Guilt

I've had a mostly good day today, I went into some effort getting ready for work and have felt busy, and because of this, I feel guilty for not being sad. For not thinking of Anna.

I am a terrible parent.

For the men who have experienced loss

"A Baby and His Daddy"

It's very early morning,

The clock is nearing one,

And the tears are finally falling,

For himself and for his son.

The girl beside him sleeps,

He doesn't want to wake her,

For when the morning breaks,

The grief may overtake her.

In these still and silent hours,

He can let himself feel,

He can let himself be broken,

He can start to heal.

For those still and silent hours,

Before the sun lights up the sky,

Belong to a baby and his daddy,

The time that he can finally cry.

(SAFDA Newsletter, Father's Day Edition)

Thoughts for 13 December 2015

Going through such a sad time after we lost Anna, all I can think about is how the pregnant ladies in my life, whether related, friends or colleagues, are so lucky.

I don't wish anyone any ill will and I hope them all the best. The decision we had to make was heartbreaking and that pain shouldn't be felt by anyone.

Also, my body still feels empty, as if my little meatball should be growing inside of me...

Empty

It's hard to believe that two weeks ago today, I had a very special baby growing inside me. 

Very special. An angel, even.

At 20 weeks and 6 days she left us. Left me. 

My body feels empty. I felt twinges about 10 days before we lost Anna. I thought that was a sign from her that everything was alright. I couldn't sleep on my right side because my Meatball didn't like that. I even got heartburn if I ate spicy food. 

I miss it all. But mostly, I miss the feeling of her growing inside me. Resting a hand on my belly, as if reassuring us both that everything would be okay. 

Placing my hand there now is just met with a hand on skin. There's nothing under there except for organs.

Others who have felt my loss will know how it is. To the mothers of healthy babies? Cherish every moment. I don't want you to ever be in my place. 

How am I stronger?

My husband I lost our baby. Not something I want to go into details about right now, but when you hear the words "not compatible with life"? Well, fuck.

I took a week off work to recover and check my head. Which, after a loss is messed up anyway. People have either been really nice, or I'll get the cliche, it'll be alright chats. Then there are those that are silent. Whether it's because they don't know what to say, or don't care, I'm not sure. It hurts sometimes, Especially when people you've known for years just go completely blank.

Losing a baby is not a death sentence. Life goes on and so far, it's been sucking. As someone who suffers depression and anxiety, it's been a shit storm. All the loss this year is compounding and messing with my head. But I will get through this, because something positive is on the horizon. It's just not here yet.

Last night, the husband said to me, "I wonder when life will get back to normal?" I laughed sadly and told him a life with a baby's loss, support meetings and that empty feeling inside was our new normal. Someone at the Sands group meeting said it succinctly; additional children don't take the grief away, but they help heal your heart. Beautiful words.

I've been back at work for three days. People have told me I'm brave and strong. How? I'm barely holding it together. Everything reminds me of Anna. I'm surrounded by pregnant women some days and I want to cry. But how do I feel? I'm actually happy for them. Miscarriage, stillbirth and other losses are so hushed up as if they're taboo. Why should they be? Let's talk about it. I'm being as open as I can. I hope I don't trigger someone or make them uncomfortable.

But Anna was my baby. Our baby. She came out deceased, a sweet, tiny angel. And I have no problems talking about her. She was too soon for this world and she's with her great Pappou Tasouli in Heaven. I know it. Not always overly religious, I need to believe she's there, or the guilt takes over. He has the great-grandchild he always wanted, and she has someone to look after her.

And now, the tears begin.

I'm not stronger. I'm taking life an hour at a time. I'm happy, I'm sad, I'm guilty, I just am. I'm going to take my time to grieve. I am not planning any more children right now and lumping that stress on myself. When it happens, it happens. And that will be a different time in my life. There will be anxiety wondering whether baby number 3 will be healthy.

But the husband and I will be there for each other.

For Hank. For Anna. For Pappou.

May they rest in peace.

Pappou

Four long months Locked inside a cruel prison, tortured by shining lights, cold hands and indifference. Each day, begging for a silent mercy, he doesn’t see the tears shed for him He longs for home, his family, his dignity - It’s all been ripped away like seams from a stitch Heaving chest, blue eyes dim He takes his last breath and with that – his dignity returns He goes home Where he belongs.

Bonjour.

I have returned from a pregnant pause. Get it? Pregnant? Husband and I will be expecting our first bundle of joy in April 2016. Little Meatball. Not finding out what we're having (bucking the trend!), until she arrives. And if I call Meatball a she, it's a gut feeling.

So here I am, back after two years. I tried my hand at writing erotica. It exists somewhere on the internet. Would I show my friends and family? Hell no. It definitely brought out some unsavoury characters, but I've also spoken to some people that are lovely, and those people are different; sometimes in a good way.

So, since 2013, life has been a rollercoaster. More highs than lows, but the lows always hit hardest. Finding out we were pregnant was a blessing. The silver lining of 2015. And finding out I had gestational diabetes was a kick in the guts. So, my diet has been overhauled. Let's be real for a moment here, it's not a lifestyle change. It was a wakeup call. "Change the way you eat, Eleni. Don't jeopardise your baby's health." Oof. Heavy.

So, as you know, most women (Mormon women especially), are users of Pinterest. While browsing through the somewhat endless posts on weddings and babies, I came across the recipes. My god, American women love to cook! They put me to shame. So tonight, after eating healthy for weeks, testing my blood four times a day, and a productive weekend of cleaning and house stuff with the husband, I decided to cook.

Chicken and Mushroom Casserole

Here are my before/during/after pictures. I've never floured chicken before. I am totally sold on this. It made it completely different tasting. And the review from my husband? "It was lovely, can I eat the rest?"

A winner in my books!

lightning.

The lightning danced across the sky like a lazy cotillion.

self-lovin'

Marshmallow brain with a searing pain 

Bed of feathers 

Burning lungs

Bruised ribs

Spine cracks

Eyes fluttering

They begin to close

Chest heaves. I begin to breathe. 

hank.

White and red. Cold and warm. Unimaginable pain coursing through. Heart and body broken. Dripping fills the room. Tears and blood mingling as they swirl down the drain.

 

What would hurt more? The pain is excruciating, like a red hot knife taken to her insides.

 

She bleeds.

 

Life flows around her and yet she is trapped. Fixated. Yearning.

 

Slow.

 

Hugs don’t dent the numb feeling. It grows stronger with each passing day.

 

Lies are thrown at her like a scourge. Silence is craved.

 

Bed calls. Hiding under the cocoon of life. Nothing else exists.

 

She is at peace.

You are the worst mascot ever. You are stuck in the suit.

Can't breathe. I'm stuck inside this suit. It'll be fun, they said, you'll earn some cash. I've been in here 10 minutes and the zip is stuck. I need to pee and chuck simultaneously. It feels like I'm going to boil to death in this nasty, polyester costume with a tiny gauze strip for my eyes and mouth. I'm breathing in moist air. I'm trying not to hyperventilate. 3 hours to go. I'm lead out into the sunlight and I can barely see in front of me. Something is forced into my hands. I let out a sob. I don't want to do this. I try and rip the costume open but it doesn't work. I'm yelling but my words are muffled. I try to run away. Fall over. Bang my knee on something. People are laughing at my pain. Tears are streaming. I can hear photos being taken. I'm helped up. I go back to the store. I'm fired. Who wants to hire a giant hot dog?

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