Baby showers and butterflies

Butterflies were everywhere today.  They swirled around the car and danced in the fields on either side of the street.  In fact, as I turned down the road towards my destination a huge yellow butterfly swiftly fluttered nearly across my windshield.  My destination?  A baby shower.  I secretly planned on ducking out before gifts, and was more than thankful that she planned no games.  I really wanted to attend (maybe).  So I drove through the butterflies and my breath caught in my chest. 

I walked in, and butterflies swirled around.  I sat and listened, and chatted and made Addi giggle.  Gabbie would have been there too and only a month younger than Addi, and they would have giggled together.  But instead, I watched butterflies and talked with Addi’s mom, Al.  I saw some of the fear Al has; she is pregnant.  I hope she never truly knows that fear with all my heart and every ounce of my soul.  I saw the fear and tears in her eyes.  I love that woman.  Please God keep her little one safe.  I watched the other moms-to-be wander around.  There were so many of them.  I was jealous of their naivety and hope.  Lord so many thoughts in my head.  And though they were everywhere I looked, so were butterflies, and so I stayed. 

Then there were presents.  I mentioned to the mom-to-be that I may leave early, and of course she understood, but still, I stayed.  Then she got to mine.  I had included in the basket from my mother-in-law and myself, a sign that I had hand-painted.  “No one will ever know the strength of my love for you.  After all, you are the only one who knows what my heart sounds like from the inside.”  There is no more explanation I can give.  My heart bottoms out with this quote.  It sort of swallows up my soul and wrings it out.  No one… not a single soul can understand this love unless they’ve felt it.  The women who have felt that love and are unable to give that love away, they carry it with them, forever.  The force of that kind of love is explosive if it’s not let out somehow.  So I put some of it in the sign.  

I cried a little bit then, and some looked at me a bit funny, but oh well, you can’t walk in someone else’s shoes.  And then I was good for a while.  I ignored most of the gifts, watching occasionally and commenting seldom.  But I was still “attentive” enough to know what she got.  And then it was over.  I made it through.  Then I hugged the expectant mom.  “I wish you so much luck E.  I hope with all my heart everything goes ok.”  She teared up, I cried, I told her I love her and I walked out into butterflies.  I said bye to Addi’s mom, and then E’s mom.  She hugged me and said she can only imagine how hard it must have been to come.  She’s right.  It was hard to drive there.  Not as hard to stay, perhaps, and exhausting to leave.  I cried all the way home.  I even stopped in the funeral home parking lot where we had Gabbie’s service and talked with Gabbie for a while.  I collected myself, couldn’t look my in-laws in the face as I gathered up Gracie and my stuff, but I thanked them.  I didn’t show it the way I wanted to, but I love the gift they gave us for our anniversary.  I'd have really lost it if I did.  It was a rather large puzzle framed in of Gabbie’s butterfly.  It couldn’t have come at a better moment.  With D having a not so good day yesterday, and then my not so good day today, it only reinforces that butterflies really do come around when we need them the most.  

D and I celebrated our 4^th anniversary only three days ago, and 4 years ago we conceived our 3 year old.  2 years ago, we conceived Gabbie.  The world continues to spin moving on with or without us.  Even though no one ever wants their relationship to grow stronger out of tragedy, I think we are stronger together.  I love that man.  To heaven and back, I love him.  I am so sorry I couldn’t give him another baby to watch grow, at least not yet.  I am so lucky to have him to hold me and to help me see, that although the world keeps turning, and others’ lives go on with new babies coming, we will be okay someday. 

For the record, I think I'm done with baby showers.   I'm totally exhausted.  But I guess I can only say that on a case by case basis. I am so thankful for the wonderful people in my life who continue to show support, concern, and understanding. I hope that I never let any of you down.

Flashback... To what?

I'm exhausted. We started camping Wednesday. It is now Saturday night and we leave tomorrow.  I really do like to camp but good golly it's a lot of work to prep and then clean back up from it. 

I spent all week first preparing, then relaxing, chatting, swimming, drinking, eating, and having fun with the girls. But I spent a lot of time too looking for butterflies. I point them out to others and then feel self conscious that maybe they don't care, but butterflies just don't mean the same to them. And i wonder ifI'm  handling her death gracefully. No one else but the girls, and Derek, point them out to me, not that they would, I guess. It's sad really that people don't pay more attention to butterflies. Don't they know that a piece of heaven is flying right by them?  

I cried this weekend. I asked Derek if he thought that me drinking coffee while pregnant made Gabbie move more. I didn't give it totally up for her, nor any of my girls. I only had a cup. But what if it made her excitable?  What if me not drinking it could have stopped her from making one more turn?  I know there is nothing I can do about it. He of course told me it wasn't my fault. I know that I shouldn't blame myself. But really?  Really?!  Sigh.  Sometimes my rational side wins out and I blame no one. Sometimes. And, sometimes, my heart wins and there just is no way to make me believe it wasn't at least partly my fault. 

Now, tomorrow, we will prepare to go home. I am sad that I haven't gotten a single picture of a butterfly even though there were so many more kinds than I've seen at home.  None would sit long enough for me to take a picture. 

I also reread my blog on "raindrop Lamentations." Nothing has changed from a year ago. I still feel the exact same.  I still here her name in the raindrops that fall and the whispers of butterfly wings. Every damn day. And as much as I thank God for at least those whispers, they still echo in that hollow part of my soul where she should be. And I miss her. Still.  Every day. All day. Forever and ever, to the moon and back. To heaven and back. 

Making room

The wind is blowing the 85 degree air over the balcony.  The pot of plants that are intended to attract butterfly flowers sits snug in the corner while its inhabitants wave in the wind.  There are no butterflies there.  I guess I don’t need them to be.  They are around when I need them.  She is around when I need her.  She is always around, she comforts when necessary.  It’s been a year, a month and 12 days since she left.  I don’t cry everyday anymore, though sometimes her absence pulls so roughly on my heart that the tears have no choice but to spill to make room for the love that I cannot give her. 

We got the notice that our one year anniversary of living in this place that would not have fit her has arrived.  We really have no choice but to move or pay more.  The price to stay is awfully high.  If we stay, we can’t have another baby.  There is no place here to make room for a baby.  If we leave, we may very well be living at the in-laws again until we find another place that will fit us in the school district that Sky attends so we don’t disrupt her even more.  I feel bad to have them make room for us. 

 I think about this idea of having another baby.  We haven’t been trying, but we haven’t been preventing either.  “They” say it will happen when it’s time, when I’m ready.  Ready?  What exactly does that look like or resemble?  It’s a foreign idea to me now.  I sat around on the Fourth of July at a friend’s house and watched all the babies.  I listened to a good friend talk about how she got pregnant by accident.  I am happy for her.  I took it all in stride, I think.  I held a tiny baby.  She sat quietly on me.  It made me wonder.  I can’t really put into words exactly what I wondered.  I did not cry.  This baby didn’t remind me of Gabbie.  The one that wandered around though, she is only a month older than what Gabbie would be.  She is the daughter of the newly pregnant friend.  The toddler is so sweet, and hard to look at, and not look at.  I love her to bits.  Somehow my heart has made room for her.  But why wouldn't it?  She is too close to Gabbie to not. 

 I get terrible anxiety when I hear about others being pregnant.  God help them have healthy breathing babies.  

The time has come around again.  I am not pregnant.  We don’t really want to be just yet, or maybe “I” don’t want to be just yet.  I don’t know.  The timing is wrong for work.  Perhaps that's an excuse.  Partly.  Partly not.  Life is difficult and busy already, especially pertaining to work.  I do know that I do NOT want a baby to be due when Gabbie was due.  That would be conception during this month.  D said he’s ready when I am.  I am ready and not ready at the same exact time.  Around much of my life hangs a sort of confusion, a hesitance and again, a waiting.  I want to move to make room for another baby, but the not knowing gives me anxiety.  You'd think I'd have gotten better at relinquishing control to the universe.  I want a baby, but then I don’t know how to lose another one.  I have to prepare myself that it could happen again.  Do you know what it is like to prepare to have a baby that you have to tell yourself you may never see breathe?  My cheeks are wet from writing those words.  And there it is: the weight of the mass in my stomach.  How do I prepare myself for something I may never get?  It isn’t even in taking the risk that is the problem.  It is the actual, real fear that I may have to hold another dead baby.  It is the real fear that I may actually want, more than anything to hold another dead baby, if that is all I’m allowed to get.  That idea is so messed up in its reality. But this is where I’m at. I somehow have to make room for the idea of holding a live baby, my live baby, and a dead baby, if that is what the universe wishes.  I have to make room to let go of all control again, still. I do know that I want to try again.  Oh lord... those words are filled with so many consequences, possible rewards, and changes.  But I want to try again, for us, for him; for God's sake, let me be making room for a live baby. 

Recurrent dreams

On a wharf somewhere there are ships that come and go laden with cargo. They are freshly painted in stark white with silver or red details. The sky is high and blue and the sun shines indulgently on the green water, causing sparks of light to pop in the waves. The machines loading cargo whir and creak piling royal blue metal crates atop each other. I watch all this for moments. Then a ship steams off into the electric water and I long to go wherever it is going.  I imagine far away ports with exotic people and beautiful skylines. 

In the deep pit of my stomach an aching starts. This is when my heart begins to race. I am suddenly with others, 3 girls, whom I know somehow in dream world but not in life. I have a secret that eats at me that I want to tell but they chatter so I wait and the darkness in my stomach spreads out to my fingertips. They stop for a second and I interject.  

"I've killed a baby."  It is said matter-of-factly though my soul screams the lie of apathy out of my eyes. 

They look at me without awe or shock or derision.  

"I've killed it," I say. 

"Well good," they say, "it was evil and hurting you. Why would you keep it?"  They were just as matter-of-fact. They didn't care I killed a baby. No one cared. They resumed their chatter, discussing changing their names and moving away. I suggested, with a strangled longing voice, changing my own to Clarissa. They told me I couldn't change mine. They weren't catty about it, but certain, as though it was common knowledge.  I couldn't run away, I couldn't change my name and no one cared if I killed a baby. The world was turning round, the cargo still shipped out, and I was still me, here, with blood on my hands, and no one cared. I woke up crying. 

Days later I slept again. This time there was a visitor, a doctor, or nurse perhaps, someone bringing news of my health. I saw them coming and hurried inside. Up steps with endless black drop-offs on either side, I raced. They were heading for apartment three. I could see them through the darkness like they were in a ghastly spotlight. People came and went somehow concerning me, but unconcerned for me. I raced for apartment five, knowing somehow, or maybe hoping, that they wouldn't find me there; they expected me at apartment 3.  My heart raced with each frantic, hurried step up the stairs. Just as I closed the door to apartment five my eyes made contact with the doctor's as he (or maybe she) stepped up to the green trimmed door of number 3. Did they recognize me?!  And I stepped back with heart racing into the darkness of number 5. 

My eyes open on my bedroom, but the room around me is foreign, and unfamiliar. The only thing that holds me at peace is Derek, as he wraps his arms around me and pulls me to him. If not for him I'd not be able to breathe.

In the last 2 weeks I've had the dreams twice each. They must mean something. Though they aren't exactly nightmares they disturb me. 

Searching for the strength

The rain is falling softly, soaking.  The air is so saturated with water that you could nearly drown from breathing in. Summer is coming again. I have yet to see a butterfly that isn't the white clouded butterfly, which is okay, I guess, because, though if she could she'd come to me as the blue morpho, they only survive in the rainforest. I wish I could go there, to the rainforest, and sit among them as they swirl and play, or fly above the trees and see the clouds of blue butterflies settle in the treetops like they say they do, to warm their bodies in the sun. But around here, she is the white clouded butterfly. However, though summer may be coming, May and June have not been warm enough, so there aren't so many, not enough for me.  

D and I talk about trying for our rainbow baby. This topic is.... Hard.  The idea... Painful. Sad. Anxiety ridden to exhaustion. How does one go on and try again after holding, hugging, and loving a dead baby? That is what is in my head when I think about being pregnant again. I think of those words, "no I'm sorry" in response to my question of her welfare. I think about feeling so lost, looking at and kissing the forehead of a beautiful dead baby. Many people can say in their whole life that they never even touched someone who who has begun to grow cold. I birthed one. I'd give up almost anything to hold her again. How can I think about holding a living baby, in a hospital, after holding Gabbie?  And yet.... How can I not?  Oh the risk. Oh the reward. Are you a gambler?  Because that what this is. 50/50. Or maybe my odds are 1 in 3?  Does it matter? 

Now I am not naive. And any pregnancy will never be as joyful or full of promise as it once was. So, I went off birth control. I went off my antidepressants. (Cold turkey by the way. I know, I know don't scold. It's too late I'm already off them.)  And we wait. Not trying per sae. But not preventing either. I cannot cower in fear, though God knows I'm terrified of birthing another angel. If it happens, well, then all I can say is I have no control over anything. Somehow I I have to be okay with the idea that may I wake up one day and another will be gone. Inner strength is hard to come by. I wonder if I have it.  

No silent tears...

What causes a person to reach out to help another, when they themselves are sad?   I see the pain in the people who post on my page and I hurt for them.  I seriously wish that I could take hurt from so many so that they don't have to feel that kind of pain.  No one, not a single soul should have to feel the pain of losing a child.  If you have not experienced it, there really are no words to explain.  How have women (and men) who've had such losses, not spoken up about it all before?  Why do they remain silent? 

I cannot remain silent.  There is no word for a parent who has lost a child in the English language, because no one wants to talk about it.  But Gabbie was born.  She lived within me.  There were already dreams for her, and love for her.  I love her still, I always will.  How can I not talk about her, and think about her and cry about her?  The pain of holding a loved one who has passed is very real and deep.  Crying over their coffin at a funeral, holding their cool hand and weeping, these are things that never leave our memory of touch.  Imagine doing the same with a child: a small, tiny little face whose eyes will never open.  Holding a still baby, is like holding a lifetime of love that will never be given.  That love becomes so heavy to carry until we become accustomed to its weight. Perhaps when we cry it is to make room for the love that we still have inside, that will never be allowed to show.  So for babies, and children, it only makes sense that we might cry harder, and longer, forever.  I read somewhere that mothers keep a part of the DNA of their child within them forever.  If that is so, then physically she will always be with me.  I have come to accept that she is always with me regardless.  I know that she is there, though I always look for her.  I hope I'll never stop seeing signs. 

I know I ramble.  It is late and I am tired.  But I miss her.  So terribly.  It has been a year and a month plus.  Someday maybe I will learn to dance in the rain, but for now, I still walk in it because it covers up the tears....

Again

I am tired and weak. I am not as strong as you would think. I do not have the power not to cry. I fall to me knees in sorrow. A year has passed, scittered by like fall leaves in the autumn breeze, tumbled and swirled like the icy flakes of winter, whispered softly by like powdered wings of the summer butterfly and I have had no power but to let it slip through my fingers. 

I was told I can't be on antidepressants if I get pregnant. I'm not on birth control now, again. (This terrifies me but the desire is stronger than the fear--- I think, maybe, we shall see). So anyway, because I digress, I had forgotten to get my script filled again. I've been off it for 2 days now. I kind of wonder if I should stay on it but I do so want another baby, and don't want any bad things that could have been prevented with foresight to ruin that. But this morning I woke up sad. Really, quite sad. Now I'm laying in bed by myself at 10 at night on a Saturday physically and mentally exhausted and I think, "there's not enough butterflies," and "so this is the sadness And darkness I've avoided with medicine for the last 3 months."  God I'm so tired. Really old and tired. How am I going to find the strength to try again?