Wednesday, April 28, 2010

6 months

You would be 6 months old today. I still feel empty and broken and alone here without you. True, I am surrounded by people--by your dad and brother especially--but I turn inward. Time stands still now that you're gone. I have no desire to diet, to exercise, to shed the rest of the mid-section goo that was supposed to be naturally depleted by "the breastfeeding diet." Perhaps I want to look as shitty on the outside as I feel on the inside. But I think that's over-thinking it. I think I just feel awful and dead and don't give a shit about much at all. And my appearance falls squarely within the category of Who Cares. I don't look forward to seeing new sights or doing new things or going new places. Addison, I think of what you would look like--who you would be becoming now--with all your crawling and babbling and new rice cereal eating. I wonder if you'd have a mouthful of teeth like Calvin did at this age, and if your hair would be thin and fair--curly or straight. I can hardly take the teeter-totter of emotions I feel between trajedy and apathy; it's not a broad range of emotions, for sure, but the only ones I feel. The huge sense of loss that words cannot adequately describe versus the total apathy for what life has to offer. I teeter one way, then I teeter the other. Usually I force apathy because feeling anything is just too much. Out there in the world, I don't think they really know what's going on within me. It's all I can do sometimes to not shut down completely. The rest of our family needs me, after all; I probably need them, too. All I know is that without you here, having them here is the only thing that keeps me going day after day after empty day. I really thought 6 months would feel differently than it does. I thought it would feel less...horrible, I guess. But there is one thing I know for sure: I miss you and love you and wish you were here where you belong.

Tuesday, April 13, 2010

Mommy.... Addison's belly button was like a raisin. Addison flew away like a butterfly.
...I wish baby Addison could sit in the backseat with me.
...that is daddy and you and baby Addison (looking at her urn).

Yes, Calvin. Her belly button was like a raisin. Maybe she did fly away like a butterfly. I wish she could sit back there with you, too, sweetie. Yes, that is daddy and me and baby Addison. But I'm glad I have you.

I just miss her. And he would have been the best big brother ever.

Sunday, April 11, 2010


I've always been a big dreamer--the night kind, that is. My whole life I have had vivid, disturbing dreams that I remember on a consistent basis. In my most recent disturbing dream from this week, the final scene was me finding my 3 1/2-year-old son's body in a clear plastic body bag in a park, along with a man's drivers license. I did not recognize the man, but the ID apparently belonged to the person who did terrrible things to my child, the climax of which was taking his life. And in my dream I actually uttered the words, "well, it could be worse." When I woke up, in that hazy-dazy in-between asleep and awake, I remembered those words and knew that they meant it would be worse to NOT know what happened to him and/or who was responsible. Like if he just disappeared one day into thin air; became a missing child. Seriously, what kind of sick mind creates images like that and scenarios like that and justifications like that? It's time to turn off Nancy Grace.

I obviously have a major fear of losing my only living child. I've always been kind of protective, but it's natural and easy to be protective of such a young kid. I'm wondering how I'll do as he gets older. I don't want to be one of those crazy controlling parents, and I know I can't protect him forever from every bad thing in the world, but I would like to think I can. All I can do is keep my eyes open, be vigilant, aware, teach him to do the same (without creating fear in him), and hope for the best. I really hope he lives a long, healthy, happy life. Isn't that what I hoped for Addison, too?

I had a very long dream the night before Easter. The short version is that I was given a bird to care for while the owner (a woman who was kind of like my sister-in-law, kind of like my aunt--I don't know who she was supposed to be) was away. At times the bird was small and hung out in the hoodie of a sweatshirt I was wearing. At times it became bigger, baby-sized, and I held it as such. And long story short, a sapling appeared on a branch through the window, and it hopped onto the branch. I tried to grab the bird, small as it was in this scene, but it bit me. And then it flew away. And I was forced to tell the unknown woman/owner what had happened. That I lost her bird. And there was another side-story about me throwing away some kind of plaque she had that recognized the adoption of this bird. Or something like that. Well, once the bird flew away, somehow I felt it was reasonable to discard the plaque. I donated it to Goodwill, actually. And then I realized my mistake and went to retrieve it, but the owner realized how important it was to me and used this as a bargaining chip. He demanded a huge sum of money in exchange for it. The whole thing was very convoluted, and there is so much more to the story. In the morning I related part of the dream to my husband, who said, "wow, your brain is trying to work through some issues." But I don't know how my brain thinks these kinds of dreams are helpful for the lucid, awake me. Even if, on a subconscious level, they're helpful and I'm processing my issues, remembering them once I'm awake leaves me feeling sad and disturbed and helpless.

Many days I feel like I'm getting worse--not better. Time is supposed to make this pain more bearable, right? I'm supposed to eventually come to terms with this unbelieveable thing that is now part of my personal history. I'm supposed to take this most wretched thing and twist it into something I'm grateful I was able to endure, and find the good in it. Right? I'm so NOT even close to any of that shit. My therapist tells me that wallowing in the pain of my loss for a bit is fine, but marinating is not helpful. My question is: what about drowning?