Saturday, January 22, 2011

Oh Who Are We Fooling.... *WARNING* F-bombs Galore

Hesitant to post this, because, well, as you'll see, it's damn ugly right now.

I am swamped in sadness and hopelessness, yet again. And for the first time in a long time, it feels different, this sadness, right now.

I don't want to get pregnant again. This feeling overtook me, strongly, today. I am confused by it, seeing as I've been so driven by it up until now. But it hit me, hard, today. I am so sad. I don't want another baby. I am sad and THEREFORE I don't want another baby, and I am sad BECAUSE I don't want another baby. And the two sadnesses and cause and effects dance together and get very muddled and even more sad. Because really, no baby will ever be Otis. And that is beautiful, he is that perfect and that irreplaceable, and it is fucking awful, because nothing will ever mend this fucking gaping wound.

I want Otis. I want my baby, with his beautiful pudgy cheeks and his huge hands and squishy legs and those lips, and his nose, and a head full of the softest hair you could ever imagine...I remember the way his upper lip curled just like his papa's...

Yes, that baby. I want that baby.

Not your baby, you pushing the stroller too closely to me.

Not your baby, who I swear is glaring at me, with this look of "ha ha, my mama got to keep me..."

Not your baby, you who just announced your pregnancy, so don't worry about tiptoeing around me. In fact perhaps your tiptoeing makes me feel worse.

Not your baby, you who seem to think that I really might want to see those photos, everysinglefuckingdayonfacebook. (And yet even though I don't want your baby, I still insist on hiding friends from my newsfeed at an astonishing rate.)

Not even the baby that everyone seems so confident that I will one day have. Nope, don't want that baby either.

I want Otis. He is supposed to be here, dammit. He is supposed to be here.

I am depressed.

I don't feel like fucking doing anything.

I don't fucking care that I'm going to Maui on Friday. I should at least be able to look forward to relaxing, lying in warm sun, swimming with turtles, shouldn't I? But no. I don't fucking care. I'd be just as happy right now if I was traveling to Antarctica. Or Siberia. I picture myself in Maui sitting in a dark room and crying. I can do that here, for fuck's sake. I just don't see how going there is going to make anything feel any different.

I can't imagine life ever feeling different than this. Even though it has, already, felt different. I have had days where I've smiled, laughed, felt hopeful. But today, I can't imagine that those feelings will ever return. I feel like I've now hit the truth of this grief business, that it will never improve and never go away and I will always, always, always have the hugest hole in my heart where Otis should be.

I don't want to procreate. I don't want to love anything, ever again. I don't want to ever put any eggs in any basket and I don't dare dream of a life other than the shitstorm that is this one right now. How could it ever possibly be better, life without him in it. I feel like I am doomed to a life of forever faking it. Forever pretending that half-full is enough. And it never will be.

I miss my boy, so desperately. I can't believe he's not here. This is so fucking wrong. All wrong.


KnottedFingers said...

*huge hugs* I wish your Otis was with you. I hate how much pain you are right now sweetheart. I'm praying for you and I'm sending you my love

katherine said...

Ugh... I have no words, sweet mama. You are right about everything you say, and I so wish things were different...
Nothing and no one will ever replace your Otis. But (you know this already) tremendous grief and tremendous happiness are not mutually exclusive. Especially not in complicated, multifaceted people like yourself.

As I read your post today, I cannot help but be reminded of someone else's post, too. If you can stomach it***, check out this link:

*** PLEASE BEWARE: the January 22nd post on this link contains photos of a live baby/birth. It is a letter written by a mother to her second daughter, on the occasion of her first birthday. Her first daughter died at age 17 months in April 2009. Despite her enormous grief/depression/PTSD, the mother went on to get pregnant just a couple of months after that. (Her blog chronicles, among other things, how this grief and happiness can co-exist. ) My favorite part of that letter is the last little paragraph:
"The day you were born was the day I started living again. Happy birthday to you, and to me. I am so honored to be your mommy."

Anonymous said...

Oh Sarah- I am so sorry my friend. I know how hard it is to find yourself in these shithole days that are so completely full of thick black loss. It is during those times that I can't imagine I will ever fond light again. I can't say that light shines throughout my days now- that would be a complete crock of shit- but I an say that somehow there are glimmers that find their way through or around that black tar.. sometimes when I least expect it.
I am thinking of you tonight- and of Otis who will always be the person you long for most in this life, but cannot yet touch.. try to remember his weight in these times- becasue you did indeed hold him in those very arms that are foreign to you. You did indeed smell him, kiss him, touch his sweet skin and his soft hair. You did all of that and it will be a part of you forever.. he will live within the house of your souls until you do all of those things again.. and I have to believe that you will.
Love and light mamma...

PS- Katherine.. I might have to check that one out as well.. thank you for sharing the link...

Angela said...

I really, really don't have words dear mama. You're in the black right now and I know you can't see your way out if it, but there is light even if you cannot see it now.

If you're not trying to conceive, if you need a break, get drunk while you're in Maui. Yes, it's just a patch, but maybe it will allow you to breathe for just a moment.

I want you to have him back too. I'm sorry he's not here.

æ said...

I'm sorry too Sarah. So sorry it's never Otis.


Tess said...

I hear your pain Sarah. The hopelessness, frustration, anger and utter dismay and distress. No one can bring you your precious Otis back, nor our own babies.
This is so hard to find words, ones that won't sound pitying, hollow, or full of cliche. Do what you have to do Sarah, get off the TTC bus, go to Maui and hide away crying, don't smile or put a forced face on - get to the bottom of these feelings and tear them a new hole if need be. You've got to be authentic to yourself and things will change, you said that yourself, and things will get easier sweet Sarah. I believe in you.

Sending so much love, strength, peace and calm to you. I am so sorry you are going through this now
More love and a huge hug

kate said...

this is so terribly wrong and i am so, so sorry. i miss your beautiful, unique, irreplaceable otis. i wish he were here where he belongs.

kate xx

My New Normal said...

I'm so sorry. And I hope the sunshine in Maui helps you feel a bit more happiness. It's amazing what a bit of sunshine can do.

Missy said...

Oh Sarah tears are falling for you and for knowing how this moment feels. I never cry out for "a" baby, only for the one that's gone. It isn't right, ever. Sending all my love and holding Otis dear to my heart.

Monique said...

I'm so sorry. I just wish Otis were here and it were different.

One of my favourite quotes about grief was written by Sigmund Freud, after the death of his daughter: "We find a place for what we lose. Although we know that after such a loss the acute stage of mourning will subside, we also know that we shall remain inconsolable and will never find a substitute. No matter what may fill the gap, even if it be filled completely, it nevertheless remains something else``.

We went to Barabdos about 5 months after Sam`s death and I cried and raged about not having him there but it was nice to take the anger and sadness somewhere else. Feel the sunshine on your skin, swim in the ocean and cry and rage as much as you need.

Hoping you have some gentle moments coming to you.

Catherine W said...

Oh Sarah. I'm so, so sorry. It is the irreplaceableness, the uniqueness, of the children that we lost that still has the ability to bring me down to my knees, even after all this time.

I think I found this quote via Erica at 'I Lost A World' which sums it up for me, “The particularness of someone who mattered enough to grieve over is not made anodyne by death. This hole in my heart is in the shape of you and no-one else can fit it. Why would I want them to?”
Jeanette Winterson, from her novel 'Written on the Body'

It is that particularness, that unique shape of the hole in our hearts that I find so few people seem to understand. They seem to believe that having another child will cancel her out. That just because she died at three days old she was merely 'a baby' rather than a person.

I wish that your Otis were here. xo

Merry said...

I understand this feeling completely.

I have a thought about it, but I think it would be wrong to voice it in your space; I'll blog it maybe and then, when you are ready for some hope, it will be there if you want it.

lucy clout said...

oh love. I am so sorry that you have to live with this torture, that the world is filled with what isn't. There is no replacing your perfect Otis. I hope there is a drop of peace for you in maui.

love, as ever h.x

Hope's Mama said...

Oh love I'm so sorry. I think I fell in to a similar black hole before we went to Hawaii as everyone kept telling me "have an amazing time!" I failed to see how I could feel any better, just because I was some place new (and warm). It is bullshit, all of this. I'm so sorry I met you. I'm so sorry you have to keep this blog. I'm so sorry I am here reading it. I am mostly sorry that your precious, unique, amazing Otis died.

Tiffany said...

Omg you put so eloquently (yes even with the f bomb - actually I think especially because of the f bomb) exactly how I am feeling. I do want to get pg though I struggle very hard with my feelings of another baby. I so desperately miss Julius, so much it hurts. And I just don't know how I'll ever have space in my broken heart to love another. It's weird. I'm so so so sorry for the loss of your precious Otis. ((hugs))

B said...

i understand. i still want my baby back. i want this next baby so badly, but i'm still angry as hell that i can't have both. it's not fair.

it's awful and it's unfair and i'm the only person that still misses my snowflake, and it sucks. and part of me think it's unfair to my snowflake that i'm pregnant again.

urrrrgh. loss is so, so hard to work through. so exhausting.

i'm sorry i've been such a terrible blog friend recently. i hope you're enjoying Maui. look forward to hearing about it when you get back. xxx

LauraJane said...

I know I'm really late to the game on this one, but this is a beautiful post and I whole heartedly agree with it all. :)