Two and a half years - some random thoughts

2 1/2 years ago, Shannon was born. It's strange to see a little ticker on the bottom of a page, and to see the time that has passed since you experienced something so terribly sad. Man, I miss knowing what my life would have been like with her in it, present in a physical way, instead of just in my heart and dreams. It just sucks.

A couple of weeks ago, my pet of 15 years died. When the vet found out that my pet died, the entire office sent us a card, with their condolences. Everyone in the office signed it. It's so easy to express condolences for a pet, why isn't so easy for people to express condolences for a dead child?

Something else that I have discovered about myself is that I am still not ready to deal with other people's pregnancies. I have never had an issue with any of my loss friends and their rainbow babies, but I still have an issue with the others - the ones who didn't travel this road. The ones who post stuff at 10 weeks on their facebook and who go through their pregnancy expecting that it will turn out ok. I don't begrudge them their joy, and I wish them well, but I still don't want to deal with it. Having a rainbow baby is not some magical healing elixer. It doesn't make it better. I wish it did.

2 1/2 years is a long time. But it feels like just yesterday sometimes.

Playing the dead baby card

I don't expect everyone to understand me. In life, we all want to be understood and accepted, but I don't find it to be the most important thing in the world anymore. But I am especially peeved when someone tries to pull at my heartstrings or get me to give them consideration they aren't due by playing the Shannon card.

Someone who exists in my universe bizarrely tried to use the memory of my child in order to get me to "let them in." To like them, to allow them access to my life, my family, my heart, in a way that they are not permitted because I simply do not like them. In an effort to overcome my dislike of them, this person tried to tell me that s/he "shared my grief" over Shannon. Bite me.

I guess I am at a loss as to why, two years after Shannon died, that someone would be so limited in their thinking as to think that using Shannon's memory was the way to get me to find them a less distasteful person. What a strange way to try to use Shannon's memory.

What an epic fail.

hallmark sucks at grief

I went to look for a sympathy card today. So little exists to talk about a dead baby. Unlike the death of an adult or a pet, the cards lack the ability to convey the simple thought that I am sorry that your baby died. These cards seem to assume that you have a lifetime of memories or experiences to remember when the person you are mourning is gone. In reality, we loss moms have moments. We have the experience of carrying our child. But we don't usually have the same thing that these cards assume we had. So, they just don't fit. And it creates a bit of a dilemma. Who wants to hurt someone by sending them a card that says, in essence, at least you have comfort from the warm memories of your loved one.

I know that we moms have love for those we lost, and love is certainly a warm thing, but it isn't the same when you are talking about the death of a child in utero or shortly after birth as opposed to the loss of an adult (for example). A lifetime for us is often compressed into those short moments where we hope, most fervently, that our little ones know that they are loved, that they know only peace and that we are immeasurably sad to see them leave us. For those of us who lost our babies before birth, we hope, in retrospect, that all of that love and peace was somehow conveyed across our placenta and across the universe, to our little one, to whom we said hello and goodbye to at the same time. Because they aren't supposed to leave us that soon.

I don't know a single mom who wouldn't give up everything for more moments, for more time to love, for time to create those memories that are all we have to sustain us later.

Most of all I wish that we didn't have to go looking for appropriate cards to express sadness at how much it sucks to be a loss momma.

Remembering a friend's losses

Today I mourn the death of my friend's twins, who were born way too early. Their mom is a special, strong woman who I met shortly before I brought home my rainbow last year. She had lost another son before we met. She is now a mom to three little boys who soar above this world. My heart aches for her and her husband.

Rest in peace little men. You are loved and missed.

“If ever there is tomorrow when we're not together.. there is something you must always remember. you are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think. but the most important thing is, even if we're apart.. i'll always be with you.” a.a. milne

Hello and goodbye

Two years ago today, we said hello and goodbye to Shannon. We miss her and love her still.

Shannon - mommy and daddy sent you a beautiful red balloon today. We hope that you got it. We love and miss you very much...

I don't like February

Just the thought of February can make me cry. The overwhelming sadness that I associate with this month, the fear, the pain, makes this month suck. It might be the shortest month of the year, but I loath it just the same. I pause lately, by Shannon's urn, and I stop and wonder about the alternative universe, where she didn't die, where things were very different, where February didn't suck. And I miss her. I wonder what she'd be like. I wonder if she would have been an easy going baby, like her big brother and the rainbow baby. I wonder what dealing with little girl fashion would have been like, because big brother pretty much wears anything, and rainbow baby wears whatever big brother wore all those many years ago when big brother was the baby.

And I miss her. I miss the concept of her. The thought of what could have been, or might have been. I wouldn't trade rainbow baby for anything, but just the same, I wish I could have them both. Rainbow baby has been a great healer, time has too, but it's still not the same.

Two years ago, we said hello and goodbye to our little girl. My little girl. And there's a part of my heart that still feels that pain. A part of my heart that always will. There's a part of my brain that relives a labor and delivery without joy, one that doesn't end in congratulations, but one that ends in a quiet room with a tiny baby in a little blanket. A baby who is small and cold and still. My baby. Shannon.

And I miss her. And love her. And cry for her still.