The Other Grieving Mothers

I have been battling depression for the last year and a half now at a minimum, if not longer. After Andrew was born I struggled with post-partum depression so severely that I begged my doctor to put me on anti-depressants. I knew that if I had a little boost to the chemicals in my brain, it would tip me into a place to become more productive. More "with" my family. And she agreed. After a few weeks I could feel the effects and by the time I had the levels in my system for almost 2 months I was acting alive again. I could contribute to our home more and enjoy my boys and our new son so much more. From what my doctor could tell I would be able to back off within a year of Andrew's birth that it was truly just a short-term need. I still believe that to this day.

Then Andrew died.

Talk about forget about me being on anything. I tanked. Who wouldn't I think.

I went to the doctor again and told her that my baby had just died with tears in my eyes and a quivering voice. I couldn't hardly go on. Had such difficulty living and getting up. I forced myself to go to work after 1 week of being off after he died. It was more to give me some sanity. Some normalcy. To be at a place where Andrew had never been. Although I don't believe I was extremely productive my first week back. Anyway, I asked if we should/could adjust my medication. And again she agreed with me.

In January of this year I headed in for my medication check-up and was glad to be reporting that I was finding certain interests returning. A general pleasure in life coming back to me. A sort of optimism. She was very encouraged with my report as was I. She reduced my medication to the pre-death of Andrew level and I was hopeful that I would be off of it by the 1 year anniversary of Andrew's death.

Then came the discovery that we were pregnant again. And, due to conflicting information on the effects of antidepressants on a fetus, I weaned myself a bit for a week and then dropped my medication. While this is not recommended by any doctor or pharmacist, I did not want the baby to  be in danger. Furthermore, the only way I could sleep while on my medication was to take a high level of sleeping medication. That meant 1 1/2 Ambien plus 2 over the counter sleep aids. Otherwise I was unable to sleep at night. The side effect I suffered from the antidepressant and a very nasty one at that since then I was knocked out and was unable to function for 10  hours afterwards. Ambien is considered extremely hazardous for a fetus. So to lower those levels, I had to be off the antidepressant. So for the next 2-3 weeks I suffered from extreme withdrawal. Headaches, extreme moodiness, shakiness, extreme fatigue (like I needed help with that feeling), lack of appetite and more. It was awful.

Tomorrow it is in 2 weeks that we find ourselves at the 1 year anniversary of his death. And I am so scared for that day. I find the depression falling upon me again and a part of me wishes I could take my medicine again to give me a little bit of a help. And then I wonder where my faith is in all of this? If I really see God as bigger than this, all-powerful and able to comfort me and take care of this, why don't I act like it? I have seen me heal me of depression. He did that when I was 19 and entangled in a double depression. (Now that's a nasty thing to have and was a tough time.)

But here I am struggling to be alive. To be present. I work so hard during the week. I am so busy during the work day trying to get everything done, trying to help out my teams so that their jobs are a little bit easier. And I try to stay on top of what they're doing. Some want more involvement from me. Others don't. And some desperately need it and are starting to realize how I can help them so I am getting more and more things to do to help them be more efficient.

And then on the weekends, I have given so much during the week, I practically collapse on the weekends from the physical exhaustion a 42 hour work week demands of me as this little life grows inside of me.

While I used to like the challenge of my job and want more responsibility, right now I wish it was not so demanding and stressful so that I had something left at the end of the day for the boys. And forget about me interacting with my husband. By the time the boys are put to bed, I am so tired, I want to relax for a few minutes, unwind and go to bed to start all over again the next day.

Hopefully this heaviness and depression will pass shortly after June 4th.

My Birthday

My birthday was Wednesday. I turned thirty-something. And enjoyed lunch with some friends from work and an evening with family. We celebrated my birthday, my brother-in-law's girlfriend's birthday and my mother-in-law's birthday while grilling out on the deck. May is a busy month for us. It starts with my oldest son's birthday and 8 additional birthdays, Mother's Day and our anniversary. Let's just say it's the second most expensive gift month of the year. Second only to Christmas.

And with my brother-in-law and his girlfriend comes our darling niece who is 6 months old now. She is doing the rocking that precedes crawling. And she's kind of starting to crawl but she crawls backwards. It made us chuckle as we watched her wiggle around in the living room on the floor. She was hamming it up and posing for the camera. Such a model she is.

After everyone left, and Mark and I were talking as we cleaned up. The boys had collapsed into bed after an evening of lots of play and activity. And I was feeling alive and good. A bit tired but kind of energized. I really enjoy when we entertain. At least, most of the time I do. So with the boys in bed I wanted to share an observation with Mark.

I have been noticing other babies that are around Andrew's age when he died. And it's hard not to do a comparison. I was always so proud of Andrew and considered him to be doing so good developmentally. I knew he was a little behind other babies his age. That is typical for preemies to be a bit behind and as they mature they begin to catch up. How quickly they catch up just depends on their environment and genetics, etc.

But I had always thought he wasn't a full 2 months behind. That is typically how the doctors consider them to be in development. I thought he was catching up really quickly. But in watching a few different babies since his death pass the 5 - 6 month marker and where they were at, I was beginning to see that he wasn't as far along as I had thought. So I shared this with Mark. How I was so blind to his development. Andrew was no where near that level of skill and motor coordination that his cousin displayed that night.

Now I don't think it was necessarily bad I was blind or didn't see where his true level was at. Since he died it's not a factor now and it wasn't at the time really. It probably would have at some point if I didn't change it. But I don't think it necessarily delayed him further when he was with us. And I didn't share this out of a feeling of guilt or feeling like a bad mother. More of just how silly I was. How blind my love was for him in this area. He was my little special and he was doing so well. And anything he did I thought he had conquered the world. I was his mother and I was proud of him for just being him.

An hour later, I collapsed into bed in my usual ungraceful manner that I now roll into it at night trying to get situated for the night and thought about what my birthday was like the year before. That also was a good birthday. We had our family party with the little special getting to taste ice cream. (Imagine that, he liked it. But he didn't like the tiny bit of cake he got to try.) I had lunch with some friends from work, got to catch up on the phone with another that couldn't make it to lunch and went to supper with some dear friends of mine with my husband. A date night with friends. It was good. And I ended that night putting the little guy to bed with a kiss on the forehead after sharing with him about my birthday as he just smiled all big and cooed at me.

And oddly at that time, we weren't aware that we were heading into our last weeks with him. Something I am counting the days to and am dreading.

A Day Covered by a Damp Blanket

Things have been going so well lately. So normal. So good. I felt so good yesterday and then I woke up today to a different story.

I thought I was fine until I tried to work out. I just couldn't get moving. I turned the treadmill off after a disappointing 5 minute, very slow pace, grabbed some cereal and went into the bedroom. I felt like lead. I felt so heavy. I felt so tired and I had no will to live through the day. Not suicidal. Just so down-hearted I didn't feel like I could face the day. I curled up into a ball and hid my face in the mattress snuggling under the covers. Sleep quickly came to me and for a few moments I was fine.

Mark came in after a little while to see if I was going to work.I couldn't even think of that. It was like a damp blanket had been laid upon me. One I couldn't seem to grasp to get off of me. It so handicapped my will I just rolled back up into a ball and shook my head at going to work. Mark left the room so that I could have some space.

I pretended that I was being held close in strong, safe arms as I drifted back into sleep.

I spent most of the day asleep and when I wasn't I laid or sat there staring off into space. It was hard to think. It was hard to function. And thankfully Mark was so patient.

By the end of the day I was feeling a bit better, getting back to feeling like myself again. So I was able to join my family for supper and have some time with the boys this evening while Mark went to KHOP for the Tuesday night prayer meeting.

At the conclusion of this day, I have a headache and a stomach-ache but my mood and emotional nature are evening out. Thank God. I hate these days and have known too many since Andrew died.

Definitely a blanket I do not want to keep or cling to.

Mother's Day

I had a most lovely weekend. We rested on Saturday and just enjoyed our time as a family. And Sunday was a treat. I was able to sleep in and actually almost chastised that I got up "early". I woke up at 8 am. So upon hearing that my husband thought I wouldn't get up until 10 I decided I'd take advantage of the opportunity and go back to bed. Then my boys made me breakfast and gave me handmade cards.

Ryan, the youngest, wrote that he loves me because I feed him. Alex loves me because I am the only mom that he has. And Samuel loves me because God created me and his dad to love him. Ok. By. It was so darling. And Mark found a lovely card as well. They were just delightful.

I have such dear boys. And for lunch I made my special pizza.

I don't remember what happened last mother's day. How I enjoyed it with my little special. But this one was just great. Again I ended the day with great joy and lightness of heart thinking that maybe this one year anniversary that approaches will not be so bad afterall.

A Night of Normalcy

Life during grief is not without its good and pretty normal times. At least, some good and normal times come after a period of time has passed anyway. And tonight was one of them.

Before supper, we prayed blessings over our home, our week and each member of the family. Enjoyed our dinner and after cleaning up the boys and I joined Mark outside where he had prepared a small fire for us in our firepit. I brought out the marshmellows and we enjoyed a few minutes around the fire showing the boys how to roast marshmellows.

Mark is of the camp that you don't burn your marshmellow but slow roast it to a nice golden brown. While I am in the camp of, go ahead and char the heck out of it if you want to. So we chuckled at our differences in style and how the boys kept landing their marshmellows into the logs. At one point Mark commented that Samuel was moving his stick around so fast that he was going to launch his marshmellow into Mark. That got me laughing so hard I started to cry.

It was a great evening topped off with our nightly Family Bedtime Theatre. That's just my silly way of making bedtime stories into something a little more fun. Probably more for me in title than for me. But we enjoyed some Mickey Mouse, Nemo and dinosaur opposites books to settle us in for the night.

So life can be normal. Hum-drum. Typical. Average.

Andrew may come to mind during the normal times. And sometimes he doesn't. And just because he does doesn't mean that I suddenly become sad or down-hearted. Right now it's no problem. He's not here. And I'm wondering if he would be crawling out of the crib by now or not. And I am fine.

My guess is that these times will continue to increase. There will still be times of grieving. Times of hardship. But it's coming.

Prenatal Visit #3 - A Doosie

How odd this all is.

This morning was prenatal visit #3 and once again, I was a ball of emotions and tears. Of course, this time, the doctor went over my basic history with pregnancies and deliveries. I hadn’t seen him since I was in the hospital with Andrew. He is a doctor that I do not enjoy seeing but find myself seeing him at least once in a pregnancy and always when I go into the hospital. In fact, he almost delivered Andrew and I was thankful that he didn’t. That is how much I do not favor being in his care.

Without much effort, he found the baby’s heartbeat and it was good and strong. I breathed a sigh of relief as I sat up to finish the appointment.

I wanted to get out there as soon as possible because of my dislike for this doctor. But on this day, he was a tad bit warmer than I normally find him. He actually had a bedside manner which helped with the conversation that followed. “I understand your last one died.” I thought I would be able to handle it as I replied, “yes” with control and unwavering candor. He looked at his laptop a bit more and I found myself adding, “He fought so hard at the beginning of his life and then lost it so early.”

He was patient and sympathetic.

“It was some kind of a fall correct?” He positioned his hands to type into his laptop.

“Yes.” I said as the knot formed in my throat.

“I just want to get this into your chart. So it was head trauma?”

Images of what may have happened at the moment that accident occurred flashed through my mind. His little body face down on our comforter in our bed room. His body lying on the bed in the Pediatric Intensive Care Unit in the hospital all hooked up to tubes and machines with his eyes closed. The 50-some page autopsy report.

“No.” Tears formed in my eyes and my voice cracked. “The medical examiner actually couldn’t find a cause of death.” Something that still perplexed me. I looked down at the floor. I couldn’t look at him anymore. I had to try to collect myself.

“We know he was without oxygen for quite a while so he must have had brain damage but,” another pause and I found myself able to look up at the doctor as tears rolled down my cheeks. “it’s hard to know how much since he didn’t survive.”

 To my surprise, the doctor stopped typing and pursed his lips together while looking at me with care. “I’m sorry. That is hard. How old was he?”

 “Five and a half months.”

 He began typing again. And I looked around the room until I found myself looking at his shoes. “June 4 is the one year anniversary of his death.” I said as my voice officially destabilized and I sniffled still trying to maintain some level of control. (I wasn’t winning though and my will to fight was becoming less and less as we discussed the topic.)

 

He stopped typing again. I was shocked. This was showing some sensitivity I thought this doctor lacked. It was nice to see. Evidentally it must be a good day for him.

From there he tried to comfort by saying the usual “others have it worse” thing. Yes others do. Others have lost all their children and their spouse at once. There are great tragic events like floods and monsoons and earthquakes that kill many hundreds or thousands at a time. And that is tragic as well. But boy did I want to tell him to shut up. It may be worse for someone else, but I still hurt. It doesn’t mean I don’t feel the pain and the loss. It doesn’t mean I’m going to stop thinking of him when I wake up and when I lie down to go to sleep. It doesn’t mean that when I see another baby I don’t think of him. That when I see his picture I don’t feel this tremendous amount of sorrow over not having him around anymore. So DON’T TELL ME THAT SOMEONE HAS IT WORSE AS THOUGH THAT WILL SUDDENLY MAKE MY GRIEF, PAIN, AGONY AND LOSS DIMINISH.

 I have to walk through this awful grieving process. I have to try to help my children grieve. And I still have to keep moving on. And I am moving on. I am coping. And it’s awful but it’s what has to be done. And DON’T YOU DARE MINIMIZE IT BY SAYING THAT SOMEONE ELSE’S WORSE TRAGEDY, while it is a tragedy and awful, SHOULD MAKE ME INSTANTLY GET OVER THE PAIN OF LOSING MY DEAR, PRECIOUS SON!

Gosh, I hate these doctor visits.

I left there in a daze.

 Crying. Lost. Upset. Bewildered. Empty. Lonely. Alone.

 Crying and crying out. Hurting and hurting out. Upset.

I was unable to go to work for another 30 minutes or so. I had to take time to let it out. To cry. Then I went to work. Still crying. But I have a proposal going out. Maybe it would help me get my mind on something else. Getting things started at the office, while crying. I got my water with tears. Hoping no one would notice. And yet wanting someone to notice. Wishing I could get a hug from a friend.

 

How am I going to handle the anniversary of his death?  You want people to remember and  say something. And yet you don’t want anyone to notice. And yet if they don’t remember or say anything then you feel upset that no one remembered  or said anything. How odd is this. How odd this all is.