third will not be able to deal and will probably fall to the wayside. I wish someone had warned me about this. And that *my own family* would be included in the final third.
The internet is my support group, and it’s the best. You’re doing an amazing thing by writing this soon after the fact. I couldn’t form words for months.
Sweetie, I can’t even imagine the emotions you are going through thinking about having another child someday but I do know several mothers who are close friends of mine who lost newborns and went on to have more children and they went through all of these conflicting emotions but in the end, they loved and adored their children and never compared them to the children that past in the sense of feeling like they were not as perfect or what have you as the last.
A dear friend of mine keeps a picture of the precious baby she lost, Baleigh out on display…nearly 8 years later, she is not forgotten. And she is still talked about. She’ll talk about how her newest little one reminds her of Baleigh. We’ll still talk about Baleigh. She still has an impact to us in this world although she has been gone nearly a decade.