The Many Differences

As mentioned in an earlier post, my hubby and I had a few months of separation last summer. Truth be told, we grew apart previous to it all, but the day he came home and told me that he was no longer happy, it killed me - ripped my heart out.

This guy is the one; the only one who knows me, inside and out. Fast forward a few months ( I am editing a lot of goings on in between it all) and he decides that he wants to be with me. Fine! Great!

And now, many months after the fact, after he told me all of my faults, I am the one in this relationship - still. I am the one that has to worry about it going south (which it slowly is). I am the one that has to worry about all of the things that I am doing wrong ~ what about him? What about all of the things that he has done wrong? And I'm not talking in the past; a much more recent past?

Part of me worries that he is just too afraid to leave me - a security thing. Which was one of his many "complaints" before he left. Sometimes I just wonder if I am way beyond hurt to even recognize what is right in front of me. There are too may things left unsaid that I know will never be brought to the surface - it's just the way we are.

I don't know. I just don't know.

The one thing that I found the most shocking while we were apart was knowing that there was some guy out there that I had 2 stillbirths with and he was the only one that knew what it was like to go through that with me. Without him, I wasn't sure how I would deal with "triggers" appropriately without being able to go home and cry or lean on his supportive shoulders.

Last month I injured myself at work; it was a stupid incident that should have never happened, but here I am and have been sitting at home for the past 3 weeks. Just within this last week, I have found myself thinking back over 2 summers ago when I was off after having Peyton. I can't help but feel odd ~ it all seems too familiar being off along the same time frame and wondering around the house looking for something to do. I know that it is 2 totally different instances, but to me and where my head is at, it feels the same. I guess being holed up in my house isn't helping these feelings either.

I just want to get back to work and start to feel *normal* like I really am not living through all of it again. No, I'm not moping around the house and crying for my lost child(ren), but I can't help but feel those flashbacks.

It's amazing what time can and cannot do to a person's behaviour.

Time Flies??!!?? NOPE!

Tomorrow marks the 2 year anniversary of when Peyton became an angel ~ holy sh*t! It does and it doesn't seem like all that time has passed already; but I guess the calendar doesn't lie, now does it?!

Up until a half hour ago, I was cool as a cucumber,but while I was out for a walk with the dogs, it hit me. LIKE. A. TON. OF. BRICKS. As we all know the horrible memories that replay over and over in our minds, I won't need to describe what is playing in my mind.

I really don't know how I am going to get through work tomorrow without having a minor meltdown. This is the first time between the 2 girls that I have had to work through an anniversary. I know that I will be busy enough to keep it pushed back in my head, but I know fear that that ache will be there in front. The only thought that will keep me sane is knowing that I get to come home to my hubby and cry on his shoulder.

This is one of those days where I can actually feel & hear the silence of not having any child/ren to hold tight. The old familiar heartache has once again wedged itself in my chest.

Anger has always been a distant thump away, but today it lies within my heart too ~ why? Why me? Why two precious babies?

Good Person or Sucker for Punishment?

As the eternal doormat, this is the question du-jour. Am I truly a good person or do I have some sick desire to torture myself? Seriously though, why do I constantly put myself in situations that I know will bring me to my knees in a fit of tears later?

The good person in me wants to be there for other people who I value their friendship and who need support. The torturous she-devil in me just loves to put me through my paces. This week has proven to be a memory ridden and emotionally draining one as I watch a close friend become a mother for the first time. No, don't get me wrong, I am happy for her as she enjoys all of those special moments with her son; but I can't shake that nagging feeling that it should be me. Another friend of mine asked me if I was jealous in a way and I said no, I just wish it was me. Is that the same thing? Jealousy and yearning?

Back to my original point ~ throughout my friend's pregnancy, I have been always there for her. Either to talk her down when she's about ready to jump, to answer funny pregnancy questions and to just be with her as she walks the 9 month journey. As stated before, I co-hosted a shower for her, went to an ultrasound with her and most recently, went to her pre-op appointment for the c-section. The latter was the straw that broke the camel's back; er, I mean hurt my heart.

I sat in the waiting area of the birthing unit of the hospital. I watched happy and naive mothers to be parade around while they waited as well. I saw newborn babies being wheeled around by happily exhausted mothers. I sat with empty arms, a hurting heart and a head full of memories. So, am I good friend or sucker for punishment? I wanted to be there for my friend as her husband couldn't be there, but why, oh why, must I put myself through this torture?

Ok....I must be the best, most kick ass friend anyone could ask for. Hopefully, they come up with some type of medal for this "position".

It appears as though this is the week that I will be relentless and start to give up some of my baby stuff. I have just answered an ad to a women who is due in September and wants Care Bear nursery items. Yes, I have been wanting to sell these things, but I didn't know just how much it would hurt to open up those boxes.

To know that I wasn't able to have my dream nursery and now to possibly enable that chance for someone else just *plain* hurts*. It takes me back to the amount of time that I spent online trying to find these things and then the juggling that I had to do to get them to my house. The real kicker was getting home from the hospital after delivering Quinn to find them sitting in the post office.

Memory is such a sneaky and mean son of a bitch.

Last night I had a rush of sad memories come flooding into my head. It all started out with me thinking (more like wondering) about when my husband is going to paint this room.

Then it hit me ~ I was thinking about the day that the 2 of us and my parents went out to look at and buy a stroller. I remember being so excited about this stroller...it made it all so real! Once it was assembled, both my husband and I took turns jaunting around the house like a pair of giddy kids ourselves and imagined Quinn being in it. The stroller sat in this room for a few weeks and every time I looked at it, I was in awe.

Now, when I look at it, I am in pain. It has sat down in the basement, covered in bags (clear ones at that) terrorizing me for the past few years. When I was pregnant with Peyton, it wasn't too evil, but still painful, nonetheless. Now I want to hurt and break it; it's perfection and it's never been used state hurts.

Along with the stroller memories came another set of memories ~ packing up all of the baby stuff. I remember it clearly; me taking an Ativan just to survive this feat, but it not really taking an edge off of the anger. My dad had bought two large bins and I threw everything into it ~ the new outfits, books, stuffed toys, bath stuff, the new diaper bag that I had just bought and with it, my hopes and dreams. And there in the corner of the room, sat the stroller. I wish that I could have fit that into a bin.

When I was pregnant with Peyton, I only ever bought one thing ~ a cute onesie from Old Navy. My mom bought a matching hat. That's it. But, those 2 things now sit in the bins as well. I guess I wanted to protect myself from the anger of packing up more baby stuff.

It is all so bittersweet now; when I think back to how naive I was when I was pregnant with Quinn. Now that's the thing that I hate most with pregnant women that haven't been through a loss ~ the naivety.

I am the first person to admit that I am addicted to Grey's Anatomy ~ I am most definitely not ashamed to admit that either! So, to fulfill my addiction, I went out and bought the 3rd season today and started to watch it.

And then....I got to the episode "Where the Boys Are"; the episode that features a young couple giving birth to their stillborn child. Yes, I forgot about that episode.

Talk about taking you back to all sorts of painful memories...... the first one is being told that your baby is dead. While I was watching it, I couldn't help but think, yes, it is in that split second that the world is ripped out right from underneath you. And then, while the woman is pushing the baby out, she has to stop and cry ~ I remember doing that with Quinn; not because of physical pain, but the mental anguish.

The last memory is the silence in the room....the unbearable silence.

It's always amazing when you watch these types of scenes on TV and you think back on the raw memories. The sad thing is that I think that they will always be fresh in our minds.

Oh, that hurt!

Today in an effort to "kick grief's ass", I went through the bins ~ you know, the bins that hold all of the baby things that my daughter's should have been using by now. In other words, the bins that hold my hopes and dreams.

Let's fast forward to the point when I was angrily rummaging through things and I came across the border and the decals that I was going to use to decorate the nursery with. Care Bears. Those stupid, happy, colourful and annoying little Care Bear faces were looking at me; taunting me.

It's the Care Bears that get me ~ I spent A LOT of time and money looking for these things. And, I had to have them all shipped to my aunt's house in California because Amazon.com didn't ship to Canada. Not only does it make me incredibly sad that I never got to have the dream nursery, but I myself, adore these cute little things and now I hate them. I hate that they now represent everything that I lost and am missing.

I am sitting here typing this out in the room that should be the nursery; 3 times over to be exact. But no, there is new flooring in here (yes, another source of inner resentment) and we are soon going to be painting it something "bright and cheerful". Neutral yellow. Not the pinks and purples that are sitting in paint cans downstairs in the basement. Yellow.