Semi-Normal

Enjoying M. Drinking beer. Waiting for Gossip Girl (it's been so long....). Watching GolTV and getting ideas for future boy names (why are all the cool names Bosnian?). Rolling eyes as we discuss my mom. (crazy! she's crazy! he says) Thinking about making tacos. Vodka will most likely be poured.

As I'm writing this just happened:

"Hey, do you smell something?" "Yeah. Someone's cooking." "Oh. cool." [Five minutes lapse. TV watching resumes] "Oh hey, that's OUR food! Sonofab...." [hubby dashes to kitchen where he realizes he put black bean soup on the stove to heat, like, 20 minutes ago.]

I am laughing my gimpy (sore knee, remember) *ss off. Him, notsomuch.

This feels semi-normal. It feels good.

**

While you're online you should go vote for Mel for best medical/health blog. Because she's smart. And funny. And a good person. And she writes about things that matter a lot to me and you.

Oh man....

Well, I received exactly the email I expected to receive from my mom in response to this one.

In a nutshell: she never said such a thing. She had been misinterpreted; she is the victim here. I have changed so much over the years that she can't talk to me anymore without fear of offending...her pain and how I have inflicted it was mentioned on at least 3 separate occasions, including a mention about the time that I confronted her about information that I had found on my own adoption.

I hurt her feelings.

Never mind that I found out facts I have never known about my life. Never mind that she added additional information in today's email. And then continued on to say she had never hid anything from me. Contradiction, no?

At any rate, I hit reply and put it all out there. Everything. Well, not everything, I didn't tell her to stick her virgin mary up her .....so I didn't put it all out there...everything but that. I won't reprint it here. It's long and tedious and will probably spark quite a, quite a something, but that was my point. Why are you afraid to talk to me? Why do you measure your words when that doesn't help anyway. So we get mad at each other, so what??? So frigging what? Is that the worst thing that could happen? Do you even understand how hurtful you are NOW? Would things really get worse? Do you know how awful your silence was at the hospital? At Xmas eve? Do you know how mean this email is to me right now? Do you have any frigging clue about how I am feeling? No, because you are wrapped up in how I am making you feel.

It can't get worse.

So let's see if it gets better.

**

I AM working today. Minus this 30 minute break here to either mend or sever relations with my mother. But from my recliner. A long, long walk yesterday aggravated an already sore knee and it now seems that I need the assistance of M's dad's walking stick to move. Damn you, exercise.

At any rate, this seems like a transition that makes sense. It feels good to interact with co-workers, but I am also liking the distance. Feels good to get some tasks addressed, but in my own time.

**

Today doesn't feel as shit brown as yesterday, but that could just be because I am still seeing red.

Trying to Explain

At least in the beginning, there were concrete images and events tied to the grieving. I would see Iso.bel and Jo.vita in my mind and I would cry. I would remember them in my arms and physically ache. I would hear M. cry and it would pierce me. Absolutely tear at my heart. The loss was tangible. Nothing felt more real. The tears were tied to moments and moments we would never have. It was sharp. It was painful. But there were beginnings and ends.

Now there is just this omnipresent, all-encompassing Sad. Just weighing over me like a cloud. A fog. Sometimes it lifts a little and there is the Nothing. But that sinks into Sad pretty quickly. Nothing happens to trigger it. Even worse, there doesn't feel like there's anything to make it go away.

If someone were to ask me, "what's wrong?" It's not even as simple as, "I miss the girls." There is so much more to it. So many more emotions beyond grieving, even with those damned phases that allegedly exist within it. So much more than just a loss. In fact, if someone asks me, "how are you?" I can be in the process of saying (and meaning) "I'm ok right now" and break into tears, I could be in the midst of saying, "not so good" and change my mind. No sense. There's no sense to it at all.

**

Did you ever try to paint and get too many colors on your brush? What started as this brilliant swirl of color and contrast to rival van Gogh just overwhelms itself and in the end looks nothing at all like that on the canvas. Too much paint. Too many colors. All swirls together.

And looks shit brown.

No depth, no remnant of the many, many hues in which you dipped your brush. Just this smear. That won't come off. That can't be covered up.

That is what my grief feels like today. Just a dull and ugly shit brown.

The People in My Neighborhood

As I read through my last few posts I think it might be easy to get the impression that I am not getting the support I need out here in the real world. And that's really not true.

With the exception of the few people I can count on half of one hand, I could not be surrounded by a more loving lot. Friends, family (for the most part), co-workers, colleagues, hell, acquaintances. These people have all risen to the occasion to show us that we matter. That the girls matter. They have fed us, written to us, entertained us, visited us, wept with us, called us, hugged us, loved us.

I wish I could show how thankful I am. That we are.

And then there's you. All of you, who continue to check in on me, email me, write me privately and not privately. I am not going to admit how many times I check my blog and email throughout the day and read and reread your words. Thank you so much. I wish I could show how thankful I am. That we are.

The problem, I think, is me. I think I am pushing towards normalcy too quickly. I think I am trying to soldier on and I am admitting right now that perhaps I am just not ready yet. I accept invitations from good friends and then I bail at the last minute or simply don't show (I am so sorry, H.). I get myself all gussied up to go out and I can't bring myself to open the door.

Last night, for instance, I make plans to see one of my favorite bands, hell, I even have drinks lined up for me at the bar, and then after a moment, I realize that it is the last place I want to be. And then a familiar internal monologue starts:

well, then, where do you want to be? I don't know. Not there. Well, where? Um, here on the couch seems fine. So, the couch is where you'd like to be? Again? Not really. But I can't think of anything better and I'm already here so why not just stay here. OMFG what is your fucking problem? Sigh. I don't know. Are you feeling sad? Should you talk to M.? Would going out make you feel better? Don't you think it might feel better to be around people? I don't know. Those are too many questions. I don't feel sad. I just don't feel anything. If I were with other people, what would I say? I'd have to talk. I don't want to talk.

And I realize that my feeling lately is mostly numb. Peppered by anger. And then I feel something really not nice creeping in. That, "oh you think you have problems?" scowl that I used to wear in college that has taken me a decade to shed. A chip on my shoulder heavy with anger at the world is the last thing I want to bear right now. Get off. Just get off...

We haven't been total shut ins. I started running and have been going back to the gym. M. is at work this very moment and has been going for weeks. We've hit some happy hours. We've gone grocery shopping. And then hit more happy hours. But (besides work) those all feel a little more anonymous. We're out, but we're still alone. Still together. In fact, it seems it is easier for M. to talk about some things when we aren't at home. Something about a different place (i.e. not our couch) gives him the distance he needs to see things a little clearer. Me, I just want beer.

Gatherings or places where there are people we know are a little harder. I can't explain why. They just are.

So, today my post is to reassure you that yes, there are people around us that are loving and caring for us as well as they can. As well as we will let them. There are a few screwy family members who should know better, but when aren't there? I do worry that I've given some miscues. Some indication that I am ready for the world. And it seems that I am not. And I worry that the invitations or calls might stop after so many being unanswered. Please don't stop.

Tomorrow is Monday. I am going to get my shoes on and go to work. I am not promising I'm going to stay, but I am going to try. If it feels ok, I will be there. If not, I am reminding myself right now that it is ok for me to admit that I need more time.

I just might need more time.

And There It Is

"...I feel so badly for you two; just remember; G*d knows best."

Well, there you have it. I knew it was coming sooner or later. Better that it's later. If I had heard this 4 weeks ago, my reaction would have been violence. I am not even joking.

Instead, there will be no reaction. This email from an old auntie (who also didn't "get" that the girls had died until after I emailed her again to clarify) will go unanswered. At least for now. But other things in this exchange prompted another email to be written:

Mom, please stop telling people not to say anything to us about Iso.bel and Jo.vita. It really hurt to get Xmas cards from people that obviously had heard about their birth and death but yet didn’t say anything about them. We want them to be remembered and loved, not ignored. They are a part of our lives and always will be. Telling people not to say anything is probably the worst thing you can do.

I hate having to act like everything is ok and that I am ok. Because I am not. You are right. There is nothing you can do to ease this pain. But feeling like people are pretending they don’t exist or acting like something never happened makes it much, much worse. If people ask, tell them what happened. If they want to contact us, please let them. We need to hear from people. We need to know people care.

I am sure this will prompt a phone call and a "I never know what you want from me" teary sob. Because it's all about her. Always. But I really felt this needed addressed so it stops happening. The last thing I want (besides being told that "G*d knows best") is communications cut off from people who want to talk to us because someone told them not to. Based on nothing.

It is NEVER a bad thing to reach out to someone who is hurting.

You Look Fine so You Must Be Fine

I wonder if you've seen the new online Exhale magazine yet? It is fabulous. Particularly this post, Meditations on Life After Loss. I bookmarked it the day the magazine was issued. I think I have returned to it daily. Listen. This is how I feel.

After our loss, we exist in that murky place, somewhere between the mirage of our past and our equally uncertain future. Yet the most horrific alteration is to our sense of self. Circumstance has reduced us to a pile of worn emotions and old perspectives, and then challenged us to live again. To re-create our hopes, dreams and future possibilities while balancing each new idea against the notion that our child died. Who can I possibly become now that my world is meaningless?

And there's more. Cara Tyrrell has succinctly laid out the tasks that I seem to be waking up to every morning.

For every stolen perspective, my worldly assignment appears:

• Figure out how you will navigate the world through your new lenses – but live in it while you do.

• Create appropriate memorials to the child you have lost- but do not obsess.

• Talk about them just enough - but not too much.

• Take all the time you need – but expect that others will pressure you to move on before you are ready.

• Be prepared for some of your long-term friendships to fall apart - it is inevitable.

• Decide how you are going to navigate this death for future children, or the ones you already have.

• Oh yes - and don’t forget, figure out who you used to be before all this madness versus who you are becoming in the wake of your tragedy.

I think I've talked about this before, but some of my friends have plainly and honestly come up to me and asked, "how do you want me to be?" As in, does it help to talk? To not talk? To focus and remember? To be distracted? "What, my dear friend," some people have asked, "do you want from us?"

And I don't have an answer. Or at least one that doesn't vascillate from moment to moment. Thankfully, gwendomomma has suggestions. Real advice on what to do and not to when someone's child has died. Bookmark this. Read this. Share this.

At times I am thankful for distraction. But other times I am wholeheartedly angered at the avoidance, of the pretend that something life-changing and monumental hasn't just occurred to us. That our lives will ever be the same. No, I don't want to be "that girl," but I also want a little bit of leeway if I can't answer your questions about my job (what was it that I did? I don't remember nor do I care) or can't focus if you ask me about things that I could really give a fuck about right now (my freelance writing, my career ambitions).

I want some god dammed recognition and understanding that we are dealing with something pretty fucking huge right now and I could give a fuck about making small talk with you. So, you might need to just give me a minute. Or two.

From what I can assess, it feels that distraction and other conversations are most welcome from people who have traveled through the grieving with us, who have held our hands and wiped our tears and are now trying to walk with us, holding us as we go.

What is NOT welcome is the "you look fine so you must be fine so let's just talk about anything but your babies, your loss, in fact, let's just not mention it or validate it at all. You look fine so you must be fine so there's really no need for you to hear an "I'm sorry.." or a "I am grieving with you" from me."

You're wrong. I need it. I need to hear it. I need to know that Jov.ita and Iso.bel matter. I need to know that while you may not understand the pain that we are feeling (although, I am so sorry that so many of you do) that there is a recognition that it exists.

Yes, we look fine. But we aren't.

The Creme de la Creme is Ready

So, you should go look at it.

And know that I will be posting an addendum to my own entry (oh how things have changed) very soon.

I had a much nicer than anticipated New Year's Eve that consisted of hair-stroking under the basement stairs, bear hugs by the stripper pole and many a heart to heart with burly men and buxom women. Maybe I'll even tell you about that. Short version: I love my brother, his girlfriend, and their friends and was absolutely shocked (although I shouldn't have been) by the love and affection (and grief) that they shared with me and M.

All amid the glow of a "Live Nudes" neon light in my brother's basement, setting of his first annual (of what will be many I am sure) NYE soiree.

I love my brother.