Dreams Last So Long, Even After You're Gone

Two Months.

I wish I had new words. New thoughts and emotions. Just to break the monotony of my grief.

Instead, everything is still the same.

Dear Elsa

Dear Sweet Baby

I would have been approximately 30 weeks w you today. I would be laying on my couch w my hand on my belly, feeling you move and stretch. I would have fantasized about you growing dark hair and chubby thighs. I would be envisioning you filling the carefully chosen outfits, already washed and folded for you.

Instead, those outfits are in a box w my maternity clothes. Shoved to the side so I don't have to look at them. You no longer reside in my belly, but in a white box. My hand doesn't caress my belly, but is held, clenched, at my side. I don't harbor day dreams, but nightmares.

I had to assist a woman getting formula today. Her son, no older than 1 month, was screaming. She completely ignored his hungry cries and walked w him in the store for 45 mins. That was the second longest 45 mins of my life (first being the time to confirm your death), hearing that precious soul being ignored for convenience. What I would give right now to hear you cry. Bc if you were crying, it would mean you were alive.

I received mail today from my insurance company. I read the first sentence: "We noticed you received pregnancy related coverage lately..." I became unglued. I felt sick. I was losing air. I was filled to the brim of that suffocatingly sharp pain. I was ambushed. I wanted to scream. The throw everything around and rip my hair off. But I didn't. I pushed it down. Pushed it away. To the Deal-With-Later section.

But I'm not pushing you away, Elsa. I think of you everyday. Before I come out of the fogs of sleep. Just as I'm laying down. When I see a woman full w child. When I walk past a sleeping newborn. As the wind blows and plays w my hair. When the sun kisses my cheeks. You are everywhere. You aren't in my womb anymore, but you are always by me. Always reminding me to not sass the customer and that life is still beautiful.

I love you Elsa May. One day I will celebrate your life. I'm still submerged in my grief and pain, but I won't be forever.

Being Buried Quite Alive Now

Tomorrow will mark a month since we found out that Elsa passed. The 14th is a month since I delivered her sleeping.

In a month I have aged 20 years. In a month I learned to permanently shelve dreams and hopes. In a month I learned how to put on a mask to survive Life. In a month I have mastered how to stand in this hurricane of rage and sorrow, while watching the world carry on without my baby.

One month ago I learned how to say hello and goodbye to a baby I loved. One month ago I felt myself rip into pieces and burned by my grief. One month ago I wondered how I was going to breathe and stay alive when everything in me screamed for death.

Today I still wish to hold my baby in my dreams. I still pray to see her while I sleep so that I know her existence was real. I still am filled w grief and pain. I still have moments where everything is drowned out by tears and longing. I still can't look at babies for more than a fleeting glimpse. I definitely can't hear babies crying when my own baby made no sound as she entered this world.

I seek to fill my voids with the fleeting company of people I love. But I can't let them linger too long bc then I will want to open up. And to open up would mean to cry.

I try not to label myself by the misery I experience, but that is all that fills me. "It gets easier..." What they left out is that carrying the pain gets easier, not experiencing the pain. There are days that I feel like I'm being buried under the weight of my emotions.

I will spend Elsa's One-Month-Birthday outside. Where I will feel her gentle spirit in the breeze. Where I will feel her touch in the rays of sunshine. Where I will feel her little embrace in the grass.

Burst Apart

Someone told me that Elsa was in a "better place with God." That line, out of the many I have heard, pissed me off.

I know, words are hard to come by when faced w another person's grief. I'm also not an atheist but neither am I Christian. Somewhere in between.

To be told that my baby is in a better place is a slap in the face. What better place is there but in your mommy's arms, surrounded by people who love you? Why did I not deserve to hold my beautiful Elsa? What gives God/Jesus/Whoever more of a right to "have" her than me? In my eyes, no one.

She was my (and Gage's) baby. She was a baby that I grew inside of me. I gave her my blood. Nothing will ever feel the void in me and it is insulting to hear someone state a fact that she is in a "better" place.

Late last week, a customer asked me about my belly and when I was due. The first time he asked about my pregnancy (I was wearing a sweater covering my midsection), I tried to ignore it. He kept going and finally I had to walk away. The panic attack came rolling in my chest. I couldn't breathe. All I knew was pain. It felt like i was hearing the ultrasound technician say "I'm so sorry, there is no heart beat." I was thrust back to May 13th.

A few days before then, a customer came in with a tiny little baby. So perfectly newborn and precious. I enjoyed looking at her and felt happiness. Then I grabbed one of her little feet. That was my undoing. I remembered suddenly that I won't be holding Elsa's feet. That I wont ever get to enjoy her soft snuggles and beautiful coos. Instead I'm left w a small container of ashes. It feels like my heart was w her when she was cremated.

I can enjoy my days. I allow myself to be distracted in the flow of life. I have began to master carrying the weight of my grief. I don't look the part of a mother who has had to say hello and goodbye in the same breath. In this moment, the anger I have to people's well meaning words, though irrational, is cathartic in a sense.

I Will Never Rest

17 days after.

Its a bad night.

The emptiness aches. My heart feels shattered. My tears hot and burning acid trails down my face. Breathing is a struggle.

Carries On

Work went so well and beautiful today. It could not have gone any smoother.

Before I left, I was finishing up training my back up for September (when I was supposed to go on maternity leave). I was worried about my team being able to handle my absence. They managed to do the bookwork daily and I was left w minimal work to catch up on. I plan on recognizing all of them soon for their excellent work.

My coworkers gave me exactly what I needed today. They didn't focus on Elsa's death. They didn't ask for details. They hugged me and that was that. Asked me how I was doing and that they were glad I was back. A few tears were shed when discussing if we will be trying again. That was only due to it being a reminder of how empty I still feel.

I am still emotionally exhausted. I'm worn thin and just so tired of my emotions. I know them inside and out. Every thought and every aching emotion. I ache for my baby and ache for what was taken from me. I am never allowed a moment to forget what happened two weeks ago. Even getting dressed for work is a battle.

Returning to work allowed a distraction. My brain welcomes the busy work. I'm able to focus on mundane things that don't hurt and don't matter. And I've found that I don't care what my coworkers feel towards me. In losing my daughter, I've realized that these petty and trivial issues that arise at work are meaningless in life. I don't have my usual filter and muzzle in place. Its refreshing. Perhaps that's what my work life needs, a dash of the "real" Amber.

Seven Devils All Around You

I am filled w a silent rage. A rage that bubbles up from the quiet depths of my soul. I want nothing more than to pull everything down on top of me. Bring everything down to my layers of grief and hell.

Why? Why me? am I not a good person? Have I not helped and brought countless humans to their feet? Given love and assistance when I knew I wouldn't receive a damn thing in return? Helped multi single mothers get a chance at a job, given them a chance when no one else would?

Why does my life constantly kick me in my very heart? When I finally feel secure in my life and future, trap door after trap door opens underneath my feet. How much more must I endure before the Universe decides I've dealt with enough pain and sorrow? Why must I constantly be tested? Have I not proven that I'm strong?

I haven't forgotten where I started. I haven't forgotten the path I chose for myself that only ended in betrayal and abuse. I haven't forgotten the times where if i just asked for help, I would have been spared much pain. I haven't forgotten the thousands of hot and wild tears that I have shed.

I don't want to give up. Only to give in. Give in to the years of struggling and years of pain. Give in to the ocean of misery. Let the tides of guilt, pain, and suffering wash over my tired soul. Just so that I might dissolve away and have a moment of peace.

I have lost my fight. I have lost my will and what sparked my passions. I am a husk, empty and hollow. I am nothing of what I used to be. The pieces lay across my 25 year long life. They are either lost amongst the wreckage of my hopes, buried beneath cities of disappointment, or crushed by the foot of sorrow. What is left of me but this aching grief?

I've Already Suffered, I Want You To Know God

Thursday I return to work. I'm not sure that I'm ready for this. Seeing the sympathy in people's faces and hearing their words of condolences will only chip away at the feeble wall that I've built over the last couple of weeks.

I will have to bear the weight of 40 coworkers sharing their sympathy. I naturally try to heal people's pain. But what do I do when my loss is the source of people's sadness? Not only will there be the coworkers, but the inevitable questions from customers. Sure, the regulars will have already been filled in hopefully. But the customers who were in often enough to notice the pregnancy. They will ask innocently "Hey, where did belly go?"

When I wake up, I desperately wish that the last two weeks was a nightmare and reach for the belly that is no longer there. Being pregnant is the only time I feel like a Woman. I am filled with femininity and feel as though I glow from inside out. I love carrying a child inside of me. And that was ripped from me. My sweet Elsa May. Not only did I lose that feeling of completeness, but I lost a daughter.

I will have to place a mask of Bravery and explain the loss. I typically am 100% against crying at work considering too many people would revel in any weakness that I might show. How am I to swallow the tears when the pain is still so raw? How can I remain professional and weather through the constant wave of sympathy?

I've been given many typical lines of "Well God needed another Angel." Or "You're still young, you will have more." And my favorite "At least you have the girls still." I know they are said with good intentions, but it only degrades what it is I am experiencing. Yes, I'm young. Yes, I will have more babies and I have my girls. But that doesn't make Elsa's short life just a mere blip. She was a baby that I had dreams for. A baby I had hopes for. A baby that both of her parents wanted more than ever.

I can only dream that Thursday will be a day that I am numb. Today was a day of that empty feeling. So was yesterday. How can I ensure that Thursday I can be strong enough for what is sure to come? On top of dozens of people's sympathy, I will also have to play catch up at work.

I will be throwing myself into work in an attempt to fill a void w no bottom. I made it a goal in the last 6 months to prove those who doubt me at work how wrong they are. No time like now to show them wrong. Even if part of my soul is missing and I feel like a withered version of myself.

Up From Below

Yesterday was a healing day. After the horrible experience from the Binghamton based funeral home, I was very hesitant to meeting with the second funeral home. I have found it harder and harder to be assertive of what I want for Elsa's burial. She's been gone for over a week and the fight in me is dwindling.

When we first arrived, the director acknowledged the girls and asked their names while crouched down to their level to talk to them. My respect for him went up a thousand fold. Yes, a funeral home isn't an ideal place for young children. But this is their sister that we're burying. I don't want to hide the whole journey and path that Gage and I are on after Elsa's death. It's nothing more than a part of Life.

The conversation was emotional, of course. But in a healing and cleansing way. He spoke very gently and made a lot of eye contact. He brought up pros/cons that I personally didn't think about (cemetery plot/etc). Once we made it known that we really just want a simple ceremony, he dropped all of those immediately.

He also understood what I was desperately trying to put into words. I was trying to explain why we didn't want a casket for Elsa and why a cemetery plot wasn't important. I kept saying that this is us separating ways with Elsa and returning her to the Earth. He then says "You're releasing her." That's exactly how I feel. I'm releasing Elsa's body back to the Earth. Her soul is with us, in our hearts. We will always carry her with us through life.

After everything was said and done, I felt more than a little better. I still harbor a lot of grief, and yet the meeting was slightly therapeutic. I feel so much more confident knowing that our wishes are going to be met with this funeral home. I was never bullied whenever I brought up our "alternative" wishes.

My thoughts and emotions that have taken over much of my very being are slowly becoming quieter. A week ago I was submerged in an ocean of darkness and pain. When looking up, I saw no glimmer of the sun, just raw sorrow and grief. Now that I've reached the very bottom, I know where to push off so that I may start swimming to the surface. Having Gage be my support, my lifeline is more than beneficial. Without him, I would have easily just stayed at the bottom. The bottom is a very familiar setting for me considering my past. I also have my midwife to thank. She has been more than just a care provider but an extension of my family. She has gone above and beyond her call of Midwifery.

My milk has dried up enough that it isn't a constant reminder of my empty arms. My stomach has gone back to it's previous state of being flat but still chubby. When I cry, the tears don't burn my skin as much. I've started caring more about my appearance. I'm hoping that when I return to work next Thursday, I will be more than a shadow of who I was when I last left.

It Opened Up the Scars That Just Finished Healing

Today I pushed myself. I decided that I was the one who needed to do the grocery shopping. I also had to cash my pay check so bills could be paid.

As I'm getting ready in my apartment, I could feel that panic setting in. I made the decision to not succumb to those strangling feelings. Ava was too excited to get out of the house for me to tell her nevermind. Once we got on the highway to my work, the tears started completely involuntarily. I did some breathing exercises but once the tears start, I have to let them go.

I lose it as soon as someone apologized for what happened. It was almost instant when my coworkers surrounded me. My "backup" for work gave me the longest hug. She was the first person I told at work about the pregnancy and the first person I told when Elsa passed. She let me sob and be a mess in front of everyone, including customers. I finish up at the customer service desk and turn around. There is the HR specialist and she says that we needed to go to the manager's office.

Once there we do the usual civil conversation. She then says something along the lines of "I don't want to have to add on more to what you're living with..." and delivers the news of my store closing down. Again, the floor is swept up from underneath me. Did I mention that today marked a week since Elsa's birth? It feels like I'm punched in the chest. Some of my coworkers started to feel like a second family. And now, when I need them most, they're all being torn away from me. Sure, there's the comfort knowing that I will still have a job. But it will be another change that I have to adapt to. 

I deal with the emotions as they wash over me. Disappointment. Sadness. And the odd sense of loss again. When will the world stop kicking me in my fresh wounds?

I finish with some of the more important errands. I didn't do half the other ones but I was emotionally done with being in public. As I settle in at home, I decide that while I have this momentum to make the appropriate phone calls to the funeral homes. The first funeral home was very aggressive and brisk with me when they learned I didn't want to bury Elsa in a cemetery. After consulting with my wonderful midwife and Gage, we decide to ditch that funeral home and call another one. This one presented the same arguments as the first one but said they would do everything they can to meet our wishes (to bury Elsa on private property owned by my midwife).

It fails to register in my brain why it should be  so difficult to have my daughter released to me. She is but a tiny little thing. 10 ounces and 9 inches long. What would be the point of buying a casket and cemetery plot if she is so tiny? This is only prolonging my healing process and it just makes me want to scream how unfair this is.

I want to retreat to my bubble of sorrow. To surround myself in familiar sensations of grief and death. Every time I push myself past my barriers of anxiety, I'm met with more adversity and more heart ache. I want nothing more than to erase everything and feel emptiness. Instead I'm met with every sharp pain every corner I take. How much more of this must I endure? How much more pain and suffering do I have to experience before I'm allowed a moment of peace? The sleepless nights continue. The nightmares that have started only grow with more horror each night.

For now I am waving my pitiful white flag. I'm giving up for the day and probably tomorrow. I don't know how much more fight I have left in me. I don't know how much I can push myself. Back to being a useless blob on the couch.

With You in Your Cold Grave I Cannot Sleep Warm

I thought I was ready today.

I told my coworkers that I couldn't see them today. I wanted to build enough resolve to pick Jade up from school, something she enjoys greatly.

I made it half a block before the tightness in my chest and shoulders started. Another block when I started pinching my skin, a pathetic attempt at fighting off the panic. By the time I got to the pick up area, I was in tears and desperately wanted to be away from everyone. I seemed to be surrounded by pregnant women or mothers with babies. I waited an eternity before Jade was given to me. In that time I couldn't breathe and the tightness in my chest felt as though it was crushing my heart. Her teacher tried to give me words of condolences, but none of them registered in my head. All I heard was her tone dripping with sympathy and pity.

As soon as I was in my apartment, I could breathe. I felt back to as close to normal as I am capable of.

When will I be functional again? I'm not the type to linger and fester. I am a survivalist and staying in one "place" is the death of me. I can't sleep for more than a few hours at a time anymore. My mind forces me awake when I want nothing more than to be dead to the world. I can't do the cleaning I need to do without feeling breathless. Why is my body doing this to me? I'm trying desperately to move on. To get myself into gear. It feels like everything within myself is fighting it.

I try to pack away the emotions of grief and loss into a neat little box and pack it away in the compartment in my brain "Deal With Later". But these emotions are too big. I stand there with my hands over my ears and my eye shut tight and the emotions rip my hands down and force my eyes open. I fight and I scream. But my will, my strength is gone. I am weak. I am not even half the woman I was just before that appointment last Tuesday.

Atrophy

I live by words. They are my comfort. Even though I have major difficulties speaking my mind and explaining my emotions, in my head it all makes sense. Mainly because I can assign words to the things happening in my heart. As long as I can do that, I can be comfortable with my emotions.

Right now, that is not happening.

I have no words for what is happening in my heart. I'm angry but sad. I'm empty but full of pain.I am open and exposed to what may happen in my soul. Words evade me no matter how hard I concentrate. I try to pick apart my feelings and still, I'm left empty handed. I am everything and nothing all at once.

I'm trying to watch stupid movies just to fill the space in my head and heart. Nothing is working. Nothing is helping. Nothing is healing.

Tomorrow some wonderful coworkers want to stop by to give me a card from work. While the idea of them coming to bring me comfort makes me feel loved, I am full of anxiety. My apartment is a mess. I can't stand and clean without being hit with cramps. Cramps are a reminder of what is no longer in my uterus. I look like a mess. I can hardly eat without being filled with guilt. (Why should I eat when my daughter will never eat?) The prospect of having to go outside fills me with fear and pain. I want nothing more than to welcome them into my apartment and have them to lean on and bask in their love. The panic that sets in has me picking up my phone to cancel multiple times.

The only beauty I can find in this week is that One- I am so very grateful for my living children. I am yet again amazed by their smiles, their beautiful eyes and blonde hair. Their voices bring me from the brink I've been teetering on for days. Their warm hugs and cuddles start to wake me up. Second- the way Gage has taken care of me, the way he has dedicated his days to me, has shown me how to fall in love with him all over again. I can see his love for me. I can feel his support. I don't walk this path alone. He is with me for every step, even if it's one step forward and two steps back. He knows how I feel without me having to communicate. He knows what my long and drawn out silences mean.

For now, I will allow myself to fall back into my hurricane of emotions. No words swirl around. Just raw, real emotions.

The Arms of the Ocean are Carrying Me

It has been four days since Elsa was stillborn. Four long, arduous days filled with pain and grief.

She was my fourth pregnancy. First was Jade, second was a baby I aborted, third was Ava and fourth was Elsa.

We heard her heartbeat for the first time March 13th. May 13th, we discovered no heartbeat. I was but 22 weeks along. May 13th, my world was ripped asunder and grief flooded in. I accepted her death immediately. I knew there was no bargaining to bring her soul back into my womb. I knew there was no denying her still body portrayed back to me on the ultrasound screen.

My beautiful midwife held Ava while I dissolved. She rocked and explained what happen to my 3 yr old so I could feel the grief completely. Jen promised to be with me every step of the way and she fulfilled that promise.

After laboring for twelve hours from first cramp, I woke up at 6 am on the dot to the all too familiar pain. I felt Elsa come down the canal and felt her come out just as Jen rushed into my room. Elsa was born in the caul  at 6:05am. Her entrance was met by my wails of pain that no parent should ever have to endure.

Her little body was perfect in every way. Ten toes. Ten fingers. A precious nose and tiny ears. I could tell that she was going to look like Gage. I held her in the kidney basin while I took in every part of her. I touched her little fingers and sobbed. I gave her to Gage and decided to birth her placenta. Out it came and Jen showed me the hole that her little arm was in (amniotic band syndrome). She also showed me that there was a band around the base of the umbilical cord. That was her demise. Nothing I did caused her death. Nothing could've been done.

Since we knew that she passed, I accepted it. But acceptance doesn't make that pain any lesser. Acceptance doesn't make putting away the dreams you have of our still born baby any easier. I knew that I wasn't at fault for her passing and I knew that her beautiful soul was to only be on this earth for so long.

But that deep pain. That acute pain that goes to your very being. That pain of knowing that the clothes you had started to buy will never be filled with that baby. The dreams you dreamt of holding that precious child will never be lived out. I have never had to experience such pain. I've lived a long life of pain and suffering. A long life filled with disappointment and abuse. But never did I believe that I would have to bury a child of mine.

So here I sit, with my breasts bound, the cramps still filling my womb instead of a baby. I can't live with silence bc then my thoughts make their presence known. I push myself into sleeping so that the unconscious world will soften the aches in my arms and breasts. I barely survive the days. I tell myself multiple times a day that death would be better than this.

One day I will have another baby. One day I will only feel dull aches in my heart. One day I will laugh and smile. But for now, I am drowning in my grief.