Forgetting

I wanted to forget today.
I wanted to hide.
I woke up this morning from a dream that I'd found out I was pregnant.
April Fool's Day.
The day we lost William.
I hate this day.
I dread the jokes, the tricks, the "gotchas."
I've had enough "gotcha" to last me several lifetimes.
But inevitably, this day cracks me open wide.
My veneer is always as thin as an eggshell.
There is always, always a gaping, yawning maw at my back.
All I need to do is turn and look into the abyss. It is there, waiting.
There are days I want to freefall. But I don't.
Today, the veil between worlds is thin. Today, you could see right through my shell, if you look closely enough.
But I still thought I could escape.
We went to the movies to see "Big Miracle." It's a story with a guaranteed happy ending. It's based on a true story, so I knew it would be heart-warming and leave me feeling warm and fuzzy.
And then the baby whale dies.
That's right.
All these people have been moving heaven and earth to help this little family of whales, doing everything they possibly can to keep them alive and set them free.
Mama and Papa whale have been helping the sick baby surface, and you're sure, if they just get out to open water, all will be well...
And then the baby dies.
I forgot.
I forgot.
This is real life, not Hollywood.
Babies die.
And as I sat there in disbelief while the woman from Greenpeace sobbed over the baby's death, "We could have done more! He's going to surface! He can't be dead!" my own heart echoed her pain.
And then came the words, "There's nothing anyone could have done... he's gone."
Prayers. Grief.
And a mother and father who followed the path to open water.
Because life goes on, whether you want it to or not.
I wanted to forget.
But instead I turned and looked into the abyss, and it looked back at me.
The veil fell away.
I can't forget. Not today.
Cracked open, raw, exposed.
Free. Loved.
Beautiful. It's all so beautiful.
I love you, William.

Missing Sweet William

Missing sweet William today...


Today and every day.


Sweet William

Written and sung by The Low Tide Drifters. Just for my William. Thank you Kate Downing and Nate Moore for remembering him in song.

Stillbirth of William George

Had a midwife appt yesterday... and she couldn't find the heartbeat. I thought he'd felt less active, but I've been contracting a lot, prodromal labor, in pain, exhausted and distracted and it was hard to tell.

The hospital visit confirmed what I just somehow knew and had dreaded... our baby was gone. The ironic news was I was 6-7 cm and 85% effaced... those ctx really had done something.

He was born at 10:14 pm on April Fool's Day...some joke... a tiny 5lb 4oz - tiny like his sister was. Tiny and perfect. There was no sign of... anything. No knot in the cord, placenta was normal, he was normal, no infection, no fever, nothing in the bloodwork. No explanation.

At first I couldn't believe the universe would do this. My dad died in February... and we named him after both grandpas. We were going to surprise my mom with his name. And now this? Really? Could anything be more cruel?

The birth was thankfully fast - they gave me a tiny bit of pit, but I pushed him out pretty quickly. Although I've never had a more painful birth, in more ways than one. It was like my body didn't want to do it... it was all me. I had to make the conscious choice to birth him, and part of me just wanted to hold on...

The kids were there... not for the birth, we had a friend in the waiting room with them, but after... and we did get to hold him... the staff took pictures, and were very kind. Things are so different now than back in the days when they whisked the baby away and you never saw them...

The only thing I keep thinking is, "Why?" And there's just no answer and probably never will be.

I feel like I've stepped across some threshold into another world. The dark side of motherhood. We carry so much, when we carry life. We're carrying death with us all the time as well. I knew it on an intellectual level... every bit of anxiety or worry, everything I did or didn't do, questioning... but I had no idea what that felt like, not really... not until I stepped through this door and birthed my baby still.

And why do people say inevitably say all the wrong things? And why don't I care? I always winced, as an outsider, when someone said the "wrong thing" to someone who was grieving... as the one grieving, I can only look from outside myself at them and know they're trying to comfort themselves... they can't touch this pain... they try so hard, they want to understand, but the unimaginable is, truly... And when we're outside of it, we can sympathize, but I think we try not to picture it. I know I did. A good defense... there but by the grace of god go I... so sorry for your loss (and thank god it isn't me...)

And then it is you.

Last night, I didn't think anyone could possibly understand. But in the light of day, I know that even this pain has been born and survived by women, all of us connected. I'm truly humbled. As broken and destroyed as I feel, there is a small part of me buoyed knowing there are women who have been here, too.

Passed On

They took the cpap mask off him this morning, and he was gone within the hour.

I never did make it to the hospital. I was going to go today, since the littles were back in school and while I'm still sick (actually, getting worse grr) oh well, I was going anyway after hubbie left for work this morning. But my mom called to tell me he'd passed. And I had to call the older kids, who didn't make it out yesterday, but were going to go today.

Really am glad it didn't linger on, for my mother's sake. She made a hard, hard decision. I'm really at peace with it, although my only regret, for his sake, was that he didn't get to see his last grandchild born. :(

Me and my dad in 1978 (yes, I know - gotta love the plaid 70's pants and glasses! lol)

DNR Orders

My dad fell on Christmas morning on the ice and broke his foot. He's in his early 60's, diabetic, has PAD (peripheral artery disease), has had high blood pressure since he was in his 20's, is 80 lbs overweight, and has undergone both a corotid artery surgery and a quadruple bypass in the past ten years...

So, they did a surgery on his foot, put a plate in. And a day after he was home, he had what they thought was a stroke or a blood clot. This was three days ago. Things looked okay at first - he couldn't talk and had a hard time swallowing (they gave him one of those "suckie" things like dentists use for the saliva...) but he was lucid and alert, and could respond, nod or shake his head, when asked questions.

Now... however...

The doctor finally defined this incident as a "large stroke." (My mom said "massive" - I think it makes her feel better to say "massive" - but my sister and niece heard "large.") They want to put him on a breathing machine and a feeding tube now. But when he was lucid (two days ago) he said no machines, no tubes. (He's always said no machines, no tubes...)

But he's not lucid anymore - can't nod or blink anymore. He's deteriorating quickly. His lungs are full of fluid because he can't swallow. The usual dose of the meds to clear them - 20 units - they doubled to 40. It didn't work. They doubled that to 80 units. It didn't work. Which led my niece (an ICU nurse) to believe his kidneys weren't functioning even though the blood levels showed they were. Now they're talking about dialysis. They want to put in a tube to feed him (directly into the stomach, instead of through the nose, which they can only do for a week.) My sister, her husband and my niece all sat down with Mom and the ICU doc (I'm still sick, and so are the kids, so I can't go) and talked about all this, after which my mom signed a DNR and said no tubes.

My nephew is mad - he says we should put in all the tubes and let him heal and get better. But the docs are saying, because of his other conditions (diabetes, triglycerides, high blood pressure, previous surgeries, circulation issues) the meds they'd normally prescribe wouldn't work, and they have to go other routes. They say they don't know how much functionality he will be able to regain even if we do put him on the machines.

But the thing I keep coming back to is the not talking. He can't communicate. The only thing he lives for is communication, frankly, and I think he knew, when he couldn't talk, couldn't swallow, that his "life" was basically over. Honestly, I think he knew it last week when we talked before his foot surgery and he told me he wanted to hold out to see this baby. He mentioned that his heart doc had told him two months ago, she wanted to do some sort of surgery, going in through the groin, because things weren't "circulating properly." He refused, he told me, because he was afraid he'd die during the surgery, and he wanted to see the baby first. I think he knew he was going to go, one way or another, before then, and didn't want it to happen. His one regret maybe.

But I think he's clear, now that this has happened, or at least he was, when he could make that call, that he doesn't want to stick around anymore. That it's time.

He's right handed. His whole right side is shot. He can't write well with his right hand anyway (he's dyslexic and never learned to read or write past a 4th-5th grade level), let alone trying to re-learn with his left. He can't read to begin with, he's nearly functionally illiterate, even with his one good eye. He can't swallow, so he can't eat. (The man lives to eat!) He can't talk - and I mean, seriously, who could ever shut him up before? That's all he does is talk and argue and debate! And the only way he could use his beloved computer before the stroke was doing it voice-activated - because of his dyslexia and learning disablities. Now that he can't talk, he couldn't use it at all.

It seems to me that anything that might motivate him to keep going is pretty much gone, and he knows it. And he's just going to be really pissed off a few months down the road if we DO put him on machines against his wishes and he DOES recover some capacity and awareness. Like we want my mom having to take care of an incapacitated, pissed-off dad who can't communicate? What good does that do anyone? Ugh.

I told my mom I was fine with honoring his wishes. And that no one could make another call (i.e. putting him on machines) except her, but if she did, I would understand that, too. She said she didn't want to be alone - and I said it wasn't about being alone, because my sister and her husband would take her in in a heartbeat - it was about not having a partner, really about not having DAD. That was apparently the perfectly right or wrong thing to say, I guess, depending on your perspective, because then she had to go cry... which she said she hadn't really done yet. So I let her go do that.

I imagine his last days will be this week or next, if she doesn't make another decision than the one she's already made. 

 

The Tooth Fairy's Ripping Me Off

"Mom, I think I swallowed my tooth." So says my six year old son.

"Why do you think that?"

"One's coming in way back here, and I don't remember one falling out."

Ah. So I had to explain that, as we grow and our mouths get bigger, we grow molars, or "big teeth" back there to fill the space.

Dmitri was relieved to hear he hadn't swallowed a tooth and missed out on a chance to collect a dollar from the tooth fairy. Until he connected more of the dots...

"Hey!" He pouted. "I get a tooth, but I don't lose one? The tooth fairy's ripping me off!"

I didn't have the heart to tell him how the IRS works... :)

Christmas Card

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