My new mantra

To want what I have, and take what I'm given with grace...

Fear

The anger of which I spoke in my last post is still very much alive, just not so prevalent (although I have a feeling that the poor Best Buy delivery guy that I gave a hard time for refusing to come in my back patio until I confined my dog may argue differently). It has subsided somewhat from the forefront of my thoughts and has made way for a new emotion...fear.


I'm not afraid of my everyday life or routine tasks. I am afraid for my children and my family. The other day, I was feeding my boys their lunch. We were having our usual fun when all of a sudden I was overcome with this morbid fear that Adler was not Adler. Thoughts of, "Oh my God, what if the hospital made a mistake? What if this is really Boe and it was Adler who died?" began running through my mind. It was paralyzing to think that we may have been mourning the "wrong" child for the last year. I know in my heart and my mind that this is not the case, that Adler is here and Boe is gone, but in that moment, the fear was so raw and so real. I just looked at my boys and cried, trying to feed them through my tears.


During my pregnancy with my boys I had a false sense of security. I had fooled myself into believing that God loved me too much to bless me with 3 babies and then have something bad happen. I had myself fooled into believing that all would be well. Now, unfortunately, I know all too well that this is not the case. I know that bad things happen to good people and that, in an instant, our lives can change before our very eyes. I looked at my daughter, Libby, the other day and marveled in her preciousness. She is funny, sweet and dear. She has beautiful blue eyes and golden curls. If I could gobble her up, I would. As I admired her, I was suddenly stricken with an awful thought. What if she were no longer here? What if she were part of my life one second and gone the next?


The old me would have said that God loves me too much to put me throught the loss of a child again. But the new me knows that this is not true. I don't get a "pass" just because I have been through it before. I am just as likely to have another awful loss or event happen in my life as the next guy, and it scares the living crap out of me. It is so hard to not let this fear just stop me in my tracks. Every fiber of my being wants to be the "helicopter mom" who hovers around her children to prevent anything awful from happening.


But who am I to stop what is meant to be? No one. So many people have told me to just "hand it over to God" to let him do the work. How can I hand over what was never truly mine to begin with? When we lost Boe, I realized that NOTHING is in our hands. All I can do is hope for the best in each day. I must live my life to its fullest to honor Boe and the life he will never have and to honor my husband and living children. They all deserve a woman who is willing to risk immense pain and loss in exchange for great love and beauty. Yes, this makes me afraid, VERY afraid; but I will not let it define me. Rather, overtime, I shall learn to let it strengthen me and make me a better version of the woman I am right now.

Anger

Dear God,

Lately, anger has been a prevalent issue at group. I know it is one of the steps in the grieving process, and I have been thinking about it alot. At first I thought there was something wrong with me because as I looked back over the last year, I really couldn't pinpoint a time at which I felt truly angry that Boe was gone. As I recall the last year's events, there really is no one I can blame for what happened, so how can I possibly be angry?

Yet, the more I think about it, the more the anger builds. The more it builds, the more horrified and disgusted I am with myself. I am angry at YOU. When Adam and I found out we were expecting triplets, our world turned upside down. How were we gong to do it? I would have to stay home and we are both teachers. How would I care for 3 babies and a toddler all by myself? What if my children were not OK since a multiple birth presents with such a plethora of risks, how would we handle it? The answer, to me, was simple. We just would.

God, I believed in you. I believed that you would not give me more than you felt I could handle. I believed that you must think me pretty special to entrust me with not 1, but 3, new babies. Every night as I put Libby to bed, she and I would pray. Our last prayer was always for the health and safety of her unborn brothers and mommy. Until April 22, 2010 our prayers were being answered.

Perhaps I had myself fooled. Throughout my pregnancy I had myself convinced that God loved me too much to bless me with 3 precious boys only to have something bad happen. God, something worse than bad happened, something unspeakable happened. In the days immediately following Boe's death, I clung to you. I was sure that if I held fast to my faith, I would be OK. It comforted me to know that Boe was safe in Heaven with you.

Now 1 year later, knowing that he is safe with you is not a comfort, but a source of anger and pain. Wasn't I good enough to be his mommy? Was there something wrong with me? With Adam? Don't we deserve him? Adam and I are good people, we live our lives trying to be of service to others. We live our lives trying to do the right thing, and look where it got us.

God, I know this may sound sacrilegious or blasphemous. I think that is why it has taken me so long to identify and speak about the source of my anger. I am ashamed that I am angry with you. I no longer wish to go to church on Sundays; to do so is actually a painful reminder of my loss, as it is the last place Boe was actually close enough to touch. I no longer say prayers for health and safety before I go to bed each night, what is the point?

Sayings like, "God does not give you more than you can handle" or, "God has a plan" or, "God doesn't make mistakes" no longer comfort me or give me the strength to keep going. Rather they anger me and make me shake my head because I cannot handle that Boe is gone, I do not understand how you keeping my baby is a good plan, could it be that you did, in fact, make a mistake?

God, I used to turn to you in my deepest, darkest hours of need. I would pray, bargain and plead for you to help me sort out what was wrong in my life, and you always seemed to deliver. But now, you are the one who has caused my deepest darkest hour of need. How am I to free myself this time? To whom can I turn now?

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.