I think back to the person that I was just over a year ago and I am incredulous.
I cannot believe that woman was me.
It seems strange that the person I was, or who I thought I was, for 29 years was so easily blown away. In a gust of wind. A huff and a puff and she was gone. Never to return.
Who I am now is different. Not better or worse necessarily. Just different.
Things I considered important before, they are . . .gone.
There is just an empty space where they were.
The music I listen to. I can't bear to hear much of what I liked before. Or I have to really brace myself to listen to it. A bit like lashing yourself to the mast in the face of a gale. Leonard Cohen, Nick Cave, Nick Drake, The Smiths, The Mountain Goats, Ryan Adams, even twee, friendly lil Belle and Sebastian that I used to listen to in my car on the way to work when I was pregnant. Even my beloved Smashing Pumpkins. I can't manage to listen to anything too sad or too angry. The music that I felt was so close to me, that defined me. Gone.
Now I listen to . . .hmm, mainly 'Chilled R'n'B volume I.' I like Jordin Sparks' No Air especially and I listened to it a lot after Georgina died. For some reason, I can still drive calmly and listen to it. Whereas most other music has me in floods of tears and a major danger to other road users.
The books I read. I have always been a voracious reader of novels. Doubtless I would have slowed down a little once Jessica was born but I've also had a complete change of taste there too. Now I read mainly what I would have called 'chick-lit' I guess. Oh and celebrity magazines. I read the complete works of Jilly Cooper whilst Jessica was in hospital. Not any better or worse than the things I used to read, just different. I now read stuff I never would have contemplated reading before. I can't concentrate enough to read for very long anyhow.
But I am embarking on an excellent new book which comes highly recommended by the wonderful Tracy so perhaps I am on the up with that one. I'm only on the first hundred pages and kilts feature prominently. And have just realised that it is St. Andrew's Day today too. An auspicious day for starting, here goes!
Films and TV shows. Previously consisted of Disney movies and the occasional slightly quirky movie. Now replaced by Dexter (a TV show about a serial killer), Prison Break, The Wire and House. None of which are suitable viewing for a one-year old. So annoyingly, where we might have had perfectly corresponding taste for a couple of years, I am now addicted to shows full of violence and swear words which I am attempting to cram an episode of in during nap time.
My personal appearance. I used to panic a lot about my weight and I was always on a diet. It amazes me now to think how many hours I wasted pondering if I should eat this or that. Or save those calories for later.
I used to love, love, love make-up and clothes and shoes and fancy schmancy expensive conditioners and handbags and high heels.I don't even look like myself any more. Not the person I remember from a couple of years ago. She just stopped somewhere, mouth open, mid-mascara application probably knowing her.
Lots of things. Stupid, trivial things no doubt but the things that composed 'me.'
Well, I never told you I was deep. I swim in the shallower waters of humanity I'm afraid.
Lots of internal cogs that whirred in my brain in a nice, orderly simulacrum of a human being just went clonk, clank, fssst and fell on to the floor.
All those things I thought I understood, thought I believed.
Turns out I didn't really understand.
Didn't really believe.
Perhaps this happens to everyone when they have a baby?
Perhaps this happens to everyone when they lose a baby?
I don't know. It all arrived in such a jumble, all at once.
Did the same kind of things happen to you?
That person, whoever the hell she was, just stopped.
I think I know the moment she stopped.
It was in a hospital, not very far away from where I type this, about fifty miles or so. She was standing holding tightly to her husband's hand. It was the middle of the night. She had just got out of a bed in that same hospital. She had been woken by a telephone call. The person on the other end of the 'phone spoke to her husband. Told him that his daughter was dying. Now.
That woman is still frozen in that moment. That moment that returns and returns to me. Sitting on that bed and my stomach plummeting through the floor. My entire body falling through the floor shortly after it.
Sometimes when I am least expecting it and, frustratingly, usually when it would be a really inappropriate moment to start crying. That moment comes back.
At work. Driving on the motorway. This moment inserts itself between my eyes, my brain and the world. I'm back there. Smelling hand gel and hospital soap. Frightened.
The doctor with her blond curls and a flowing tweedy skirt bent over the incubator with a look of fierce concentration on her face.
The tiny, red baby that is my daughter. So small that I can hardly see her through all the equipment and all those people.
The doctor is saying 'night-trick, night-trick' and I'm so confused. I don't understand. What could that be? Later I discover she is saying nitric.
And my heart. My poor heart. It's screaming 'my daughter, my daughter' and I can't do anything.
I can't touch her. I can't help her. I can't breath for her. All I can do is stand there and break. Break into a million and one tiny fragments, shattered on the floor in that room. I can't help but think you would find a few shards of me there to this day. Along with pieces of many other parents doubtless.
But when I tried to put myself back together, I simply couldn't get it right. I feel like I stuck myself back together again in the wrong order.
I don't know who I am. I don't know who I ought to try to be. I thought I would be a mother. And I am.
But I never expected motherhood to start like this.
Then I briefly thought that this blog would take the turn that many of us hope for, a 'pregnancy after loss' blog. But it didn't. Or maybe it kind of already did as I do write about Jessica from time to time.
But perhaps that wouldn't have helped anyhow.
I think I invest too much in another pregnancy. Hoping that another pregnancy, one that doesn't end in death and intensive care, would somehow fix some of those pieces back in place.
But it wouldn't. And it won't. And I have to contemplate the possibility of who I am without that.
A funny kind of mother. To two tiny children. One who grew. One who didn't.
But still a mother.
And it isn't really about me anyhow.
I'm kind of an irrelevancy.
It's about those two daughters of mine.
Love you my sweet girls.
I'm so proud of you both.
I love you.
I miss you Georgie.
I have only been without my babies for just over three months and I have noticed how much I have changed. It amazes me how my babies only blessed me with their presence for a short time and how much they taught me in that time.
ReplyDeletexx
I believe there was a question in there. If so, my answer is a resounding, ''yes.'
ReplyDeleteI have a slight recollection of my former self and pieces seem to be coming back now that some time has passed. I think it's harder in the early days to determine which other parts of the universe are not at all what you believed them to be. It's like you have to let everything go and then pick and choose what gets added back in.
This post really spoke to me--even though it's about you. Although I see I've made a special guest appearance.
Baby loss changes us, ages us, sets us apart from the rest of the world. I now hate parties, big groups of people, loud music, laughter and children make me cry and paralyse my husband.
ReplyDeleteOh my. So familiar. Like SO familiar. I hate trotting out the line that's far too common in comments but "I really could have written most of this myself".
ReplyDeleteI never thought my motherhood would start out like this either. I also don't know who I am anymore. I also struggle with all my old loves. Music, shoes - the lot.
And Belle and Sebastian - we played Funny Little Frog at Hope's funeral. We played that to her a lot when she lived. I'm not sure I've listened to it since that chilly August day when we put her in the earth. Oh I feel sad just thinking about it.
So much love to you, Catherine. As always, you're understood.
xoxo
The changes are abundant aren't they Catherine? Everywhere, everything, every facet of life before has changed with that last breath. It's heartbreaking. I think about it all the time, my two babies, the one here with me and the one I buried. Sometimes I wish I were someone else, somewhere else with another life. Your posts always speak to my soul, sometimes I feel you're the only one who truly gets the magnitude of what I've lost. Thanks for being here too....Hugs
ReplyDeletePowerful post, Catherine. Amazing how babyloss changes us. I also feel like I fell apart in that one moment when the midwife said she couldn't find a heartbeat. And no matter how I try to put back the pieces they're in all wrong and jumbled. There's a Blue Rodeo song with words to that effect and when I heard those lyrics I almost drove off the road. (((Hugs)))
ReplyDeleteI think you're right. That another pregnancy wont fix up the loose ends. I think we all think that. Right now, six weeks in, I think it complicates the grieving. There is even more guilt and loss... only not very much time to process it.
ReplyDeleteThinking of you Catherine. Both your girls are so special. xx
I too have changed so much that sometimes I have no idea who the hell I am anymore. That girl died in hospital room 413.
ReplyDeleteIn the past, I could watch movies or even cartoons that had violence in them, now I can't. I have sold about half of our small DVD collection because we knew that they were movies that we just would never watch again. We have such an aversion to violence that we went vegetarian and don't really see ourselves ever eating meat again.
I could go on and on, but I will stop and just tell you that I totally get it. I think John Lennon put it best here: http://linesfromasong.blogspot.com/2009/08/what-am-i-supposed-to-be.html
Sending love...
I tried posting a comment this morning,but nothing I say is quite right.
ReplyDeleteI do think motherhood changes you, I know it changed me, but I also think losing a baby like we have changes us in so many ways, and probably it's only understood by other babylost parents.
I know our experiences are different, but we both lost someone so so precious.
btw email me, I need your address!
This is a really thought provoking entry. Thank you for posting it.
ReplyDeleteYou are right that everything changes after the death of a child. I've found that what makes me tick has changed and although some parts are returning, other aspects of me have disappeared.
The deepest impact for me though was in my relationships with others. The key one being that of my wife and I. At times, it was almost like starting all over again. Because, despite going through the same experience, it changed us in different ways.
So, yes I believe that it does happen to everyone if they lose a baby. And yes it definitely happened in a jumble all at once.
Take care
I have never known awkwardness until Zoe died. I never knew the true intensity of anxiety either.
ReplyDeleteI hate that I feel them both, daily, still.
I hate that we had to change and our babies had to die.
I am hoping with you for another pregnancy.
xoxo
Oh how I've changed... When I look back at Oct 2007 when Nicholas and Sophia were conceived and the woman I was... I dont recognize her most days. Life is so completely different now. I am a shadow of that woman... A whisper of someone new.
ReplyDeleteI know what you mean about music. It breaks me sometimes to hear the music I favored during my pregnancies with Nick & Sophie and Alexander. I listen and it reminds me of a time that seems like forever ago.
I've managed to get a few pieces of my past self back, but it's a surprise each time it's happened, and I still feel like an impostor some days, walking around pretending to be the self I was over a year ago.
ReplyDeleteWhoever you are now, you are a wonderful mother to both your girls. Sending love.
not that we're there yet, at 8 years, but i was reminded of this poem.. i substituted "the compassionate friends" (bereaved parents group) for OUR group here. this was written by a dad.. but i really liked it when i heard it. you just reminded me of it.
ReplyDeleteWho Was That Person?
An eight-year retrospective...
Who was that person? He looked like me. He
talked like me. But I don't think I know him anymore.
Who was that person? He had so many
friends. He was popular at cocktail parties and told good
jokes. Today, he seeks out one person he can really talk
to and that is enough. His telephone Rolodex is a lot
smaller, but so much more important.
Who was that person? He had such different
priorities. He skated over life, like an ice skater on a
frozen pond. He never thought about how cold the water
was. Now he has a totally new perspective
on the world. He reaches out to people who hurt
because he knows how they feel. He has been there. He
has felt the ice water.
Who was that person? He had an orderly
chronological sense of tim e. Now the world is divided
forever into simply "before" and "after."
Who was that person? He used to rush
through dinner or cut the family vacation short to get
back to the office. Now he thinks back to the family
times as the most wonderful times of his life.
He knows what is irreplaceable.
Who was that person? He used to
worry about so many im aginary troubles,
most of which never happened anyway. Now
he spends most of his time in the present. He
appreciates today's sunset, daisies, simple
things and good friends. He knows how
precious each moment is.
Who was that person? He used to think about
what he wanted to get out of life. Now he thinks about
how grateful he is for the gif ts he has had.
Who was that person? He used to measure
his goals in terms of where he was going. Now he
focuses more on what his life will have been about. He
asks less and less why his child died, and more of ten:
"Why did he live?"
Who was that person? He had never heard of
The [babyloss blogs]. Now they are his best
friends. And he knows that by helping someone else
through them, he also helps himself.
Who was that person? I don't think l know
him anymore.
Rich Edler
Catherine, we're currently obsessed with The Wire, on season 3episode 4!
ReplyDeleteI haven't even begun to think of the changes in me in a big way, the small things, tidbits of analysis are all I've been able to handle in these 10 months since Cayden died. Relationships, always important to me, now trump absolutely everything. Life is about the people in it and everything else is secondary. It takes much more to piss me off in certain realms of daily life, much less in others.
"A funny kind of mother. To two tiny children. One who grew. One who didn't." Perfectly, tragically beautifully said.
xo
So much of this speaks to me. I know what it is, to try to put yourself back together, but not be able to get it right. I can't get it right, pieces, HUGE pieces - hope,faith,joy, they stayed in the room where my daughter left. You said "I don't even look like myself any more. Not the person I remember from a couple of years ago. She just stopped somewhere, mouth open, mid-mascara application probably knowing her." My gosh Catherine, we are so alike, you and I. And yet, I wonder, as you do here, if this is what it is like for all who have lost a baby. I don't know what it is to have another child, to have the "one that grew" but I do imagine that if that day comes, i would still be able to relate so deeply to this post. It is all just so true. I am sorry I am so late responding here. Very moving.
ReplyDelete