Being Selfish

When Patricia died, I was amazed the world continued spinning. I had a hard time understanding how life could go on when our family had suffered such a tragedy. One of the normal feelings I experienced was anger. At the time, my intense anger made me selfish. I believed that because I lost a child, all of the other things in my life should be easy. Everyone should be nice to me, after all, don't they know I just lost my daughter? Unlike some people who prefer to grieve privately, I wanted people to go out of their way to make grand gestures of kindness and support. Looking back, I know it is because I felt the more people did for me, the more they were acknowledging Patricia's life and how much it hurts me to live without her.

My husband felt similarly. In fact, after Patricia died, he began playing the lottery. Our three birthdays make a perfect five-number pick and our anniversary month and day is the same, hello Powerball number! The year she died, her due date of May 30th was a draw day and I'll admit to being genuinely surprised when we didn't win. After all we suffered, we both felt we deserved something wonderful to come our way. (17.5 months later, we still haven't hit the jackpot but my husband continues to faithfully buy tickets!)

My feelings just after Anna was born were similar, though not quite as intense. The following is a story often seen in online Preemie communities I am a part of:

How Preemie Moms Are Chosen
(Adapted from Erma Bombeck)

Did you ever wonder how the mothers of premature babies are chosen?

Somehow, I visualize God hovering Earth, selecting his instruments for propagation with great care and deliberation. As he observes, he instructs his angels to take notes in a giant ledger.

“Armstrong, Beth, son. Patron Saint…give her Gerard. He’s used to profanity.”

Finally, he passes a name to an angel and smiles. “Give her a preemie.”

The angel is curious. “Why this one God? She’s so happy.” “Exactly,” smiles God. “Could I give a premature baby a mother who knows no laughter? That would be cruel.”

“But does she have the patience?” asks the angel.

“I don’t want her to have too much patience, or she’ll drown in a sea of self-pity and despair.

Once the shock and resentment wear off, she’ll handle it.

I watched her today. She has that sense of self and independence so rare and so necessary in a mother. You see, the child I am going to give her has a world of it’s own. She has to make it live in her world, and that’s not going to be easy.”

God smiles. “This one is perfect. She has just the right amount of selfishness. “

The angel gasps, “Selfishness! Is that a virtue?”

God nods. “If she can’t separate herself from the child occasionally, she will never survive. Yes, here is a woman whom I will bless with a child less than perfect.

She doesn’t know it yet, but she is to be envied.

She will never take for granted a spoken word. She will never consider a step ordinary.

When her child says “momma” for the first time, she will be witness to a miracle and know it.

I will permit her to see clear the things that I see – ignorance, cruelty, prejudice – and allow her to rise above them.

She will never be alone. I will be at her side every minute of every day of her life because she is doing my work as surely as she is here by my side.”

“But what about her Patron Saint?” asks the angel, his pen poised in the air. God smiles.

“A mirror will suffice.”

The first time I read it, I was (surprise!) angry. My religious beliefs are a post of their own, but I do not believe a God allowed Patricia to die, nor directed Anna's premature birth. However, what the story says about the necessary selfishness of Preemie moms definitely holds true for me. My selfishness allows me to ask for what I need, accept the help others offer, and realize that it is okay to feel sad about what Anna is facing while at the same time loving and appreciating her.

Who Wore It Best?

Last fall, after we found out we were having a girl, we went to my parents' house for dinner and afterwards my mom said she had something for Anna and brought out a big box. I opened it up and inside was at least a dozen outfits from my infanthood! I had never really thought about her keeping them, and they were so well preserved. Mostly it was just my frilly little dresses, not everyday stuff, but she'd cleaned and pressed them all and they are beautiful. Even my coming home outfit was there!

About halfway through opening them I just burst into tears. This was something completely unexpected, but since we were team green before Patricia was born I didn't dream of her wearing my clothes nor had I mourned that. I am happy Anna has the chance to wear them but it hurts so much that Patricia cannot. That moment showed me how many difficult things are ahead. So many moments that will be so happy but also so painful. 

I meant to post this yesterday because of the #throwbackthursday trend, but I forgot. Last week my mom and grandma did a photo shoot with Anna and put her in some of the clothes I wore as a baby. The photos are adorable but they also make my heart ache for Patricia.

So, we are missing Anna's big sister but I am sure she would wear this dress better than me just as Anna does!

Lucky

Since Patricia's death some words have become more emotionally charged for me than others. Lucky is one of these words. I used to feel pretty lucky. No, I never won the lottery and hadn't lived a life completely void of hardship, but I recognized how enviable my life was. A good family, a husband who I enjoy spending time with, opportunities to receive an education and travel the world, a job that pays the bills and offers good benefits. These are good things.

Still, when someone, even my husband, refers to me or our family as lucky, it cuts me like a knife. I am not sure what it is about the word that causes me pain because all those things listed above, I still have those things, as well as a beautiful baby girl at home. But I no longer automatically think of myself as lucky. When I hear the word, I immediately think "Lucky would be if Patricia didn't die. Lucky would be if Anna wasn't born 14 weeks early or have brain bleeds. How can I or anyone think I'm lucky when these things did happen?"

I know the issue is grief-related because I am still grieving for Patricia and in some ways for Anna, though with her it is mostly fear for the future. I think I afraid of somehow forgetting Patricia's life and its effect on me as well as ignoring the challenges we  face with Anna. It is also hard when I watch Anna struggle to do something as simple as touch her favorite toy with her left hand only to get frustrated and begin crying. I feel sad and guilty, not lucky.

Despite what we have been through, I do feel joy. I could list out individual things that make me feel happy or thankful. I guess it's just the blanket idea of being lucky that I have difficulty with. Right now it is better if I tackle one thing at a time and take each day moment by moment. I believe the emotion surrounding the word will fade with time as will the immediate thoughts of all the reasons I feel distinctively unlucky, but only time will tell.

Patricia's Songs

I strongly believe in the power of music as a therapeutic outlet for grief or any other strong emotion. When I am in the middle of a crisis, listening to particular songs I identify with helps me handle the emotions. For months after Patricia died, I listened to songs on the way to work that brought my grief to the surface. I would arrive a few minutes early and cry in my car in the parking lot. This time was so important for me. It made me feel connected to my daughter and to myself and allowed me to continue on.

Months or years later, listening to songs I identified with during a particular period of time allows me to re-connect with myself and my story. This is so necessary for me as some days I cannot believe my own story. I struggle to believe that this is my life. The following songs are, for me, reminders of my Patricia. I included the links, I apologize for the YouTube ads!

First up is Christina Perri's "A Thousand Years."  This song is light and beautiful. It can be perceived as sad, but also joyful. This is what I felt for Patricia just after her death. I was angry and in deep pain, of course, but I did not direct those feelings towards Patricia. She is my precious firstborn daughter, my forever baby. This song will always make my heart swell with love for her.

All along I believed 

I would find you

Time has brought 

Your heart to me

I have loved you for a 

Thousand years

I'll love you for a 

Thousand more

Another song I listened to often on those morning car rides comes from the Glee soundtrack and is titled "Keep Holding On." I have been a Glee fan ever since its debut and Patricia was also. Whenever we watched the show or listened to the soundtrack in the car, Patricia would wiggle and kick as if she was dancing to the beat. This particular song is a tribute to my relationship with my husband. I had never felt so close to him as I did just after Patricia's death. He is the only person who has experienced what I have, the death of a part of myself.

Keep holding on

'Cause you know we'll make it through, we'll make it through

Just stay strong

'Cause you know I'm here for you, I'm here for you

Another Glee song I played over and over was "I Dreamed a Dream."  This song brought out the pain  and anguish I felt after my world came crashing down. The emotions I felt and still feel upon hearing this song are deep and raw. 

And still I dream she'll come to me

That we will live the years together

But there are dreams that cannot be

And there are storms we cannot weather

I had a dream my life would be

So different from this hell I'm living

So different now from what it seemed

Now life has killed the dream I dreamed

Another song I often cry to is "Come Wake Me Up" by Rascal Flatts. My grief comes from my love for Patricia and in a way, crying allows me to spend time with her the only way I can. Remembering her, loving her, missing her. I accept that she is gone and no longer feel as angry, but the pain doesn't diminish. 

Tonight your memory burns like a fire

With every one it grows higher and higher

And I can't get over it, I just can't put out this love

I just sit in these flames and pray that you'll come back

Close my eyes tightly, hold on and hope that I'm dreaming

Come wake me up

The last song I'll post is a more recent one, "Gone, Gone, Gone" by Phillip Phillips. I discovered this over the summer and since Anna has allowed me to feel more joy and fewer grey days, I can think about Patricia in a different way. Patricia will always be a part of our family and we tell Anna often about her big sister, but I want Anna to understand that death is a part of life and it is okay to feel good even though we have lost someone very important. 

Like a drum my heart never stops beating...

For you, for you.

Baby, I'm not moving on.

I love you long after you're gone

Feeling Grey

Sometimes I get really low. My husband and I have termed this "feeling grey," as if a storm cloud is directly above me, following my every move. At this moment in time, I'm not there, likely because I had some wonderful snuggle time with Anna this morning. However, that could change in a second. I try not to play what I hear others call the "pain olympics" because I know everyone has a battle to fight, but I feel that I can state objectively that the past 16 months have been incredibly difficult for our family. Our lives have changed, our marriage has changed, I have changed. Some of the change in me will likely be for the better, though I'm not ready to consider that yet. Unfortunately, my journey as Patricia and Anna's mother has also brought deep-rooted feelings of anger and envy.

I know these feelings are normal after the loss of a child and after any traumatic and unexpected end to a pregnancy, including premature birth. I suppose I am writing this to let other women know that these feelings are normal, because they can also be very isolating and damaging to relationships. I am ashamed to admit that on more than one occasion in the past few weeks even, I have said aloud to my husband that I hate my life. This is not true, but when the tidal wave of grief hits, it often destroys everything in its path. I am only able to think about what I have lost. For Patricia, an entire life. For Anna, the dream of a typical childhood.

I feel safer when I am in my little family bubble (see this post). I miss Patricia every day and fear the unknown future with Anna, but the dark feelings are more likely to stay away when I can live in the moment. Alas, we must live in the world and this can be rough. For example, I have a very difficult time seeing pregnant women or hearing about their pregnancies. Social media has made this tough but I will say that if you are pregnant or have young children and you are not a fellow loss mom, you are hidden from my Facebook feed. When I see pregnant women out and about, it is often hard to control my emotions. Sometimes I feel anger, and I want to scream at the woman how lucky she is. Sometimes I feel envious, and I wallow in my own self-pity and think about how it should have been for me. Sometimes I just feel sad that I have lost my innocence about pregnancy.

I was surprised that it is not just pregnant women who are triggers for me. I also have trouble celebrating the joy of others. This one is also somewhat shameful to admit, but it is the truth. For example, recently we attended the wedding of a close friend of mine, a fellow sorority sister. She has found a fantastic husband and father for her young son, and I am truly happy for them. I am also crazy envious. Listening to them take their vows brought back memories of the start of our marriage, when we were so naive and full of hope. I miss those feelings. It didn't help that we left Anna at home and there were other babies there, one of whom was born only days after Patricia's due date. A painful reminder of what we should have. Looking at the adorable little girls dancing around the floor and wondering whether our Anna will ever walk was too much. Thankfully, my husband felt the change in me and we said our goodbyes early.

Time is not a magic fix for these feelings, but I do hope the intensity will fade in the years to come. I will not retreat from the world, but I will continue to seek out others who can provide support and understanding and hope that I can be of some help to others who find themselves on similar journeys.