Sad Easter

Easter is special to me. Christ died for my sins and then rose again. He is in Heaven with my little boy. That should make me happy. So why am I so sad?

Most holidays have been kind of strange since Eli died. Since my best friend was throwing her kids' birthday party at the beach, we decided to make a mini vacation out of it. Will asked me about Easter- I told him that everything is different now, so we might as well celebrate Easter differently. Typical Easter traditions went out the window, such as church, egg-hunting, making creamed eggs, wearing pretty clothes.

It was Olivia's first Easter, and I didn't even put her in an Easter dress. Ben didn't wear the little tux I had pictured in my mind. We didn't go to church. We didn't eat creamed eggs. The only reason Ben even got to dye eggs this year is because Aunt Amy came over with eggs and dye and sort of forced it on us.

We ran to the beach to escape, I think. But it didn't work. Because we were at that beach mere weeks before he died, and I was reminded of him at every turn. Not that he ever leaves my mind, really. But it created such a deep ache in my chest...such a terrible longing. Even now, as I write this, I feel like I might break into pieces. When I close my eyes, I can see him so vividly, sitting on the counter in Island Bob's Deli, eating his muffin cheerfully. I see him lying in the sand, watching the waves crash against the beach over and over. I see him chasing birds down the shore. And then I see him, cold in a tiny white casket, his hair styled like it never was when he was alive, his eyes flat and strange, reminding me of his absence.

I wish I could rewind and do the weekend differently. I wish I could have dressed the kids up and visited with family. I wish we had taken some pictures. I wish I could rewind and do this year differently.

Like so many other nights, I'm aching, crying, wishing I could go back. Back, back, back.

Please, just let me go back.

I'd do everything differently. I'd never let him go. I'd hold him and kiss him forever. I'd buy a different house...one without a pool. I'd.....keep him alive. Keep him safe.

I am broken, never whole, never right. 

Pondering

I got up with the baby. It's 6:51 a.m. She's back to sleep, but I'm staring at the window, now slightly illuminated by the early morning sky. 

I've come to hate first-morning light. I don't know what time Eli died, or how long he was out there, but I know it was between now and 8:30. When I put Ben back in his crib after nursing that morning, it was just starting to get light out. This time of day always reminds me of the day we lost him. And thinking about that makes me feel a heavy weight of guilt and regret that lurks somewhere beneath the surface of who I am...

This early morning light also signifies the start of a new day...having to live another without him, new possibilities (will my remaining children die?). 

And somewhere, among all that negativity somehow, there is hope...hope of the things God will bring about with a new day. 

I miss my son so much. I wish God would give him back to me. 

I feel so irritable.

Our counselor says that my day is determined by what my attitude is, and my attitude is what I choose it to be. Therefore, according to her, if I have a bad day, it's because it decided to have a bad day from the very beginning. 

When I woke up this morning, the first thing I thought was, "Thank God he's alive." I was so worried about Ben last night because of this weird twitching he did....I thought it could have been a seizure. I got him out of the crib, changed his diaper and put him in the highchair. He had cereal, a banana, strawberries and some orange juice. I felt fine then...happy, smiling with him. I changed the baby's diaper and outfit, and by that time Ben was mostly done eating. I let him down, and he played with his train table while I fed the baby. Will texted me that he had forgotten his dip for a food day at work and he wanted to know if I could bring it to him. Is that where my irritability started? Feeling pressure to do something? I really don't understand. I didn't wake up this morning feel angry, or deciding to have a grumpy day...I woke up feeling grateful for the life of my kids. Where did I go wrong? 

I took the dip up to Will's work but had to wait about 20 minutes in the parking lot while Ben fussed and whined. Will finally came out to get it and apologized for not realizing I had called him to tell him I was there. But by that point, I already felt pissed. 

Now that I'm back home, I don't even feel like getting ready for the open gym I'm supposed to be taking Ben to with my friend from MOPs. I find myself gritting my teeth a lot. Ben must sense my tension because he's acting out, which is frustrating me more. He's climbing on me, snatching things out of my hands, knocking things off of tables etc. This is so frustrating to me.

I just bought this book called Bait of Satan, and far as I've read, it's about not taking Satan's bait by feeling offended and staying offended. This must be part of my problem. 

I think I'm going to go read my Bible.

His leftover belongings.

After cleaning out Eli's things from the attic, I decided to let Ben inherit some things. Eli's horsie, and his red toy car, a couple of his puzzles, and some of his toy trains. My intention was to keep Eli's memory alive, by handing some of his special things down to his brother. I think Eli would tell me that he'd really like for Ben to have his toys. It would mean a lot to him.

Today I did a double take. I saw Ben from behind and he was playing with Eli's horsie. It's a big stuffed horse that used to sing "Jingle Bell Rock" but the batteries have died. Eli called it his "farsie" and slept with it every night. We used to laugh at night because it'd be quiet in his room for hours after bedtime, but then we'd randomly hear this horse singing. Ben recently got his hair cut, so now he looks even more like Eli did. And for a split second, I thought I had gone back in time and was looking at my Eli playing with his farsie. The realization that occurred moments later was bittersweet; as much as I'd love to have my Eli back, I wouldn't trade Ben for him. I couldn't. I wondered, while pregnant with Ben, if I could love him as much as I loved Eli...if I'd have enough love to go around. And now I know, you don't split up your love when you have another child, your love just grows.

So, rambling aside, I mistook Ben for Eli. And it hurt. But I'm glad I have my Ben....he is such a blessing. He's so sweet for such a young person. My heart overflows with love for him. He reminds me so much of his brother....but I'm beginning to see that it is a good thing. I'm glad I'll be able to tell him about his brother as he grows up. I think they would have been good friends. 

I'm so scared.

Yesterday morning, I discovered dried vomit in Ben's crib. I asked him about it, and he whined and said, "boo boo!" I don't recall hearing him cry during the night, nor did I hear him throw up. But he did. And it made me feel awful. My first thought was that I'm glad he didn't die. Most people probably don't think about death when their child vomits. But I'm terrified of anything out of the ordinary. 

I just spent some time reading a woman's blog. Her 18 month old died from SUDC: sudden unexplained death in childhood. Her baby never woke up from her nap. Okay, I know some people will think, or even tell me, "don't read that stuff, don't fill your mind with sad things." I found her blog while I was searching for one of a mother whose toddler had drowned. I wanted to find someone with a blog I could relate to, maybe a couple years out, who could give me some hope that things get better. I haven't found that blog yet, so I'll continue to read the one mentioned above. Her daughter was just six months younger than Eli. Most blogs I've come across dealing with loss have been about miscarriage and stillbirth. They're tragic, awful, unimaginable....but not quite the same as losing a toddler. 

So anyway, now my terror is renewed. I'm wondering, "Will Ben wake up tomorrow?" I just went to check the video monitor to make sure he's breathing. 

When the inconceivable hits, you realize it can hit again, at any time, without warning. 

Don't even get me started on Liv. She's 1 month old. I check her 10-15 times or day to make sure she breathing. She won't sleep unless she sleeps in the bed with me, and she likes to tuck her face right into my breast. I'm scared she will smother herself...so I don't get much sleep and what I do get is that "half wake, half asleep" cosleeping mom sleep. I don't care about that part, the losing sleep....I just want her to be safe, healthy, alive. 

Kind of ironic....those last words were ones I prayed for the night before Eli died. I prayed that God would keep him happy, healthy, and safe. Maybe I should have thrown in the word, "alive"? Would It have changed anything? I don't know the reasons for Eli's death, so I don't know if it was one of those "had to happen" type things or if I should have just prayed better. I know God knew how many days Eli would live, etc. but does that mean He caused him to die? Ugh I don't know that I even want to get into all of those questions again....I will never have answers and people have opinions that usually make me feel worse, frustrated, angry. 

I'll keep praying for my children to be happy, healthy, safe, and alive....and pray that God's will be done, even if I don't especially like what that means for me. I know He isn't out to destroy me, or cause me to live a miserable life...I need to focus on the fact that He loves me, and He loves all of my children. 

Rough day.

Its been bad today.I'm irritable. I'm angry. I'm confused. I don't understand why I had a little boy and he died. Nothing makes any sense.

My poor husband has been suffering because of my bad attitude. Everything about him annoys me: the way he chews his food, the way he walks...and that's not how I want things to be. He's a great husband and person. I shouldn't feel like this.

I want to make things better...I want to be happy...I can't. I'm stuck in a rut.

I know I am blessed to have Ben and Olivia, but it doesn't change the fact that my Eli isn't here. And I'm forgetting him, and replacing his memories with those of Ben. It is such a confusing thing. If I find a shirt in the closet, I'll wonder, "Was this Eli's or Ben's?" I can't remember. I feel like I don't remember him but I am remembering pictures. I can't believe it. I can't remember my little boy who I loved (and still love) so much.

I'm angry that God took him from me, even if His plan is perfect. I'm angry that there wasn't another way. I feel so afraid for Ben and Olivia. Every time I look at them while they're sleeping, I wait a while to make sure they're breathing.

The anxiety, fear, irritability, tension....its wearing me down.

I need good sleep, sunlight, a clean home, good friends, family time, exercise, a good diet...I know all of these things, so why can't I just implement them in my life and be happier?

I have been working on organizing the house all week...but the sleep, exercise and good diet are seemingly impossible for me.

 I feel so unmotivated and discouraged. I hope tomorrow is a better day.

Spiritual attacks

I really enjoyed my time in bible study at MOPs yesterday. I decided after the lesson that I would work on spending time with God, because my relationship with him has never been this distant. Since Eli died, I've kept God at bay, worrying that closeness with him means I have to surrender my children to him, and I can't bear to lose another. 

Satan must feel pretty threatened by my decision to more closely follow Christ because today has been nothing but bad news and attacks on my confidence and self worth. 

I'm sad and bitter about my birth. I feel stupid. I tried to do some crazy thing instead of going to the hospital like everyone else. Now I still owe my midwife her full fee, and I'm sure insurance isn't going to pay much since I didn't actually deliver at home...I'm going to end up owing six grand... I feel unsure and insecure about finances because I haven't gone over the bills in over two weeks and neither has Will. I feel like a bad mother, feel like I'm gonna lose it. I don't want to go to grief share tonight because I don't want to sit around thinking about Eli and crying, missing what I'll never get back. I feel like such a wreck. I'm in a rut. I wish I could draw the blinds shut and climb into bed....and stay there forever. 

I've lost my faith in my body and in birth itself. I feel out of touch and wounded by the whole birthing world. Can I go on to work as a doula after this? 

I hope today gets better after our nap. Maybe the rain will go away. 

Olivia's Birth Story

When I was planning Liv's birth,  I knew in order to avoid another c-section and have another VBAC, I'd need to avoid as many interventions as possible. For me, that meant avoiding a hospital delivery. Once the "cascade of interventions" begins, the chance of c-section is higher. Around 20 weeks,  I made the switch to my midwife from a local OB. Prenatal visits were awesome; in my home, relaxed, personal. I didn't have to find childcare,  leave my home, etc. All the same tests were performed, like GBS screening, diabetes testing, and bloodwork, so I was confident in the "safety" of it all.

Wednesday,  February 26th, I went into labor while making eggplant parmesan. My neighbor, Maggi, brought over our organic produce we order each week. The box contained an eggplant, and I thought,  "I've heard eggplant parmesan induces labor,  so heck, why not?"  It was about 6pm when everything started. I was cooking and ignoring my contractions,  knowing that if the real deal started, I'd know it. I texted my mom that I was contacting every 5 to 7 minutes but nothing real painful yet. Will went to buy the adaptor needed to connect the shower head to the hose (to fill the tub with). By the time he got home around 7, I was in a lot of pain. I took a shower, and shaved my legs (of course), just in case I was really in labor. The rest is very much a blur. I remember calling my midwife to tell her I was really hurting, and at that point, contractions were coming every 3 to 4 minutes. I was beginning to have to breathe through them. I recall Will calling her back shortly after that, telling her to come. And I remember him calling my mom. She got there first and I wasn't very nice to her. I believe I was entering transition at that point and soft touching was pissing me off, and she kept telling me what to do, how to breathe etc. I don't remember saying anything to her, but I remember pushing her away and waving her off. At that point, everything hurt and everyone annoyed me.

I don't know the time line here, but I labored from 6pm to 8am. The warm water was so soothing. I found it most comfortable to lie on my side with my face near the surface of the water. I remember thinking about Eli so much during this time, and I spent a great deal of it telling him I'm sorry, that I miss him. My bag of waters was bulging, and I asked my midwife to check me. She said I was complete. I thought, "Really! I can push now!" I think I pushed for about 2.5 hours,  although it was such a blur and I wasn't looking at the clock, so much of the timing is based off of what I was told by my mom or husband.  My water broke in the tub, and I felt some shift in Olivia's position. It wasn't long after that that I began to have back pain with my contractions. I asked several times,  "Why is my back hurting so bad?" It was agonizing. Some time later,  my abdomen began to ache with contractions,  over my previous c-section scar. I had told myself and husband that if I was going to attempt a homebirth, that I would transfer at the first sign of danger instead of being stubborn and waiting it out. I had been pushing for so long, and even rested for a while, but she just wasn't moving down like we thought she would. My midwife had me get on all fours and she attempted to turn her, because at that point we suspected she must be posterior,  or sunny side up, facing my front instead of my back. That was excruciating.

At some point, after several contractions with the scar pain,  feeling totally exhausted and unable to keep pushing, I decided to transfer to the hospital. I felt like a failure just announcing my decision. Everyone was expecting me to dig deep inside myself, find some inner strength, and roar my baby out. I couldn't do it. Thoughts floated around in my head, that maybe I was just too weak, my pain tolerance is too low, I just can't do it without an epidural. Will drove me an hour to Tampa General and it took forever to check me in. People were asking me questions during contractions, asking me to sign papers, moving me around...it was miserable. We arrived around 5:30am. Shortly after I was put on the monitor, Liv's heart rate started dropping. No one was in the room except Will and I, and I felt instantly scared. I heard those little beats get slower and slower. I waited for someone to rush in, which only took about 20 seconds. I held my hand out for the oxygen mask. Around 6:30am, a doctor came in to talk to me about the possibility of another VBAC. He said my contractions were weak (I had an IUPC in at this point), my cervix was edematous (turns out, after my water broke, Liv went back up, turned, and my cervix closed slightly,  so then I was pushing against a "lip" of cervix which caused it to swell up) and the baby was having "decels." I held my hand up as he was telling me how pro-VBAC Tampa General is. I said, "I'd honestly rather just go ahead and have a section at this point. I'm worried about her, and I'm not going to risk her safety because I want to be stubborn." He said I was making the right choice and would let them know to get everything started. About an hour later, the began to prep me. I had to drink disgusting Bicitra, have a frigid Hibiclens bath, and then go to the OR to have my spinal and Foley placed. It took them a long time to do my spinal, and I think a resident was practicing on me, because after a while, a guy took over and it was done in 30 seconds. The operating doctor was a woman. She was very nice. I began to cry and asked her if she sews up all her layers. She probably thought I was insane. I asked her if they'd lower the drape so I could watch her come out, and if we could do immediate skin to skin.  She agreed that we could. I I felt them tugging around at my belly, and soon they were in. Sure enough,  Liv was facing up, wedged in my pelvis, with the cord around her neck and her hand next to her face. The doctor mentioned that that my lower uterine segment looked very thin. I knew I felt that scar pain for a reason; I could have ruptured and we both could have died. They lowered the drape as she came out but I was leaning back and couldn't see her until the doctor was holding her up. She looked so beautiful to me. She was born at 8:27am, and weighed 6lb, 11oz.

The next thing I knew was that I could feel everything they were doing to my stomach. Because they hadn't actually begun to close my incision yet, they had to knock me out. I didn't get my skin to skin experience. It seems like I was out for a long time. I dreamed that I was dead. I was in a big, white, empty room. I was alone, but I felt Eli's presence. I told him I had died, and that I would get to see him very shortly. Then I was moving from the room on a stretcher, but it looked like a couch. It wheeled me around for what felt like hours, and then I began to wake up. My vision was so blurry at first. I found myself staring hard at the monitors before I realized what I was looking at. I heard voices tell me to quit touching things, and to leave my pulse ox alone. I began to ask if Olivia was ok, where she was, where was my husband, was she still a girl,  how much did she weigh, etc.

I was finally taken back to recovery where I got to see them bathing my girl. I was in a fog from all the medication I had received. She was given to me (I remember being a bit worried because I was SO groggy) to breastfeed. Luckily,  I didn't have to do anything; she sucked like a high-power vacuum! I was amazed at how much beautiful black hair she had.

I asked for water and they told me no. I asked for ice chips and they told me no. They said I'd throw up. I told them I wouldn't,  my mouth was dry and I needed something. I was told I could rub a wet washcloth around my mouth. My husband got a mountain dew, so I threatened him and drank half the bottle while the nurses were out of my "room." I didn't throw up,  by the way.

Liv nursed forever, all the way back to the postpartum unit, which for some odd reason must have been on the opposite side of the hospital (or it just felt that way, because I was doped up).

Recovery was tough. I was alone the first night,  because Will had to be home with Ben. I couldn't get anything for pain except Toradol in those first 24 hours, and it didn't help much. I asked them to take my Foley out right at 8pm, as well as my IV. I got motrin until 8:30 am and then could finally get Percocet. I could barely pull myself out of bed. I've never been in so much pain. They had to remove some scar tissue from my first c-section, and my incision was quite a bit longer. I also had a lot of swelling from pushing for so long. Friday I began to experience a headache, which got worse as the day went on. It was positional; if I were to lie flat, it went away. If I sat up or stood, it was a throbbing frontal headache. This is called a spinal headache, and it kept me in the hospital an extra day. I thought I was going to need a blood patch, but strong medicine, hydration, and lots of caffeine eventually kicked it.

When my milk came in, I had way too much, which caused me a lot of pain. I was already engorged by day 2. I remember crying in the shower as I was waiting for pain medicine. Everything hurt. The next day,  my nipples were cracked and bleeding from nursing all night. Olivia was tongue-tied and has a high-arching palate. They were able to correct the tongue tie in the hospital,  but the damage had already been done. Nursing was excruciating. The left side was the worst, so I began to pump on that side and continued to nurse on the right. We gave her a bottle of pumped milk first, and then I nursed her on the right side. That system worked pretty well. Once we went home, a friend brought over a nipple shield,  which I used for about a week, along with prescription nipple ointment to heal the damaged areas. We are now nursing wonderfully with no shield.

I just stopped taking Vicodin 2 days ago. I'm able to actually get in and out of bed without crying out now. At one point, Will and my friend Natalie had to lift me into the bed while I screamed. Poor Ben...He was so scared to see mommy like that.

I'm struggling now with why everything happened the way it did. Why couldn't I have her at home? I raised all the money I needed, plus some. I pushed with everything I had. I prayed. Why did I end up being hacked up again? Yes, I was blessed with a beautiful baby girl, and she is healthy, but I was also left with a jagged angry scar across the small thin one that had faded from Eli's birth. In some ways, this birth was healing. It was symbolic to me, that I had her the same way I had Eli. That they reopened his scar to pull her out. But then there's the bitterness. I cry when I see homebirth and waterbirth photos now. I feel like a giant failure. I wanted so badly to hold my baby against my chest as I cried tears of joy. I wanted to have special photos of that amazing moment. The last year has been so confusing. So full of grief and joy mixed together. Somehow I know God will make something beautiful out of this mess of my life....but it's hard to see it now.

Thoughts after Olivia's Birth

It has been a long time since I've written here. I've scribbled my thoughts in various notebooks, on pieces of paper, etc. It is probably a good idea to keep everything organized. And even somewhat public, so that perhaps I can reach someone, one day, who is going through something similar. Things seem so desolate now, but there's hope for a brighter future, and maybe someone else can benefit from that hope.

Olivia was born 11 days ago. I like to call her Liv, as it reminds me to do so: live. She is my beacon of hope, light, love. She is my tiny newborn, created in grief, grown inside my body alongside my broken heart. Somehow I feel like she felt it with me, the loss, the misery, the sadness. I had wondered if she'd be a sad baby. While she doesn't seem sad, she is calm, relaxed, and quiet. She is beautiful. She is amazing. She is mine.

And yet...she's not mine. She belongs to God. And it frustrates me to say that. I remember a time, before losing my son, when I might have thought something cliche like, "Oh, my children belong to the Lord. If He decided to take one, it'd be so horrible and hard to get through, but I would trust Him and His plans." While I believe this is true, it is different living through it. Sometimes, I almost feel bitter....to look at my baby, and know that I have no control over whether she lives or dies, because if God chooses for her to die, then she will die. I don't believe God is sitting up in Heaven thinking, "How can I ruin Sarah's day today?" I know that He loves me. I know that, like I said, His plan is perfect. But in my humanity, my weakness, my flesh...I can't see that. I can't understand with my tiny earthly mind, that Eli was meant to go to Heaven at 2 years and 2 weeks old. All I feel right now is fear, anxiety, tension....wondering how old Olivia will be when I wake up to find her dead in her bassinet, or what Ben will be doing when he dies; will he be hit by a car? Fall into a pond? Have some strange cancer? I find myself thinking, "When and how will they die," instead of "Will they die?" Because the inconceivable has hit me once, I know now that I am not invincible. Instead, I am terminal. My life is but a vapor. My children's lives are vapors. I'm trying to focus on the truth: That Eli is in Heaven, and I will see him again soon....although my years here will seem like so long. I will have an eternity with him there. And whether my children die young or old, I'll see them again too.

In 5 days, Eli will have been gone for 9 months. It is still incredibly hard to accept that he is gone. Sometimes, I think my mind tries to believe he never existed, or that Ben and Eli are one and the same. As I rocked Ben before bed tonight, I stroked his hair away from his forehead and admired his long eyelashes. I was instantly taken back in time, to when I sat in the same bedroom, but stroked the hair of a different boy, and admired a different set of beautiful long lashes. I remember carefully tugging an Elmo shirt over a head full of chestnut brown hair, pulling on his blue cotton shorts, and brushing his teeth. He didn't struggle at all that night when I brushed his teeth. I told him what a good job he did. I tucked him into bed with his big Cars blanket. And I sat down, exhausted, to work on my doula website on the computer...which I ended up completely redoing anyway. Eli kept walking out of his room over and over, but I told him to go back to bed because 1) it was time for bed, but 2) because I wanted to relax. Now I feel guilt over wanting to spend time working on some stupid website instead of spending time with my boy on his last night with us...but how could I have known? I couldn't. So now I wonder; is this their last night? Did I love them enough? Did I love him enough? Did he know how much I loved him? Would Olivia remember me as a mommy who loved her? Would she remember me at all?

There are so many thoughts and emotions buried in my soul, stuck into little corners of my broken heart. I can't process them all at once, so they come leaking out. Writing helps me to think about them, to process them....but even after writing this short amount, I feel overwhelmed. Spent. I want to zone out and forget that I lost the little boy I loved so much. I want to forget that I'm forgetting him. I wish I could find him somewhere. He's never coming back and it hurts to type those words! He is never, ever, ever coming back to me on earth.

I'm not going to proofread this or edit it, because I think emotions are best left raw. Excuse any typographical errors .