monday
i woke up from a dream in which i had looked in my backyard and found that all of my rose beds were empty and dead, which worried me; i haven't really paid any attention to my little yard the last six weeks. so i got up and i looked out my bathroom window to try to make sure that some plants were starting to come back, but the kitchen roof was in the way, so i crawled back in bed with justin. and then i remembered that johannes was gone, and i missed him so much.
that seems to be the worst time for me every day: when i wake up and we're just hanging out in bed and i want to be getting johannes up and bringing him to bed with us.
so i got up and came downstairs - the earliest i've been out of bed in weeks! - and opened my kitchen blinds and then went into hans's room and opened those blinds. the tulips and irises are starting to push through the soil in the back and side yard as much as they have been in the treelawn, which i find very encouraging. i really need my plants to come back in this year and prove that i didn't kill them all off in my first summer as caretaker. i itch to get out in the garden to prune and shape and pull weeds and cut flowers to bring into the house.
and then i saw two of the cats that think they own our property. lately, when i hiss at them to get off my porch, they just keep on lounging there and look at me as if to say, "moi? get off your porch? you must be mistaken!" the grey-striped cat's belly is swollen and writhing and she can barely crawl along my sidewalk. the sight of her belly being ripe and moving felt like something out of a horror movie to me. god knows why. you would think another sign of life would give me some hope, too, but it was too horrible to look at.
i've been awake less than an hour today, but i feel like all of the progress i've made through my grief the last 5 1/2 weeks has been reversed in this short little period of time. ugh.
on the bright side, it was tough to take justin to work yesterday - it's the first we've really been apart - but it was good to be with family. after i dropped justin off, i went to his grandmother's for easter dinner, and i was the first one there, so we sat and talked for a little while all by ourselves.
she had hans's picture and a picture of the three of us in the frame my mom had given her for christmas, sitting on her side table in the living room. she offered to put it away, but i assured her it was okay and that we had pictures in our living room, too.
she asked about our trip and eventually it came up that we had picked up johannes's ashes just before we left. she asked what we planned to do with them, so i told her that justin's dad wanted a little to put in the little memorial garden he's making on the hiking trail he's creating on his property; she was alarmed that my father-in-law would ask to separate some of his ashes from the rest of them, and said she really didn't understand how anyone could disperse ashes to the wind. so i told her that we would always keep some of his ashes, but we planned to disperse some in south africa next year. ''but," she said, "aren't you worried about the resurrection???"
without getting too theological or disrespecting her beliefs, i tried to gently explain that i thought god was beyond needing all of hans's remains to be in one place. oh, she said doubtfully. so i asked her about innocent people who were bombing victims; their bodies would be blown into bits and scattered who-knows-where - did she think they couldn't go to heaven? oh, she said, much more certainly, this time; that argument seemed to comfort her.
later, she told me tearfully that her sister had said johannes must have been one special baby, and i agreed that he was, and then she added that her sister said that he was so special that god took him right up to be with him. that made my blood boil. i told her that i know that sentiment was comforting to some people and a way to wrap their heads around something that makes so little sense, but i though that god was bigger than that; he doesn't need to take things away from me to make himself happy. hans's death was just an accident, a horrible one, but an accident - god didn't strangle my son so he could have a little buddy.
i'm sure i'm being cut a certain amount of slack because i'm assumed to be out of my mind with grief, but i have to say, my grandmother-in-law took my responses pretty well. it's so good to be able to speak directly and freely; i don't know what i'd do if i couldn't.
a couple of days ago, one of justin's aunts e-mailed me pictures of her new great-grandson; the e-mail only gave his weight (no name or anything else) and two comments: (1) the birthmark on his face could eventually be lasered, and (2) the mother is 15, the father is 14, and it's not a very good start for the boy.
the baby is really beautiful, and the parents clearly adore him in the pictures. of course, it's unfortunate that the parents are so young, and it will be difficult for all of them, but what made me sad is that she clearly had no joy from his birth. i was frankly a little surprised that she sent me the e-mail in the first place, but i'm used to wacky things from her. when i was in the hospital, between when we found out that johannes had died and when we delivered him, she called to let us know that her pastor was leaving that day for a mission trip to the phillipines [never mind the problems we have with that prospect] and she had called him and asked him to bring us back a baby.
so my expectations are pretty low.
yesterday, when i overheard her going on about the baby's birthmark to one of the other aunts, i spoke up and said what a good-looking kid he was. she was shocked; it turns out she actually hadn't meant to send the e-mail to me and was pretty horrified that she had done so. i assured her it was fine and reitereated how lovely he was, but she couldn't stop apologizing. then the other aunt cut her off and said, "don't exclude her!" she went on to say that when she and her husband were trying but couldn't have a child, the worst thing anyone did was exclude them from news about other children. i have never appreciated her more.
i usually complain about holiday dinners with justin's family - they are stuck in the deepest rut and the dinners are always exactly the same: same menu, same places at the table, same negative conversations - and we usually go late and leave early. but his family took me in from the start and made me feel as though i had always been a part of the family, and i love them for that. yesterday i arrived early and left late, and it was so good to be with them, ruts and warts and all.
that seems to be the worst time for me every day: when i wake up and we're just hanging out in bed and i want to be getting johannes up and bringing him to bed with us.
so i got up and came downstairs - the earliest i've been out of bed in weeks! - and opened my kitchen blinds and then went into hans's room and opened those blinds. the tulips and irises are starting to push through the soil in the back and side yard as much as they have been in the treelawn, which i find very encouraging. i really need my plants to come back in this year and prove that i didn't kill them all off in my first summer as caretaker. i itch to get out in the garden to prune and shape and pull weeds and cut flowers to bring into the house.
and then i saw two of the cats that think they own our property. lately, when i hiss at them to get off my porch, they just keep on lounging there and look at me as if to say, "moi? get off your porch? you must be mistaken!" the grey-striped cat's belly is swollen and writhing and she can barely crawl along my sidewalk. the sight of her belly being ripe and moving felt like something out of a horror movie to me. god knows why. you would think another sign of life would give me some hope, too, but it was too horrible to look at.
i've been awake less than an hour today, but i feel like all of the progress i've made through my grief the last 5 1/2 weeks has been reversed in this short little period of time. ugh.
on the bright side, it was tough to take justin to work yesterday - it's the first we've really been apart - but it was good to be with family. after i dropped justin off, i went to his grandmother's for easter dinner, and i was the first one there, so we sat and talked for a little while all by ourselves.
she had hans's picture and a picture of the three of us in the frame my mom had given her for christmas, sitting on her side table in the living room. she offered to put it away, but i assured her it was okay and that we had pictures in our living room, too.
she asked about our trip and eventually it came up that we had picked up johannes's ashes just before we left. she asked what we planned to do with them, so i told her that justin's dad wanted a little to put in the little memorial garden he's making on the hiking trail he's creating on his property; she was alarmed that my father-in-law would ask to separate some of his ashes from the rest of them, and said she really didn't understand how anyone could disperse ashes to the wind. so i told her that we would always keep some of his ashes, but we planned to disperse some in south africa next year. ''but," she said, "aren't you worried about the resurrection???"
without getting too theological or disrespecting her beliefs, i tried to gently explain that i thought god was beyond needing all of hans's remains to be in one place. oh, she said doubtfully. so i asked her about innocent people who were bombing victims; their bodies would be blown into bits and scattered who-knows-where - did she think they couldn't go to heaven? oh, she said, much more certainly, this time; that argument seemed to comfort her.
later, she told me tearfully that her sister had said johannes must have been one special baby, and i agreed that he was, and then she added that her sister said that he was so special that god took him right up to be with him. that made my blood boil. i told her that i know that sentiment was comforting to some people and a way to wrap their heads around something that makes so little sense, but i though that god was bigger than that; he doesn't need to take things away from me to make himself happy. hans's death was just an accident, a horrible one, but an accident - god didn't strangle my son so he could have a little buddy.
i'm sure i'm being cut a certain amount of slack because i'm assumed to be out of my mind with grief, but i have to say, my grandmother-in-law took my responses pretty well. it's so good to be able to speak directly and freely; i don't know what i'd do if i couldn't.
a couple of days ago, one of justin's aunts e-mailed me pictures of her new great-grandson; the e-mail only gave his weight (no name or anything else) and two comments: (1) the birthmark on his face could eventually be lasered, and (2) the mother is 15, the father is 14, and it's not a very good start for the boy.
the baby is really beautiful, and the parents clearly adore him in the pictures. of course, it's unfortunate that the parents are so young, and it will be difficult for all of them, but what made me sad is that she clearly had no joy from his birth. i was frankly a little surprised that she sent me the e-mail in the first place, but i'm used to wacky things from her. when i was in the hospital, between when we found out that johannes had died and when we delivered him, she called to let us know that her pastor was leaving that day for a mission trip to the phillipines [never mind the problems we have with that prospect] and she had called him and asked him to bring us back a baby.
so my expectations are pretty low.
yesterday, when i overheard her going on about the baby's birthmark to one of the other aunts, i spoke up and said what a good-looking kid he was. she was shocked; it turns out she actually hadn't meant to send the e-mail to me and was pretty horrified that she had done so. i assured her it was fine and reitereated how lovely he was, but she couldn't stop apologizing. then the other aunt cut her off and said, "don't exclude her!" she went on to say that when she and her husband were trying but couldn't have a child, the worst thing anyone did was exclude them from news about other children. i have never appreciated her more.
i usually complain about holiday dinners with justin's family - they are stuck in the deepest rut and the dinners are always exactly the same: same menu, same places at the table, same negative conversations - and we usually go late and leave early. but his family took me in from the start and made me feel as though i had always been a part of the family, and i love them for that. yesterday i arrived early and left late, and it was so good to be with them, ruts and warts and all.
posted by laura at 9:19 AM
3 Comments:
Thank you for the note you left on my blog. I just read some of yous. I'm so sorry for the loss of your son. This is something I wish no one had to go through. Write me anytime. There are a couple of other blogs written by other moms if your interested. Send me a note and I'll get you their addresses. I feel the most comfort when I don't feel so all alone with the hurt. Send em a note anytime...thevegasbaums@yahoo.com. Peace, M
My mother and I developed a shared two-part mantra in the year after Calvin's death and birth.
Part 1 was "I don't know," meaning 'I don't know why this happened,' 'I don't know what to do,' 'I don't know how to get through this,' 'I don't know how to express what I am feeling,' 'I don't know what to do about other people's stupid remarks,' and so on and so on.
Part 2 was "This sucks," which I think is pretty self-explanatory.
You said several days ago that you are a planner and not being able to plan your grief is flummoxing you. I sympathize with that. I have often felt helpless in the face of my grief. I still sometimes do. I found myself wishing for a lost culture, where mourning, even for a dead baby, had specific steps, rituals, duration, and even its own special clothing. I wanted to wear mourning clothes, so that people could just look at me and know that I was 'normal,' I wasn't like them anymore, and then they could treat me accordingly. Of course, had I actually been required to wear mourning, I would have wanted to wear nothing but hot pink hot pants just to be contrary.
I want to urge you, though, not to feel that there needs to be timetable for grieving, or even that there is a 'proper' length of time for grief. It comes and it goes, it spirals and turns back on itself. It lasts forever and only for as long as you need it to. I don't know. It sucks.
You have already done so much just by making Hans a real part of your life. Some people will think that is strange, and will even think that means you are 'holding on to your grief' too long. I certainly think that is what my mother-in-law thought about us for a long time. But that is other people's problem, not yours.
However you have to do this unknowable sucky thing is way you have to do it. You can't plan it, but don't judge yourself for it either.
I hope I'm not sounding preachy.
peace,
My mother and I developed a shared two-part mantra in the year after Calvin's death and birth.
Part 1 was "I don't know," meaning 'I don't know why this happened,' 'I don't know what to do,' 'I don't know how to get through this,' 'I don't know how to express what I am feeling,' 'I don't know what to do about other people's stupid remarks,' and so on and so on.
Part 2 was "This sucks," which I think is pretty self-explanatory.
You said several days ago that you are a planner and not being able to plan your grief is flummoxing you. I sympathize with that. I have often felt helpless in the face of my grief. I still sometimes do. I found myself wishing for a lost culture, where mourning, even for a dead baby, had specific steps, rituals, duration, and even its own special clothing. I wanted to wear mourning clothes, so that people could just look at me and know that I wasn't 'normal,' I wasn't like them anymore, and then they could treat me accordingly. Of course, had I actually been required to wear mourning, I would have wanted to wear nothing but hot pink hot pants just to be contrary.
I want to urge you, though, not to feel that there needs to be timetable for grieving, or even that there is a 'proper' length of time for grief. It comes and it goes, it spirals and turns back on itself. It lasts forever and only for as long as you need it to. I don't know. It sucks.
You have already done so much just by making Hans a real part of your life. Some people will think that is strange, and will even think that means you are 'holding on to your grief' too long. I certainly think that is what my mother-in-law thought about us for a long time. But that is other people's problem, not yours.
However you have to do this unknowable sucky thing is way you have to do it. You can't plan it, but don't judge yourself for it either.
I hope I'm not sounding preachy.
peace.
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