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.
Saturday, May 31, 2014
Thursday, May 29, 2014
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.
Monday, May 26, 2014
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.
Friday, May 23, 2014
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.
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.
Wednesday, May 21, 2014
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.
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.
Monday, May 19, 2014
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.
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.
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