Stand in the Rain

This week has been pretty tough for me. Nothing happened, there wasn't a moment that made it all come crashing down. It was just a bad week.

I don't really have a mechanism for getting through tough times anymore. This experience of losing our child has stripped me of that capability. Yes, I'm surviving and carrying on, but it's not the same as living. I don't really know how to be truly happy anymore, to feel the light inside, to want to see what the day brings.

In the past, I've turned to other people who have gone through heartache to hear their words, to try to understand that through their example, maybe I can get through my trouble too. I've turned to Molly Barker, Founder of Girls on the Run, to read her words and through her find some strength. So, this morning, I turn to her again and I've spent the majority of this morning reading her blog. Molly is truly an amazing person. She has been through so much in her life, and somehow has found the strength and courage to not only pull herself back up onto her feet, but start an amazing organization that helps girls (and women) do the same.

Girls on the Run started back up here 3 weeks ago. I'm lucky enough to be coaching over at Ronald McNair this season. We have an amazing group of 12 girls. They come to each session with excitement in their eyes. And through them, I feel excited. I feel alive when I'm with them. I know that I can be myself and not be afraid of judgment, because we're all in the same boat. We're all just doing our thing.

I don't really know where I'm going with this. I'm just typing words. I guess what I'm saying is that reading Molly's words and being a part of Girls on the Run is a wonderful way to get through tough times. It helps me feel a little stronger. I'm really looking forward to Tuesday morning, when we meet again.

Speechless

So what do I write about now? Most people use their blogs as a way to "talk" about the things that cross their mind, both inane and meaningful. But I don't really have a lot crossing my mind other than just trying to get by. I have never really lived my life like that, just trying to get by. I've always had motivation, but now I don't really have much. When you are on course for a certain future and that future is suddenly taken from you, it's kind of hard to just move on. We're trying though.

It's really hard to talk about what we're going through with most people. Not because of the subject matter. It's easy for me to talk about it, it's a part of who I am. But talking to certain people is difficult because of how they react. Some people can actually listen and they get it but others are so incredibly uncomfortable. I was telling John this morning that it's those uncomfortable people that I want to talk to the most. They need to know that just because they want us to be "normal" because it makes them feel better doesn't mean that we actually are. Does that make sense? People that ignore what's going on with us make us feel insignificant. It makes us feel that our baby was somehow insignificant. Which he wasn't.

I guess if you're a regular reader of my blog you'll be pretty disappointed with my posts in the foreseeable future. I don't have a lot of amusing things happening in my life right now. Yes, there is still laughter and life. I mean, we have Keller to fill our days with laughter. But at the end of the day (and the beginning, middle, etc.) we feel like something is missing and that something will never be returned. Something was taken from us and while we only had it for a short time, that something will always be a part of us.

Pictures of You

I haven't written about this because writing it would mean that it actually happened.

On July 24th, we lost our baby.

I had been having bad abdominal pains all week. We had gone into the OB's office, had a sonogram, everything looked fine. The baby was perfect. But these pains just wouldn't stop.

Thursday evening they got really bad. And then I started bleeding. I knew it was not good. I went to the satellite ER that's near our house. John got one of our neighbors to come and stay with Keller and he joined me. We were there for a couple of hours. They did another sonogram and saw that the baby was in the birth canal and the placenta started to tear. I was in labor. The pain was unimaginable. I had multiple doses of morphine and dilaudid and it did nothing. It was awful.

They transferred me to Shady Grove Hospital. We delivered our baby in the early hours of Friday, July 24th. It was the single worst day of my life.

The last two months have been the hardest to get through. I have never experienced a hurt so bad before. I have never felt so empty and alone. We have had to try to be "normal" for Keller. He's definitely seen us upset and we've told him what happened. He understands to a certain degree, about as much as a 4-year old can understand.

I left my job. I couldn't possibly deal with this while working there. For the first time in my life I don't really give a damn about anything other than being true to my feelings and taking care of myself and my family. I just couldn't do that while working there. I left August 14th and haven't regretted it a single day. I working from home now, doing the marketing and promotion for Fleet Feet Sports, Gaithersburg. I've worked with them since 2006, so I feel good coming back full-time. And so far it's been good.

I can't really put into words how terrible this has been for us. Losing our child has been the absolute worst thing that has ever happened to us. We were almost halfway through the pregnancy. We made it through the cerclage surgery. We thought we were out of the woods. We thought we would be welcoming a new baby this winter.

We found out we had a boy. A little boy. Keller had a brother. My heart aches for what he has lost. I picture in my head what the two of them would have been like together. What trouble and fun they would have, what we all would have had. And now there will always be someone missing from our family.

We are doing the best we can. We take it day by day and some days are far better than others. I feel like I'm moving through life extremely slowly. I feel like I'm watching other people go on with their lives and I'm just sort of stuck here. Things go on, obviously, but in my heart, I'm stuck. I know I won't ever "get over" this and anyone that thinks you get over losing your child, born or not, is sadly mistaken. Just because we can have a conversation and perhaps laugh and smile, doesn't mean we're "better" and "over it." It means we are all right on the surface but deep down we're broken and trying to heal. There will always be a scar on my heart and this is now part of who I am. I am not the same person I was when I found out I was pregnant. I'm different, sadder, and a piece of me has died.

I'm writing this for a number of reasons. It helps me feel slightly lighter getting some of the emotion out. I leave pieces of my sadness everywhere. And that takes some of the weight off of me. I'm writing it so people will understand what a loss like this does to people. While everyone is different and how they grieve is different, losing a child like this is a multi-dimensional thing. It's different than other forms of grief and loss. It just is. And the term "miscarriage" just doesn't cover all the physical and emotional pain that comes with it. Miscarriage is an ugly word.

Lastly, I'm writing this to help other people going through this understand that they're not alone. While having friends and family supporting me has been extremely helpful, knowing other people going through this at the same time has also been helpful. Knowing that I can be sad and not explain why is more helpful than you would think.

Take care.