Hiding out.

I’ve been struggling with the right words to write – the right topics to share – the right depth of honesty to bring to the table.

I’ll admit I’ve been frustrated. I’ve been frustrated with the lack of understanding from person to person. The struggle to get pregnant is a very personal one. For someone to tell me to “be positive” about it is offensive. They don’t know my inner struggle with intimacy. They don’t know how desperate I feel about having another child. Trying to get pregnant after losing a child is different than plain old trying to get pregnant. Trying to get pregnant WITH fertility issues is different than trying to get pregnant without. Having gotten pregnant easily, right after your baby died, is different than waiting now 7 months to become pregnant after your baby died. Trying for 18 months, is different than trying for 7. It’s a touchy subject for me. I don’t necessarily want someone else’s opinion. You read that right - - I DON’T.

I don’t like to be asked if I’m pregnant yet. I don’t like someone to ask where I am in my cycle or treatment process. Looking back over the last couple months has made me evaluate how much I want to share – what is too much, and what is too little. I think it all really boils down to how I feel about it - - if I want someone to know about it, I’ll share. Otherwise, don’t bother bringing it up. Like it isn’t a smack in the face?? Like it’s your business??

I’m starting to feel more excited for the holidays. My heartache is so heavy and constant over Isaac being dead, but we’re finding ways to include him. He’s mine. He’s unique, he’s real. I would have done for him had he lived, why should I lose out on that now??

Below are the kids for Halloween. They are darling. They give me so much joy. I’ll admit I think about the blessing of being able to “start over” with a new baby ALL of the time, but it has not taken away how much I LOVE my older babies now. I cherish and enjoy each and every day with them - - because really, who is to say that this isn’t it for me, too?? Love who you have. All the time.

Love, Misty

In order:
Isaac's pumpkin.
Olivia as a clown.
Ian as a ninja.
Hannah as a butterfly.

No dice.

Well, friends. Nothing happy to report here. My period started today. I'm feeling empty and sad tonight. But. Any child I have dreamed of before in the past, has been worth the effort and heartache it's taken to conceive him or her.

There is a lack of understanding when it comes to trying to conceive after you've had a child die. I'd had a lot of reactions. Most reactions could have been remedied with my middle finger, but I chose the higher ground. To ignore. To bite my tongue. Some people just don't get it.

They don't get what this next baby means to me. This next baby means that I am NOT done bearing children. This next baby means hope. Means new life. Means another chance. Another dream. This child means a dream come true. There is NOTHING more important to me, besides my faith, my husband, that compares to how I feel about motherhood. It IS my calling in life.

This next child does not mean I am replacing my dead child. Isaac's place in our family is secure and forever. The desire to raise another child did not die along with Isaac. The desire grew.

When Isaac died, my security did. The security I placed in knowing my dreams would come true died with him. People say to me "at least you KNOW you can get pregnant again". People say "at least you KNOW you can have healthy children".

Do I KNOW that? No. No, I do not. I "KNEW" Isaac would be born and that he was mine to raise. I took my pregnancy for granted. What I did not "know", was what was ahead. I did not KNOW he would die. I did not KNOW he would be diagnosed with a fatal birth defect, that he would die in my arms.

I do now KNOW if I can get pregnant again. I do not KNOW if I will have a healthy baby. My fate isn't my own choice. All I KNOW is that I want another baby. All I KNOW is that I am going to try. I don't KNOW if I have faith. I don't KNOW if God hears me.

All I have is my dream. And what is most important to me. For now anyway.

I know I am broken. That I am tired. That all I have right now is what I can claim for myself that is tangible. All I have is my dreams, what ever is left of them. That's what I KNOW. Anything beyond that? Some one else has those answers.

Uncle.

I've found myself anxious over getting pregnant again. Mainly because I REALLY want to be pregnant but I am PRETTY sure I am not. And, I'll be honest. I'm a little angry - well, maybe A LOT angry about it. Isaac already died. I carried that baby for God. The least He could do would to let me get pregnant right away, right?? I'm fully aware that's not how it works. I've gotten the short end of the stick for much of my life.... abandoned by both biological parents and adoptive parents. Molested. Beaten. Abused. Neglected. That was enough right?? Not so. I had to have the death of my youngest child thrown in there to. What's next? Job loss?? The death of my spouse? Something worse? Trust me, I don't rule it out. But. I will tell you this. I. Am. Broken. In pieces. I cry UNCLE. I cried it months ago.

I stumbled across this website this morning: www.recover-from-grief.com. I pulled off the information below:

7 Stages of Grief...

1. SHOCK & DENIAL-
You will probably react to learning of the loss with numbed disbelief. You may deny the reality of the loss at some level, in order to avoid the pain. Shock provides emotional protection from being overwhelmed all at once. This may last for weeks.

2. PAIN & GUILT-
As the shock wears off, it is replaced with the suffering of unbelievable pain. Although excruciating and almost unbearable, it is important that you experience the pain fully, and not hide it, avoid it or escape from it with alcohol or drugs.

You may have guilty feelings or remorse over things you did or didn't do with your loved one. Life feels chaotic and scary during this phase.

3. ANGER & BARGAINING-
Frustration gives way to anger, and you may lash out and lay unwarranted blame for the death on someone else. Please try to control this, as permanent damage to your relationships may result. This is a time for the release of bottled up emotion.

You may rail against fate, questioning "Why me?" You may also try to bargain in vain with the powers that be for a way out of your despair ("I will never drink again if you just bring him back")

4. "DEPRESSION", REFLECTION, LONELINESS-
Just when your friends may think you should be getting on with your life, a long period of sad reflection will likely overtake you. This is a normal stage of grief, so do not be "talked out of it" by well-meaning outsiders. Encouragement from others is not helpful to you during this stage of grieving.

During this time, you finally realize the true magnitude of your loss, and it depresses you. You may isolate yourself on purpose, reflect on things you did with your lost one, and focus on memories of the past. You may sense feelings of emptiness or despair.

5. THE UPWARD TURN-
As you start to adjust to life without your dear one, your life becomes a little calmer and more organized. Your physical symptoms lessen, and your "depression" begins to lift slightly.

6. RECONSTRUCTION & WORKING THROUGH-
As you become more functional, your mind starts working again, and you will find yourself seeking realistic solutions to problems posed by life without your loved one. You will start to work on practical and financial problems and reconstructing yourself and your life without him or her.

7. ACCEPTANCE & HOPE-
During this, the last of the seven stages in this grief model, you learn to accept and deal with the reality of your situation. Acceptance does not necessarily mean instant happiness. Given the pain and turmoil you have experienced, you can never return to the carefree, untroubled YOU that existed before this tragedy. But you will find a way forward.

You will start to look forward and actually plan things for the future. Eventually, you will be able to think about your lost loved one without pain; sadness, yes, but the wrenching pain will be gone. You will once again anticipate some good times to come, and yes, even find joy again in the experience of living.

Pee already.

Alright ladies.

I am sitting here tonight. It's 11:33pm. I have the STRONGEST compulsion to get a pregnancy test. Actually I have three shoved in the hall closet, but I REALLY want to take one and I REALLY want to see a positive. Trouble is, I REALLY should not be testing until the end of the month. Testing you ask?? YES. Testing. This is the first month Andrew and I allowed for a pregnancy to occur. I was able to start one of my fertility treatments, which showed success, so could this be the month??? Ya think??? Maybe???

Now.

What happens if it is not??

I think I might be a little heartbroken. Maybe even a lot. But. I have a plan B. I can go into my OBGYN and get my hands on the other 2 meds I've needed in the past to produce ovulation. So if not this month. Maybe one soon.

But.

I REALLY want it to be this month. Don't you REALLY want it to be this month for me too??

Life changes.

I need something from YOU!!

Life changes, doesn't it, after you experience a loss?? And I'm talking all loss - - a parent, a friend, a spouse, a child. Let's get grieving out in the open. This is how we're going to do this.

ALL comment are to be shared anonymously. I will change my settings for this specific post. This is what I am looking for: I want to know how your life has changed during your grieving process. It's all out there: marriages change, friendships change, your family dynamic changes, your personality, feelings, dreams - - it ALL changes. It's private. It's heart breaking. It's hard to talk about it, share about. It is for me. The really secret stuff.

This is your time to let it all hang out. Tell me how your life has changed. After all the comments are in, I'm simply going to post them.

Let's not travel alone in this.

I'm ready to share, are you??

I mean this.

I wanted to further explain something I wrote in my last post.

I was not meaning to blow off the few friends I have that have done their best to be here for me. I have had a friend being meals into my home. I've had a neighbor bring bread and flowers. I've had care packages in the mail. I have a friend that curled up by me on the couch as I cried for my sweet boy. I've had emails, a play date or two, a phone call from time to time.

What I wanted to explain is what I have needed, that another bereaved mother has provided to me in friendship:

1. I don't have to worry about talking about my son too much. I don't have to worry about making some one feel awkward.

2. I can talk to her about how my marriage has changed.

3. I can talk to her about this sadness has changed every day life.

3. I can talk to her about how much I love my boy, but she understands how much I hurt because I miss him.

4. She can understand that the constant care, and checking in, and cute emails and notes is something I love. I need people to remember, because I hurt every day.

5. I know she won't tire of my journey because she is journeying the same one. I know she is patient with me, and understands why I would and still do hurt. She understands that it's possible to hurt, even if you have faith in God, and she understands it's possible to hurt, even if you have moments of joy. I don't feel judged by her.

It's not that I don't appreciate what others have done for me, but I appreciate having a friend, too, that is in my same boat.

I'm sorry if I hurt anyone's feelings. I guess it's just how it is sometimes.

Letting it all hang out.

You know it’s one of those bad kinda nights, when it’s just you and your three year old up at 11 and you turn to her and say “Hey, Livvy, you wanna go buy some chocolate cake?”. She agreed, so off we went! While I was at Albertsons a homeless man approached me in the store, and asked if he could have a couple bucks. I normally wouldn’t grab my wallet in this kind of situation, where he was close enough to grab all I had and run, but there was a clerk nearby, so I proceeded. As I opened my wallet the man says: I LOVE you. I smiled. He notices I have a 10, and says: How about that 10 instead? I gave him the 2 bucks and off he went.

Some days I wonder why I blog. It is really in my best interest that I wear my heart on my sleeve? Bare my soul? Let it all hang out? I think it’s best that I have an outlet. I also think it’s best that I share in case some other bereaved mother happens across what I’ve written and doesn’t feel alone. That’s the real reason. I feel alone now. Someone else should not have to.

I generally don’t throw pity parties for myself. I was raised to “shut the hell up”. You don’t cry. You don’t complain. You don’t moan. You are not weak. You pretend what is happening is ok. You look the other way. I’ve had a lot of practice being closed off, pretending not to hurt, keeping my tears in. I found myself over 2 facebook chats tonight being honest. I reached out, over my chocolate cake, and admitted how lost I feel. And then the chatting turned into me sobbing like a maniac over my computer screen. And for a moment, I felt a little better. God made facebook for me. He and I aren’t really on speaking terms right now, so He gave me facebook chat, right?

I was talking to one of my greatest friends tonight. She lost her Noah to Anencephaly like I lost my Isaac, and we met through blogging. She is one of my greatest blessings. We talk often on the phone. We laugh, we cry, we curse, we empathize. We were talking about our friendship today, and I said to her: You know why God gave you to me? God gave you to me because I would otherwise have no one. I don’t really have any one else I can talk to about the baby. I fully admit I have trust issues. What I really want someone to do is hold me like a baby so I can cry like one, but I just can’t let myself be that vulnerable. It’s hard for me. It takes me a long time to learn to trust someone. I have spurts of bravery where I can reach out. Then days of hiding in my home. I needed her. She is my gift.

When I tell you I am ok, I’m really not. My heart is weary and I am really tired. I hurt deeply, and I don’t want to have to justify my journey to anyone else. I don’t want to explain that really what I am doing is most healthy. I just want someone to squeeze my hand, and accept me for where I am at. I want someone to do something for me to make me smile. I just want to be something. Something I can’t even explain.

I blog so someone else feels like they have someone else that understands.

And now…. Now I’ve got a date with chocolate cake and my kid. ‘Til next time.