The Bucket

Let me preface this by saying, it may be one of my more confusing or unorganized posts. It's really just my chance to ramble about something that pisses me off, a year after the fact. I have purposely left out names, etc... because, at this point, calling the individuals in question to task would be pointless. I'm just sayin...

I remember when my dear friend, Sonja, was getting married. I planned her Bachelorette party in Las Vegas and was set to be a bridesmaid in her wedding. We were both SO excited. 2 weeks before her Bachelorette, I had to call her and tell her I could not attend her party OR be in her wedding. I had just learned that I was pregnant with Libby and my doctor said NO travel for the 1st trimester since I had so much difficulty conceiving.


I recall crying on the phone as I broke the news to her because I was so disappointed and felt so guilty for "messing up" her plans. I bring this up only because I SO badly wanted to be there for her and could not. Circumstances beyond my control were preventing me from being there for one of my best friends on the biggest day of her life. I was heartbroken. Sometimes, we face extenuating circumstances which prevent us from being at a certain place at a certain time.


Our car breaks down en route and we are unexpectedly delayed. Our flight is cancelled due to mechanical failure or weather and we are at the mercy of the airline to get us where we need to be. A family emergency or sudden illness causes us to change our plans suddenly and without notice. All of these are totally reasonable excuses for not being somewhere important. Lately, I have been having a really hard time with those who just don't bother to make certain things a priority, like, I don't know, the death of a child and the subsequent events surrounding his loss.


It amazes me that some people have their heads so far up their asses they can't see what really matters. I am not saying that I think everything needs to be dropped and a National Day of Mourning declared because my son died, but it really saddens me to see how little effort some people made to be supportive when Adam and I needed help the most. Most people were amazing. What can I do? When can I be there? How can I help? Honestly, were it not for Adam's cousins, Boe may not even have had a service. That's how lost we were. We were pleasantly surprised and so touched by who wanted to help us and to what lengths they were willing to go.


A dear friend of ours volunteered to keep Libby entertained during the service so we could focus on Boe, another friend bought the flowers for display on the altar. People with whom we had not touched base for quite some time were at the service to pay their respects, and it all meant so much. One of my favorite sayings is "I don't care how flat you make a pancake, it still has two sides." - Dr. Phil


Unfortunately, there were some people who were not as supportive as we would have hoped during this ordeal. I am happy to say that, OVERWHELMINGLY, we were able to count on almost anyone for anything in the days right after Boe's passing. But, the flip side of the pancake is the very few people who left us in our time of need. Almost a year later, I find myself so angry with these people; but I also feel sad for them. Sad, that they are so caught up in their own lives that they could not see clearly enough how shaken and broken Adam and I were. What happened on April 22 rocked us to the core and has, no doubt, forever changed who we are.



I am even more sad that Adam and I never had the nerve, for lack of a better term, to share with these individuals how disappointed we were by their inability to "show up" when we really needed them, even if only on the sidelines waiting for us to reach out. I feel as though I let Boe down by not speaking up on his behalf to let these people know that their absence (and very conscious choice to be absent) really sucked. As I mentioned before, it has been a year. Saying anything now will not change what is... they were not there. They must live with their decision and Adam and I (more I) need to find it in our hearts to move on.



My father said something to me during this time that has really stuck with me. It reminds me that what we have going on is often not as important or as necessary as we like to think it is. Sometimes, we need to drop what we are doing to be there for those who need us most. He said "Stick your arm in a bucket of water. If there is a hole there when you pull your arm out, you're needed in that bucket." I guess some folks just had their arm in the wrong bucket when Boe died.

Dear Boe,

As I hit "publish post" it has been 1 year since you left us. That seems so hard to imagine. Your brothers, Adler and Cameron, are proof that time marches on, but doesn't it stand still too? Sometimes, it is almost as if I feel you and your brothers in my belly, squished and trying to find space. Often, I feel as though if I just close my eyes, you are there.



I find myself thinking of you often. I feel such guilt for not knowing that you were in trouble. I think back to my actions during the timeframe the doctor gave us for your passing and I realize I sensed NOTHING. How could I not know? How could I not tell you were struggling, in need, in distress? I am your mother, the one person who is supposed to protect and shield you from all harm; I let you down.



A year later, I thought I was "heeled". I could talk about you without crying, I could look at Adler without thinking, Boe would look just like that. I know now that I am wrong. I am not heeled. I miss you madly. I look at Adler and wish I had 2 of him in front of me. I cry more often than I think I ever have. The more time that passes, the more I realize that loved ones are like limbs, extensions of oursleves. Sure, if we lose one, we can learn to live without it, but the essence of it is always there. Just as an amputee can always "feel" the lost limb as though it's really there, I feel you too. Just like an amputee's "heeled" limb may tingle, a painful and cruel reminder of what was once there, my heart aches, reminding me that you are not here any longer.



I know when Libby looks in the corner of the room and says"birdy, brother", she is referring to you. Your identical brother, Adler, has a small birthmark on his chest, right over his heart. We call it his "Boe spot" so you will always be near. I know that you are a strong and heroic little boy. Had it not been for your death, we may not have Adler or Cameron here either, and we thank you for that precious gift.


Tomorrow, we celebrate the day of your birth. Having to say Hello and Goodbye at the same time was so hard and so unfair, but I know you are in heaven playing with friends. I want you to know that even though we will be celebrating Adler and Cameron tomorrow, we celebrate you too. You will be in our thoughts all day long and even beyond. I love you so much Baby Boe. Please know that even though my arms are empty, you fill my heart and soul everyday. Happy Birthday to you.


Love,

Mommy

Rosie Pope, my hero

I admit, I set my DVR to record the new Bravo series "Pregnant in Heels". It is the story of a New York based pregnancy concierge (whatever the hell that is) and her high maintenance, uppity society clients. I was SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO ready to hate this show. I was ready to be disgusted by everything about it. I planned to watch it and then light up the Bravo message boards and blogs with contempt and disgust over these spoiled NY socialites who treat their pregnancies like a fashion statement and their children like accessories.


I so badly wanted to HATE this show, but I just can't. I think part of what helped was Rosie Pope herself. She spoke very openly about the fact that her son should not have been conceived or carried to term, as she discovered immediately after his birth that she has a heartshaped uterus. She has been undergoing IVF treatments and admitted that it is very difficult to throw herself "into the lion's den" on a daily basis. Also in her favor is the fact that she recognizes and candidly points out to the parents and audience that there is, quite often, such absurdity and self-involvement in their thinking. Somehow, by the end of the show both couples with whom she worked seemed to truly appreciate the blessing they had received.


The first episode was only a taste. It featured a couple who could not imagine having their modern, chic Tribeca loft lifestyle upended by a monstrosity like a baby. There was also the couple who felt highly enough of themselves to refer to the image people have of their family as a "brand". They needed Rosie's help to choose a name for their third child. Rosie never faltered and did not fail to put them in their place as needed. Somehow she did it in a way that made it seem like their change of heart was their idea, which I love. I am sure if I continue to watch, the mommas-to-be will only become more Divaesque; we shall see. For now, I'll rest easy knowing that Rosie Pope is bringing a little more gratitude and awareness to the blessed gift a baby truly is, one snobby, uppity, self-involved couple at a time.

Slap in the Face

"Therein lay the problem. Life had altered in the wildest possible way, but it was imperative that they act as if nothing at all had happened. Imagine smiling after a slap in the face. Then think of doing it 24 hours a day" From The Book Thief, a novel by Markus Zusak This quote, which I came across in a book that I read recently, really resonates with me. I find myself constantly trying to "self-correct" and adapt myself to the "real" world so that I will seem "normal", like the old Kirsten. Isn't that the problem? Why should I have to do that? Something did happen, and it was awful and unimaginable, and I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy. Should I pretend like I have "moved on" and that I am "over it" to make everybody else feel better? I have always been a little bothered by people's nosiness. I know they mean well, but is it really necessary to know everybody else's shiz all the time? Since Boe's death, I am even more bothered by it. Don't get me wrong, strangers out in public usually don't bother me. They don't know me and they don't know any better, but sometimes they make really dumb remarks, or ask really probing questions. What really gets in my craw are family, friends, colleagues, who do know better. They always ask things like, "How are the boys?" How is everyone doing?" "Is everything OK?, and my personal favorite, "How are the TWINS?" WTF? If memory serves, I carried and delivered 3 babies on April 22, 2010. The fact that one is not here does NOT discount his existence. There is a part of me that always wants to save these idiots from themselves and say nothing; I should just smile politely and give the response expected. "The boys are fine" "We are fine" "Everything is OK" "The TWINS are just fine". I find myself willing to actually do this far less frequently than I once was. Perhaps it is because I am at a point in my journey through grief where the shock of what happened is wearing off, and I am becoming more aware of reality. Boe is dead, he existed, and now he doesn't. Perhaps it is because I want everyone to realize that babies do die. It sucks, but it happens and to try to deny it is to deny their little existences, no matter how fleeting. Perhaps it is because I am uncomfortable with what my life has become. In an instant my future, my hopes, dreams and aspirations, was ripped out from under me like a tablecloth being yanked from a table at a cheap magic show. I have to live with Boe's death, and the pain it has caused those I love the most, everyday. It has become a part of me. Some days I am much more aware that it exists than others. Some days I am hardly even aware that it is there. It is something that I will carry with me until the day I die. So, when you ask me if I have twins and I explain that they are surviving triplets, if you ask how many children I have and I say 4 even though I clearly only have 3 present, when you make a stupid remark referencing the fact that my loss would be so much more horrible if it had been my only child and I say until you've lost a child you'll never understand the depth of this pain, when you know my story and you brazenly refer to my boys as TWINS and I correct you in front of others and remind you that they are, in fact, triplets, I am not doing it to be rude. I am doing it to have someone else shoulder my burden, even if only for a second. If what I say or how I respond makes you uncomfortable for a little while, put yourself in my shoes. Remember that I have to live and breathe this until I leave this Earth. The bottom line is, don't ask a question to which you do not want the full, honest-to-God truth. For I have been slapped in the face, and now I must smile 24 hours a day.

Playlist

Remember when you were in high school and you would make your significant other a "mix tape" ( or CD) for special occasions? You could spend hours on end finding just the right songs and place them in just the right order. I did that for Boe. He has his very own playlist on my IPOD. It is a work in progress, but the songs I have so far are:

Mad World by Michael Andrews

Beautiful Boy by John Lennon

Lullabye by Billy Joel

Let it Be by the Beatles

I Grieve by Peter Gabriel

To Make you Feel My Love by Adele

So Small by Carrie Underwood

Jesus, Take the Wheel by Carrie Underwood

Smile by Lyle Lovett

For Good by the Cast of Wicked

Brand New Wings by Peter Brandon

I listen to these songs when I want to feel close to Boe. Usually at night when I am working on the computer or the rare occasions when I am alone in the car. One or all of these songs make me cry EVERY time I listen. Why do I torture myself in this way you may ask?

Sometimes, it does feel like torture; the wound of Boe's passing being ripped open and salt being poured in the gaping hole his absence has left behind. But sometimes, it feels hopeful. Sometimes, I can listen to these songs and smile as I remember carrying and nurturing Boe for 229 days. Sometimes I can listen and know that even if he is not physically present he is always here and by remembering him, he always lives.

Sometimes. Today was a torturous, wound-ripping day. Today was a day that I listened to the lyrics and cried because he is gone, he is not coming back, and he feels so far away.

Dinner For Schmucks

So my husband and I had some friends over for dinner on Friday. They are people with whom we enjoy spending some time when we can all get together. We have been to their weddings, we exchange Christmas cards, but it's not like we hang out every weekend, we are not "besties". We had dinner on Friday, SO WHAT, right? Normally, I would agree, except for 2 GIANT elephants who were in the room that night. Both women are pregnant. One due in April and one in June.

I would be lying if I said I was not VERY hesitant about this soiree we had planned. The woman who is closer to her due date has, apparently, not been the most gracious pregnant woman. Everything has been an inconvenience to her. I was very unsure of how I would feel being around 2 very pregnant women. How would I handle the complaints, the excitement, the questions, should they come my way?

To add insult to injury, I wished to hell I was in their position, anxiously awaiting the arrival of a little one. You're probably wondering, WHAT? Why would I with 3 children under the age of 2 at home even contemplate the prospect of another child. The bottom line is, I feel like I should have 4 HERE. A few weeks ago, I actually felt like maybe that was what was meant to be. I found out on MLK day that I was pregnant again, against ALL odds, as we had been using protection.

The second I found out, I felt as though Boe were talking to me. Mommy, if you can't have me, then I'll send you an earthly angel to love until I see you in heaven. As shocked and surprised as I was by this pregnancy, I was excited, hopeful. I found out 1 week later that my baby was not viable, and I had a miscarriage. So you see, that night, I should have been at the tail end of my 1st trimester. Instead, I was laughing it up, drinking my wine and reassuring the nervous mommys to be that hemorrhoids DO go away ( I would not know, I never got them).

I had warned my husband ahead of time that I did not know how I would be able to handle the evening. I told him I was definitely worried about complainer mommy, and that I may need to excuse myself to avoid making a rude or snide comment if she got out of hand. Currently, I have very little patience for those who do not recognize how lucky, blessed, fortunate they are to be preparing for parenthood. You see, I DID recognize all those things, and I still had the rug pulled out from under me.

As it turns out, complainer mommy started the evening by saying she promised not to complain because she knew I had been pregnant with not one, but 3 babies at once and she had no idea how I had done that. I smiled graciously, but thought she still doesn't get it. Parenthood, in its entirety, is a precious gift. The wonder of the journey begins from the second you find out there is life within you, and it is a voyage that does not end until the day you close your eyes and do not open them ever again. Pregnancy is not an ends to justify the means. Pregnancy is part of the "work", the "job" of parenthood, meant to prepare one gradually for the lifetime of hard "labor" (pun intended) ahead.

This mommy admitted to me that she is amazed that any of us get here because she HATES being pregnant. Don't get me wrong, there were times I was VERY uncomfortable, but I LOVED every single cotton pickin' second of my pregnancies. To love being pregnant is to love the life inside you from the very first moment you are possibly aware of its existence. Perhaps, she will change her tune when she holds her daughter in her arms for the first time. My guess is she won't.

I just want to let all the earthly angels waiting up above to grace us with their presence here, for every "mommy" who wishes they could just "get" a baby without going through all the life affirming changes that happen to one's body and heart over the 40 weeks it takes, there are SOOOOOOO many "mommys" who get it from the start and who are happy to do whatever it takes to have you here. Remember US.

Stronger

Today it has been 10 months since we lost Boe, but it has also been 10 months since we welcomed Adler and Cameron. I have been crying a lot lately. I feel so isolated. I am with my children all day, which I love, but I miss being around adults. Adults, even though they may not get what I have gone through, get sadness, anger, resentment, all of which I feel.

It has often been so hard for me to not breakdown sobbing in front of my children. I find myself smiling through tears or silently crying into their hair because I don't want to frighten them. I don't want them to see me weak, vulnerable, and utterly helpless. After that feeling passes, I pause, and ask myself is THAT healthy? Can't I honor Boe best by being honest about the fact that I miss him like hell? Can't I parent them better by showing them that feelings, good or bad, are OK?

What happened to us 10 months ago sucks. There is no rhyme or reason to it, it is not natural, it is not what anyone expects or aspires to in life and it is NOT fair. But you know what else sucks? Trying to hide how I truly feel because I am afraid that it will scare my children or make somebody else uncomfortable. I am taking a stand here and now - FUCK THAT SHIT.

What is not natural, and what is not fair, is for me to force myself to pretend that everything is OK; it is not. My baby is dead. Acting like all is fine is the worst disrespect that I could pay to my children (both alive and dead), my family, my friends and myself. Acting like everything is OK is like pretending that Boe never existed. He did, I held him, I saw him with my own 2 eyes. Boe's death is something that has forever changed me; never again will I be the Kirsten I was before I went to the doctor on 4/22/2010.

I want to honor Boe by becoming a woman who is as close a version to the pre 4/22 version of me as possible. I want to keep him alive by crying for him, laughing with him or just plain thinking about him when the urge strikes regardless of how it may "look". I want my children and husband to see that I can be weak, vulnerable and helpless, and still be OK. That this is healthy, I am not some robot who goes through life, stoic and without emotion.

Perhaps the best way for me to grow is to realize that in being weak, in allowing myself to feel pain and show it, I am, in fact, stronger. I can be a better wife, a better mother, a better me. I would be fooling myself to believe that this experience is something that I will "get over", but maybe, just maybe if I open myself up I can get through it.