This is a post completely unrelated to Kat but is what's currently going around my mind and it's related to things I wrote about quite some time ago: the inherent danger in not understanding your own mind and not talking about things that happen to you or upset you or that just don't feel quite right.
Yesterday I started a course of Provera, which is a progesterone tablet. I have to take it for 9 days to give a boost to Mirena (an IUD) which has been ineffective at stopping my periods. I've had almost constant bleeding for the six months since it was put in and I'm exhausted, run down and can't keep going like this. So I went to the doctor who prescribed this short course of Provera as a trial before we resort to removing the Mirena and going back on the pill. The problem is that within an hour or so of taking the first tablet I started to feel PMS symptoms coming on. All afternoon I was teary for no apparent reason then last night after the second dose I was very tightly wound and edgy. That was when I realised I felt pre-menstrual and that the Provera had probably given me those symptoms.
I told Michael about it and he just said "right, tell me what I can do to make it easier for you". At which I burst into tears and hugged him. Of course.
I've had trouble with my periods ever since my very first one when I was 11. They have been very heavy and extremely painful ever since. I used to get a bit of depression with them rather than feeling "moody" or "cranky" but after Sienna was born I also used to get very, very tense. After about 2.5 years I finally gave in and went back on the pill (which I had been hoping to never take again) when, at the age of 28 I was seriously considering asking for a hysterectomy. The thing that finally made me decide to go back on the pill though was saying to my then husband (in a tongue in cheek manner) "I need to do something to sort out my hormonal problems because when I go through menopause you'll probably leave me". He sat bolt upright and said "will you do something to fix that then... I don't want to be someone who is divorced in their 40s, I want to be married at 90 to the same person". And so I did it - more for him than me. So I could try to be less annoying and ensure our future harmony.
After 3 years with Michael I'm still surprised when he demonstrates that he really, truly, honestly does just accept me exactly as I am. He loves me exactly as I am. He wants nothing more than to be with me, love me, support me when I need it and to receive all of that from me in return. It doesn't surprise me that he is like that; it surprises me that I have that in my life.
Michael was my third boyfriend (discounting school romances). The first one lasted a year and was abusive. I was fat (at a size 10 - I had "plenty of padding" and he bought me a size 14 dress because there was no way a 10 would fit me); I wasn't as pretty as my friends; his mother called me a whore (I saw her last time I was in town and the bitch had the nerve to smile at me like we were old friends); he would get up and leave me alone at functions where I didn't know anyone apart from him and then tell me he thought I'd "tag along" (like a freaking puppy) - when I got upset I was "guilt tripping him", actually when I got upset about him turning up to one of my family functions two hours late I was also "guilt tripping him"; I wasn't as smart, worldly or sophisticated as him and couldn't dress myself without his assistance (i.e. approval); but worst of all, when he sexually assaulted me the reason I cried about it was that I was a terrible girlfriend for not wanting him in the first place... when I was sick and in pain.
My ex-husband was my second boyfriend and I married him at 19 after 18 months together. Even in hindsight and with all the negative things I can and do say about him, I don't see it as a "bad" marriage. It wasn't "good", especially for the first 4 years we were together, but it wasn't "bad". I don't consider there to have been abuse or... well, much of anything really. Having said that, I spent 12 years being told to stop. Don't sing; don't dance; don't laugh; don't talk. Cut my hair. Dress differently. Don't have my own friends. I was told I was boring and terrible in bed. He would tell me I was beautiful and then show me with his actions that I was hideously unattractive to him. Of course, if I ever complained about his actions I was mean and controlling and he couldn't be expected to change anything. If I ever got angry about things he did he would get angry about my anger - I didn't have the right to be offended by him apparently.
I still basically think of myself as a generally annoying person. I still think that Michael must surely be upset and annoyed with me on a regular basis. I still think he will get sick of me. I still think when he tells me that I don't annoy him or upset him that it must prove he doesn't know me very well.
I wonder sometimes (OK, a lot) what it would have been like to have been loved by Michael since I was 18, which is when we would have met if I hadn't stayed at home and gotten married. I wonder what it would have been like to have the acceptance and love I have now - THEN. I wonder what it would have done to my life. I know that at that time I was already experiencing post-traumatic type symptoms; I know that the main reason I stayed home and got married at all instead of going off to uni was the phobias I had about people and public places. It was already there, but the social awkwardness/ineptitude came later. It came when I had dragged myself so far down into that stagnant, depressed life that I couldn't bear for people to see or hear me. I also know that just before I met Michael I was the happiest and most self-confident I had ever been. Being loved by him, having absolute acceptance of myself just the way I am, has given me extraordinary and unexpected freedom. I have that same independence and surety in my own strength and abilities I found when I was single but I have the support at home to apply it to anything I want.
Strange but true story to finish with. For about 2 years before I met Michael (i.e. about a year before I ended my first marriage) I believed I had a guardian angel called Michael. Every night when I lay down to sleep I would hear the words "I love you" in my head; it felt like a caress and was filled with a tenderness and depth of feeling I had certainly never known or received. Finally, I asked the question one night "who are you?" The name Michael came to mind. I thought it was an angel. Some time later (but while still married) I had a dream that I was swimming with my family (as it existed then) and the pool started to flood. There was panic everywhere and I grabbed the kids to try and swim to safety. We swam away from my ex and I was swimming towards a man with a brown beard who was sitting perfectly still and calm in a dry place, just quietly watching me. The kids and I reached him and I was filled with happiness. I didn't even look around to see where my ex (then husband) was. When I first met Michael I was completely caught up in getting to know this person who was by far and away simply the most stunning human being I had ever met. I was amazed by his mind, drawn to his face and I fell in love with his beautiful heart. We'd been together about a month or more before it hit me out of the blue one day - MICHAEL. Michael with a brown beard (well, goatee). Maybe he wasn't an angel after all?
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Saturday, August 13, 2011
Open Letter to Anyone Who Has Ever Visited an Infant Grave
It's been almost two years since we lost our daughter Kathryn. I can tell you in minute detail what her grave looks like; where it is located, what her plaque looks like and what is written on it. I can tell you that there are baby boys buried on each side of her and that she is in a row of infant graves, most of which only have the one date on the plaques, like Kat's.
Due to unfortunate (and terrible, horribly unfair) circumstances, we moved less than two months after Kat died. We now live a day's drive away from where Kat is buried.
Let me state right up that Michael and myself dislike graves looking like shrines. We don't like little toys and trinkets being left over graves. On a few occasions we have been given little bits and pieces and they are kept with Kat's things. We also don't like artificial flowers that get left to fade and fray. However, I know by looking down the row of infant graves that Kat is buried in our distaste for scattering "things" over a baby's grave puts us in a very small minority; by taking a quick scan around the cemetery I can see that our distaste for artificial flowers on graves also puts us in a minority.
If we still lived in the same town that Kat is buried her grave would have fresh flowers placed on it every week. I would lovingly tend them in our garden, pick them each week and take to her. I would kneel down on her resting place and talk, cry, sob, scream, feel, hug my family..... all the things I do when I still have occasion to go to the grave, only now I buy the flowers as I go through town instead of growing them myself.
But we don't still live there and it is our choice to not leave artificial flowers or "things" on her grave. To the other parents, relatives and friends of deceased babies her grave probably looks deserted. To us, artificial flowers and a shrine would underline that feel. We believe that fading fake flowers look as though a person thinks that they don't "have to" tend a grave because it has been decorated already.
Please understand that we pass no judgment on how other people choose to keep their loved ones' graves. This is just our personal position.
And so I would really appreciate it if the person who puts artificial flowers from the grave next to Kat's on to Kat's grave would stop doing so. Each time we go there I put those flowers back where they came from and each time I go back there they are again.
Our baby has not been deserted. A lack of artificial flowers and "things" on her grave does not indicate that we care any less for her than people who choose to adorn graves care for their babies. Leaving Kat's grave behind was probably the single most difficult thing about moving - among a very long list of extremely difficult things about that move and the circumstances surrounding it. We were robbed of the chance to tend our daughter's grave, to visit it just because we felt like it. There are now only rare occasions that we or our families are able to visit and leave fresh flowers. Each time someone goes there feels like a special occasion instead of the normal part of grieving it should be. It is heartbreaking for us. But artificial flowers and toys are not our answer; this is simply our wish and it is one that is our choice and ours alone to make.
Due to unfortunate (and terrible, horribly unfair) circumstances, we moved less than two months after Kat died. We now live a day's drive away from where Kat is buried.
Let me state right up that Michael and myself dislike graves looking like shrines. We don't like little toys and trinkets being left over graves. On a few occasions we have been given little bits and pieces and they are kept with Kat's things. We also don't like artificial flowers that get left to fade and fray. However, I know by looking down the row of infant graves that Kat is buried in our distaste for scattering "things" over a baby's grave puts us in a very small minority; by taking a quick scan around the cemetery I can see that our distaste for artificial flowers on graves also puts us in a minority.
If we still lived in the same town that Kat is buried her grave would have fresh flowers placed on it every week. I would lovingly tend them in our garden, pick them each week and take to her. I would kneel down on her resting place and talk, cry, sob, scream, feel, hug my family..... all the things I do when I still have occasion to go to the grave, only now I buy the flowers as I go through town instead of growing them myself.
But we don't still live there and it is our choice to not leave artificial flowers or "things" on her grave. To the other parents, relatives and friends of deceased babies her grave probably looks deserted. To us, artificial flowers and a shrine would underline that feel. We believe that fading fake flowers look as though a person thinks that they don't "have to" tend a grave because it has been decorated already.
Please understand that we pass no judgment on how other people choose to keep their loved ones' graves. This is just our personal position.
And so I would really appreciate it if the person who puts artificial flowers from the grave next to Kat's on to Kat's grave would stop doing so. Each time we go there I put those flowers back where they came from and each time I go back there they are again.
Our baby has not been deserted. A lack of artificial flowers and "things" on her grave does not indicate that we care any less for her than people who choose to adorn graves care for their babies. Leaving Kat's grave behind was probably the single most difficult thing about moving - among a very long list of extremely difficult things about that move and the circumstances surrounding it. We were robbed of the chance to tend our daughter's grave, to visit it just because we felt like it. There are now only rare occasions that we or our families are able to visit and leave fresh flowers. Each time someone goes there feels like a special occasion instead of the normal part of grieving it should be. It is heartbreaking for us. But artificial flowers and toys are not our answer; this is simply our wish and it is one that is our choice and ours alone to make.
Thursday, June 16, 2011
Bullying, Stillbirth Statistics and the Danger of Silence.
My son got in trouble at school today for fighting. I was shocked and appalled when I heard what he had done. He and two other boys had, I was told, been hitting another boy with sticks. I was angry and embarrassed that my son had engaged in this behaviour. I have always told him that "it is never OK to hit", that violence is never, under any circumstances, acceptable.
As the story unfolded, I discovered that my son was involved on the outskirts of this fight. He was not holding any sticks. One child was hitting with a stick, or a plank (that part of the story varied from my son to the school principal to the mother who saw the incident and reported it to the principal), another was throwing what I gather to have been pine cones or something similar and my son was circling around, possibly (or probably) kicking.
I know. Appalling. As I already said, I was very angry and embarrassed that my son was involved in any such thing.
What neither the school principal or the school mum knew is that my son was being teased by the other boy about his sister's death.
This boy, fairly new at the school, had just discovered that my son has a sister at school and asked him if he has any other sisters. My son answered that he has four sisters including one who died when she was still in my tummy. The boy proceeded to taunt my son about his sister being weak and diseased. A fight broke out and two other boys got involved on my son's behalf. Both of those boys have also been touched by stillbirth - one had an older brother who was stillborn and the other knew a family friend had been stillborn.
I am broken. My son, my little boy, was teased at school for his sister's death. He was taunted about it by a boy who he has to sit in class with every day. When talking didn't stop it, he hit out and was punished for it while the other boy was not. I don't know where to go from here. I don't know how to kiss him goodbye five days a week and send him into the place where that happened. I don't know how to tell him to rise above it and to not let himself stoop to the level of someone who would do such a thing. I don't know how to raise this with the school. I'm lost. Lost and broken.
The school principal was horrified and dumbstruck to discover that my son had been teased about his sister dying. She was clearly floundering in the situation; that does not, to my mind, however excuse or forgive her next statement. She suggested that my son be told that talking about his sister be something that he only does with his family and that he shouldn't talk about it at school.
The statistics of stillbirth are shocking. According to a video put out by the Stillbirth Foundation of Australia citing the Australian Bureau of Statistics, in 2006 "2952 men died from prostate cancer; 2643 adults died from breast cancer; 2091 babies were stillborn; 1648 people died from skin cancer; 795 women died from ovarian cancer; 66 babies died from SIDS." And yet there is a cone of silence surrounding stillbirth. Those of us who experience the stillbirth of a baby will also at some point most likely feel pressured to remain silent about our lost babies. There is a large community, if you know where to look, made up of fellow grieving parents. We talk together and share our grief. It is very common in these circles to hear about the silence surrounding stillbirth.
I know all too well how dangerous it is to remain silent in grief. I was younger than my son is now when my mother was diagnosed with cancer. I was 12 when she died. My mother was a rather secretive person and we lived in small towns; she loathed the thought of people talking about her and her illness and was fairly strong in her desire that we not tell anyone about it. I well and truly took that to heart. I didn't talk about it to anyone. Not when she was sick, not when she was dying and not when she died. It became a habit and it took me 20 years to get over it.
As a direct result of that silence i.e. due to my reticence to talk about anything to anyone, during that 20 years I got into an abusive relationship in which I endured emotional abuse and a sexual assault. I threw my young adulthood away and got married at 19 to someone I, at the time, didn't really love but who offered me an alternative to going out into the world - or an hour away to uni - and the chance to have a family. I engaged in self loathing. I endangered my health with my eating habits and lack of activity, gaining about 40kg and making myself as physically unattractive as I could.
Eventually, through growing self-awareness and then lots of time spent walking and turning everything over in my mind, I came to terms with all of it. I picked myself back up and started to move on with my life. Sometimes the old demons still come out to play: when my ex-husband attempted to force me to have sex with him after we separated I found myself once again gripped by panic and distorted body image; when my daughter died I began to suffer again from anxiety and social phobias.
I don't want my children, or anyone else, to suffer in silence. I don't want to see them make the same mistakes I made, repeat the same behaviours I lived with for so long. I have always, ever since my son was born, dreamed of the lives they will live. I want them to be fearless and to believe that if they work hard they will achieve any goal they set for themselves. I want them to take on the world. I want them to be happy.
So, no, I will not tell my son that he mustn't talk to his friends and peers about his dead sister. I will not begin him and, by extension, my daughters as well, on the road to silence. I know that road only leads to disaster.
When Kathryn died I insisted that we, as a family, see a therapist. I said then, and I repeat now, that I didn't want my children's lives to be defined by the death of their sister.
We, and they, will always remember her. We will always talk about her. We will always include her in our family.
To anyone who is uncomfortable about that: I sincerely hope that you never, ever experience the death of a child. But if you do, I will be here to listen to every word you say about it.
And to the mother of the boy that my son and his friends fought with today, I am sincerely sorry that your son was subjected to that. I do not, have not ever and will not ever condone violence. I'm still angry and embarrassed that my son was involved in that.
As the story unfolded, I discovered that my son was involved on the outskirts of this fight. He was not holding any sticks. One child was hitting with a stick, or a plank (that part of the story varied from my son to the school principal to the mother who saw the incident and reported it to the principal), another was throwing what I gather to have been pine cones or something similar and my son was circling around, possibly (or probably) kicking.
I know. Appalling. As I already said, I was very angry and embarrassed that my son was involved in any such thing.
What neither the school principal or the school mum knew is that my son was being teased by the other boy about his sister's death.
This boy, fairly new at the school, had just discovered that my son has a sister at school and asked him if he has any other sisters. My son answered that he has four sisters including one who died when she was still in my tummy. The boy proceeded to taunt my son about his sister being weak and diseased. A fight broke out and two other boys got involved on my son's behalf. Both of those boys have also been touched by stillbirth - one had an older brother who was stillborn and the other knew a family friend had been stillborn.
I am broken. My son, my little boy, was teased at school for his sister's death. He was taunted about it by a boy who he has to sit in class with every day. When talking didn't stop it, he hit out and was punished for it while the other boy was not. I don't know where to go from here. I don't know how to kiss him goodbye five days a week and send him into the place where that happened. I don't know how to tell him to rise above it and to not let himself stoop to the level of someone who would do such a thing. I don't know how to raise this with the school. I'm lost. Lost and broken.
The school principal was horrified and dumbstruck to discover that my son had been teased about his sister dying. She was clearly floundering in the situation; that does not, to my mind, however excuse or forgive her next statement. She suggested that my son be told that talking about his sister be something that he only does with his family and that he shouldn't talk about it at school.
The statistics of stillbirth are shocking. According to a video put out by the Stillbirth Foundation of Australia citing the Australian Bureau of Statistics, in 2006 "2952 men died from prostate cancer; 2643 adults died from breast cancer; 2091 babies were stillborn; 1648 people died from skin cancer; 795 women died from ovarian cancer; 66 babies died from SIDS." And yet there is a cone of silence surrounding stillbirth. Those of us who experience the stillbirth of a baby will also at some point most likely feel pressured to remain silent about our lost babies. There is a large community, if you know where to look, made up of fellow grieving parents. We talk together and share our grief. It is very common in these circles to hear about the silence surrounding stillbirth.
I know all too well how dangerous it is to remain silent in grief. I was younger than my son is now when my mother was diagnosed with cancer. I was 12 when she died. My mother was a rather secretive person and we lived in small towns; she loathed the thought of people talking about her and her illness and was fairly strong in her desire that we not tell anyone about it. I well and truly took that to heart. I didn't talk about it to anyone. Not when she was sick, not when she was dying and not when she died. It became a habit and it took me 20 years to get over it.
As a direct result of that silence i.e. due to my reticence to talk about anything to anyone, during that 20 years I got into an abusive relationship in which I endured emotional abuse and a sexual assault. I threw my young adulthood away and got married at 19 to someone I, at the time, didn't really love but who offered me an alternative to going out into the world - or an hour away to uni - and the chance to have a family. I engaged in self loathing. I endangered my health with my eating habits and lack of activity, gaining about 40kg and making myself as physically unattractive as I could.
Eventually, through growing self-awareness and then lots of time spent walking and turning everything over in my mind, I came to terms with all of it. I picked myself back up and started to move on with my life. Sometimes the old demons still come out to play: when my ex-husband attempted to force me to have sex with him after we separated I found myself once again gripped by panic and distorted body image; when my daughter died I began to suffer again from anxiety and social phobias.
I don't want my children, or anyone else, to suffer in silence. I don't want to see them make the same mistakes I made, repeat the same behaviours I lived with for so long. I have always, ever since my son was born, dreamed of the lives they will live. I want them to be fearless and to believe that if they work hard they will achieve any goal they set for themselves. I want them to take on the world. I want them to be happy.
So, no, I will not tell my son that he mustn't talk to his friends and peers about his dead sister. I will not begin him and, by extension, my daughters as well, on the road to silence. I know that road only leads to disaster.
When Kathryn died I insisted that we, as a family, see a therapist. I said then, and I repeat now, that I didn't want my children's lives to be defined by the death of their sister.
We, and they, will always remember her. We will always talk about her. We will always include her in our family.
To anyone who is uncomfortable about that: I sincerely hope that you never, ever experience the death of a child. But if you do, I will be here to listen to every word you say about it.
And to the mother of the boy that my son and his friends fought with today, I am sincerely sorry that your son was subjected to that. I do not, have not ever and will not ever condone violence. I'm still angry and embarrassed that my son was involved in that.
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
I've written before about 'Golden Slumbers'.
It was originally sung by The Beatles and covered beautifully by Ben Folds for the 'I Am Sam' soundtrack. It was that version we had playing in the car once on our way to Newcastle for an appointment at the Maternal Fetal unit.
'Golden Slumbers' has been a favourite of Michael's for many years and he has performed it many times. As we listened to it that day I said 'hopefully you will sing that to our baby every night as a lullaby'. 'Hopefully' because at that stage fear was setting in for our baby. We didn't know then that we were having a girl, but as soon as we found out, 'Golden Slumbers' became 'Kat's Lullaby'.
A few short weeks later it became her funeral song. We had it played right at the end as her coffin was lowered.
When I was pregnant with Caira, the first time we went shopping for baby things the Ben Folds version came on in the shops. We laughed, cried, hugged and said hello to Kat who, it seemed, was joining us in our excitement for her little sister.
Yesterday Caira didn't sleep all day. As I tried to get her to sleep, in desperation I started singing 'Golden Slumbers' to her. She smiled a huge smile and stopped wriggling. She still didn't sleep, but it calmed her.
Later at night I was still trying to get her to sleep. After singing it myself for a while I played the song. It made Caira smile. It made me sob.
It was originally sung by The Beatles and covered beautifully by Ben Folds for the 'I Am Sam' soundtrack. It was that version we had playing in the car once on our way to Newcastle for an appointment at the Maternal Fetal unit.
'Golden Slumbers' has been a favourite of Michael's for many years and he has performed it many times. As we listened to it that day I said 'hopefully you will sing that to our baby every night as a lullaby'. 'Hopefully' because at that stage fear was setting in for our baby. We didn't know then that we were having a girl, but as soon as we found out, 'Golden Slumbers' became 'Kat's Lullaby'.
A few short weeks later it became her funeral song. We had it played right at the end as her coffin was lowered.
When I was pregnant with Caira, the first time we went shopping for baby things the Ben Folds version came on in the shops. We laughed, cried, hugged and said hello to Kat who, it seemed, was joining us in our excitement for her little sister.
Yesterday Caira didn't sleep all day. As I tried to get her to sleep, in desperation I started singing 'Golden Slumbers' to her. She smiled a huge smile and stopped wriggling. She still didn't sleep, but it calmed her.
Later at night I was still trying to get her to sleep. After singing it myself for a while I played the song. It made Caira smile. It made me sob.
Sunday, March 6, 2011
I haven't completed the thought that's been brewing in the back of my mind which I'm about to write down, so I don't really know yet where this post is going to end up.
Last week Kat's due date rolled around for the second time since she died. I've never considered 20 November to be her birthday; it was three months before her time and she was too little to have survived. Her body, her journey towards life was interrupted.
I didn't blog about it. I didn't put it on facebook. But I did make her a cake. It was a heart-shaped white chocolate and raspberry cake and Michael was the only other person who knew its significance. I didn't want to tell the kids. I want to be able to include Kathryn in our family without canonising her. I don't want her up on a pedestal. I don't want everything to do with her to take on a hushed, reverential tone and make Sienna cry. I just wanted to make my daughter a birthday cake and share it with our family.
I look at Caira now and I never - EVER - think that if Kat had lived, Caira wouldn't be here. I have heard other women who have been through this say that about their youngest child. They say that as much as they miss the baby who died, they know they wouldn't have had X if that baby was still here and they wouldn't be without X. Those women are a lot further, in terms of time, away from the loss of their babies than I am. They tell me that it took them years to reach the point of "being able" to say that. I truly don't believe I ever will and neither does Michael. It's true, we hadn't planned to have another baby after Kat. Even though as a kid/teenager I had always wanted four children and I feel extremely blessed to have now had those four children, we only wanted and planned to have one more child. But I look at Caira and I wish that we had her big sister who had just turned 1 here too. I wish Kat had been born alive and well and that a month later we had been completely shocked and a little bit horrified to discover I was pregnant again and had our baby girls 9 months apart.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
We went to my brother's house yesterday.
Recapping, my brother's first response to the death of my daughter was to book a flight from Darwin to be with me. When Dad told me he was coming I let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding. I so wanted my family to come to me but I didn't put any expectation into it. When I saw him at my front door I flew into his arms and sobbed.
My brother, sister in law and niece have just moved from Darwin and now live about an hour and a half away from us. I haven't lived this close to him since I was 8. Today is his birthday so we went up to see them yesterday. We all had such a beautiful day. He played with the kids in his usual fashion - dangling them upside down and taking them to look for snakes and to the park in equal measure. The kids loved every second of it. An orange butterfly stopped by to visit too. It fluttered past them, landed on a rock and stayed there.
Last week Kat's due date rolled around for the second time since she died. I've never considered 20 November to be her birthday; it was three months before her time and she was too little to have survived. Her body, her journey towards life was interrupted.
I didn't blog about it. I didn't put it on facebook. But I did make her a cake. It was a heart-shaped white chocolate and raspberry cake and Michael was the only other person who knew its significance. I didn't want to tell the kids. I want to be able to include Kathryn in our family without canonising her. I don't want her up on a pedestal. I don't want everything to do with her to take on a hushed, reverential tone and make Sienna cry. I just wanted to make my daughter a birthday cake and share it with our family.
I look at Caira now and I never - EVER - think that if Kat had lived, Caira wouldn't be here. I have heard other women who have been through this say that about their youngest child. They say that as much as they miss the baby who died, they know they wouldn't have had X if that baby was still here and they wouldn't be without X. Those women are a lot further, in terms of time, away from the loss of their babies than I am. They tell me that it took them years to reach the point of "being able" to say that. I truly don't believe I ever will and neither does Michael. It's true, we hadn't planned to have another baby after Kat. Even though as a kid/teenager I had always wanted four children and I feel extremely blessed to have now had those four children, we only wanted and planned to have one more child. But I look at Caira and I wish that we had her big sister who had just turned 1 here too. I wish Kat had been born alive and well and that a month later we had been completely shocked and a little bit horrified to discover I was pregnant again and had our baby girls 9 months apart.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
We went to my brother's house yesterday.
Recapping, my brother's first response to the death of my daughter was to book a flight from Darwin to be with me. When Dad told me he was coming I let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding. I so wanted my family to come to me but I didn't put any expectation into it. When I saw him at my front door I flew into his arms and sobbed.
My brother, sister in law and niece have just moved from Darwin and now live about an hour and a half away from us. I haven't lived this close to him since I was 8. Today is his birthday so we went up to see them yesterday. We all had such a beautiful day. He played with the kids in his usual fashion - dangling them upside down and taking them to look for snakes and to the park in equal measure. The kids loved every second of it. An orange butterfly stopped by to visit too. It fluttered past them, landed on a rock and stayed there.
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Confidence, where have you gone?
I've struggled with low self-esteem, self-consciousness, social anxiety and feelings of inadequacy for a very long time. It always comes out more in times of stress and, as I've learned in the last year, grief and trauma.
The thing is I'm feeling OK at the moment. I got over feeling swamped by a run of bad health (which is kind of continuing but I'm OK). I'm eating well and exercising. Losing weight and doing my best to focus on what I'm doing rather than only seeing how far I've still got to go - which doesn't come naturally to me and I have to make it a conscious effort. The kids are fine and we're all getting along really well. Michael and I are great. We're making all our wedding plans, saving as much as we can for it. We have a 5 year financial plan taking in the wedding, paying off debt and saving to build our house. On top of that we've been talking a lot about what we want for our future and we're both working at achieving our goals. I'm excited about what we're doing and where we're going.
So why do I feel all my old demons coming back out to play? I'm questioning everything I do and say. I feel constantly misheard or misunderstood, which I know means I'm not communicating properly. But I don't feel like I'm doing or saying anything differently all of a sudden. I feel awkward and clumsy. I just want to melt away and get out of everyone's way.
I really don't like myself when I get like this. What I hate even more though is that there's no obvious trigger for it this time. I'm on an even keel with Caira and haven't felt like I've had any trouble with PND. If anything I'd say I feel the best I ever have with a young baby. Maybe I've been in 'coping' mode for so long that now the pressure's off it's catching up with me.
I've struggled with low self-esteem, self-consciousness, social anxiety and feelings of inadequacy for a very long time. It always comes out more in times of stress and, as I've learned in the last year, grief and trauma.
The thing is I'm feeling OK at the moment. I got over feeling swamped by a run of bad health (which is kind of continuing but I'm OK). I'm eating well and exercising. Losing weight and doing my best to focus on what I'm doing rather than only seeing how far I've still got to go - which doesn't come naturally to me and I have to make it a conscious effort. The kids are fine and we're all getting along really well. Michael and I are great. We're making all our wedding plans, saving as much as we can for it. We have a 5 year financial plan taking in the wedding, paying off debt and saving to build our house. On top of that we've been talking a lot about what we want for our future and we're both working at achieving our goals. I'm excited about what we're doing and where we're going.
So why do I feel all my old demons coming back out to play? I'm questioning everything I do and say. I feel constantly misheard or misunderstood, which I know means I'm not communicating properly. But I don't feel like I'm doing or saying anything differently all of a sudden. I feel awkward and clumsy. I just want to melt away and get out of everyone's way.
I really don't like myself when I get like this. What I hate even more though is that there's no obvious trigger for it this time. I'm on an even keel with Caira and haven't felt like I've had any trouble with PND. If anything I'd say I feel the best I ever have with a young baby. Maybe I've been in 'coping' mode for so long that now the pressure's off it's catching up with me.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
