During an argument with my husband on Sunday he said to me, "You really need to get some control."
This irritated me no end. On Sunday.
But today . . .
having spent the best part of an hour hiding out in the ladies toilets crying when I should have been at my desk working . . .
I'm beginning to think he might have a point. Much as I hate to lose the argument.
All of this because the chap who sits behind me's wife had unexpectedly gone into premature labour at 30 weeks. Somebody else in the office made a joke about the steroids making the baby really big and muscular. I was suddenly flipped backwards to those two tiny bodies lying in boxes in a hospital and how useless those steroids had turned out to be in my case.
I couldn't catch my breath. I had to head for the door of the office, up the stairs to the toilets where I locked myself in a cubicle, sat on the floor and had a good long cry.
And emerged with grey streaks down my face and red eyes.
Then I had to undo my hair in an attempt to disguise the disaster zone around my eyes.
The presence of some rather intractable knots in the back of my hair meant that, instead of saving the situation, undoing my hair just ended up spreading the disaster zone from my eyes to pretty much my entire head.
So not only am I actually a mess, I even have to look like a snotty, bug eyed, tangle-haired mess. Just swell.
This is getting ridiculous. I can't expect people to tiptoe round me after all this time. Surely I should be able to manage a little better than this.
But it hurts. What happened to my girls. It still hurts so much.
That hurt is so dense, so heavy that I sometimes think I can feel it. A lump in my throat. A lump in my chest. It has a physical presence that hovers just under my skin, waiting for something to press it, to brush against it and make it ache.
It hurts and, strangely, I am still so very shocked by it all. Disbelieving. Shaking my head and thinking that this can't be happening. Not really. Not to me.
I thought it would be more manageable by now, that I might have made what happened a part of me.
Instead there's a constant chorus in the back of my brain, 'my daughter died, my daughter died',
'Hi, I'm Catherine W AND my daughter died.'
'Here's your spreadsheet. Oh and by the way, my daughter died.'
'Hey you, random stranger on the street, my daughter died.'
And sometimes that muttering gets so loud, I can't think of anything else.
Any ideas for regaining control?
I'd settle for just a little bit.
Just enough so I don't get fired for not being at my desk half the time.
oh catherine...hugs.
ReplyDeletei don't have any good suggestions. maybe try to embrace those thoughts, let them out more so they aren't trapped inside ready to burst like a pimple.
it's hard because with jessica you're always being mummy. and when she's finally asleep at night you have a few minutes to enjoy yourself and probably spend time with hubby. and during the day you're catherine the worker bee. so there's no time to be by yourself and let these feelings fly.
it used to help me to take walks after work around our neighborhood. or to sit in the garden and drink hard lemonade. just feel like i had time to be sad or mad or whatever i wanted to be. i don't have that time now but it helped when i needed it.
like i said, no good suggestions. just hugs and good thoughts.
I'm sorry sweet heart, I wish I had something I could say or a bit of advice to make things better or even easier.. but I don't. I myself don't know how to handle this, or what to do, who to talk to ect. Just know that I'm here if you need anyone to vent to. Xoxo thinking and praying for you
ReplyDeleteYou poor love, I'm so sorry.
ReplyDeleteThis happened to me reading a comment on my heavily pregnant sister's facebook page this week. Someone was asking her if she was being induced and she said back to them in a comment that possibly next week (she's 40 weeks on Saturday and she's nervous wreck, having "been through" what I went through). Someone wrote to try and avoid induction and wait as long as it took for labour to start naturally, as this was best for baby. Deep down, I know this sentiment is generally correct, but I did that. I waited til 40 weeks, then beyond that, and she died. It just hurt.
I too feel like the hurt is always there, right below the surface, waiting for someone to poke at it.
I wish I could come and bring you cups of tea.
xo
I'm so sorry. Hugs to you.
ReplyDeleteI'm not a believer in control.. rather I find myself working on acceptance, balance and trying not to judge myself for the feelings that I experience that I wish I didn't.
You are doing the best that you can. Please don't feel otherwise.
I have no idea how to regain control.
ReplyDeleteIf someone had said that in front of me I know I would have done the exact same thing.
I thought the steroids would help, too-I was so happy that I made it far enough to get them. But really, it still wasn't far enough.
I wish I knew how to help, Catherine, but in my eyes you are completely normal, so I'm not much help there at all.
Hey, did you notice they're looking for writers at Glow? I was thinking of nominating you....you write so beautifully about all topics. What do you think?
I am stumped for ideas on how to regain control. Everytime I think I have a handle on it something comes along and smacks me down.
ReplyDeleteI think your husband is asking an awful lot to be honest. I didn't go back to work after my Jordan died and I am in awe of you and others who have done so. I do not think I would be in more 'control' at all.
Does that makes sense? I think you're so strong... and the tears and the lack of 'control' only add to that belief.
xx
What a terrible, insensitive comment to make! I would have been upset too, but I think I might have said something terrible to him...well, maybe just in my own head.
ReplyDeleteDo you think meditation would help? Maybe you need a period of time each day to be by yourself, to reflect and relax. I guess I suggest this b/c when I am stressed out or tired I become more sensitive...perhaps this is what is happening?
Sending you many hugs!! XOXO
If you figure out how to get control, please let me know. Some days the smallest, most insignificant comments can send me reeling. And some days all I can think about is Connor and what happened and how it is still so unbelievable.
ReplyDeleteSome days I want to yell to the world what happened- because I feel like can't really know me unless they know what happened. And I want them to know- selfishly maybe- all that we have gone through.
I often feel like I'm having this argument with my husband as well... I KNOW I need to get a grip sometimes, I KNOW that I'm slowly spinning out of control sometimes, but I don't need him pointing it out. But I know he's right... I just don't know what to do.
I still have that chorus some days. Sorry it's so hard. I don't have much to offer in terms of advice for gaining control. I hope fewer triggers pop up though. ((hugs))
ReplyDeleteI wish I had some words of wisdom or advise. I sometimes wonder if that 'hurt' feeling ever goes away. Will we always hurt when we hear of someone going into premature labor. Will our minds always go back to that place. Thinking of you...as always! xx
ReplyDeleteOh Catherine, my heart goes out to you today. My only advice is be gentle on yourself as these moments come with our new normal... do what you have to even if it means making a bog ol' mess of yourself at work! xo
ReplyDeletePS I too feel as though I want to add "my daughter died" to every sentence some days.
(I'm new to your blog via Little Bluebirds Fly. I lost a son at 27 weeks a little over two years ago. I hope I don't come across as being cold - it's late and I don't convey emotions well in my writing)
ReplyDeleteI read a book review very recently which discussed how people deal with grief. The book characterized three groups of people. I cannot remember two of the three, but the third group, 10-15% of all people, simply could not work past the devastation stage of grief. I cannot remember the name of the book nor can I remember which of the other two groups I most identified with. My memory seems to be shit lately.
I think it's safe to say that you are in that 10-15%. The human brain is such a mystery, and I can't begin to pretend to know why you still feel so 'raw' and I don't. I'm still sad, and I will shed some tears every few months, but I don't sob anymore. Why? I have no clue. But perhaps it may be a good idea for you to talk to someone who does have a better understanding of the human brain? It can't hurt, right?
I'm so sorry you had such a bad day. I hope tomorrow is much better.
Awww honey, I'm with you. "I'm Jeanette and my daughter died", it's in my head too.
ReplyDeleteWhat helps me a little in certain circumstances is deep breathing,(google golden breath) and my yoga teacher has just started teaching me emotional freedom technique...though tbh that scares me a little right now, so I just do gentle tapping (or rubbing) just above my heart when I feel anxious...easily done in public.
Sending you love as alwaysx
Thank you all. Obviously I don't go and hide in the toilets for an hour EVERY DAY or I would have got the boot by now I'm sure!
ReplyDelete@Heather - I'm so sorry for the loss of your son. Please don't worry about coming across as cold, I think that's a risk we all have to take when we are reduced to typing instead of speaking.
I would say that I was part of that 10-15% for a proportion of the time. Sadly my personality, and possibly even my brain chemistry, make it quite likely that I would end up in that group to some extent. I am quite an anxious person, I like to be in control of things and I like to do things 'properly.' As you can see, events conspired to knock quite a dent in my self image.
I would say that it is very difficult to categorise 'grieving'. When G first died, I looked at those stage diagrams, all that denial, anger, acceptance schtick and I thought to myself, righty ho I can do this. I can progress through these stages and THEN it will be over. Except, having tried to do that, I don't think grief works like that. At least not in my case.
Perhaps it is the same with the groups you describe. We all probably share SOME characteristics with SOME of those groups SOME of that time. Perhaps tending to favour one more than the others?
I am still devastated. Sadly, there you've got me pegged. I always will be absolutely devastated that I lost my daughter. I know this sounds semi-ridiculous but I am also still traumatised by what happened to Jessica, although she didn't die.
But I'm not always sobbing please believe me. When I read your comment I had the horrible vision of myself in 30 years time when I'm STILL sitting writing this darn blog about how sad I am! Sometimes the grief that I feel over losing her just floods over me and it feels almost as sharp as it ever did. But not all the time. Oh and I have spoken to a few 'brain' people since all this. Some helpful, some . . not so much! Here's hoping today is better and thank you for such an interesting comment. Really made me think.
Catherine,
ReplyDeleteI found that the 18 to 24 month window was really the toughest time for me in terms of grieving. Millie was growing out of the baby stage, we still hadn't managed to get pregnant again, and I just felt stuck/adrift/not fully human.
It passed with time. This isn't very helpful as I can't make time pass more quickly for you but I think you're gonna get to a more sustainable place with your grief.
Plus, you totally cracked me up with your last comment on my blog. Anyone who can make a passable joke about her mother's brush with'death in the sun' is alright in my book.
Oh my Dear... sorry about that shitty situation... I would have lost it too and would even go as far as to say: Fuck control. Maybe it is indeed the better way to lock oneself in the toilet and weep - because the pain needs to be felt to - one day - be eased. (At least that's what I'm trying to mantranize into my head.)
ReplyDeleteToday someone said to me: "Be glad you don't have kids with your ex-husband". She said that without knowing my story and meant to do no harm. But the result: tears (car instead of office-toilet) and more tears. I see them as the carwash of my soul, each tear takes away a wee bit of that grieve - or so I hope.
May tomorrow be a better day. Sending a big hug! xoxo
I don't think you are sobbing all over town, and I do find fault with most generalizations, but the book review simply got me thinking and wondering just how much control we really have over how we grieve. Which then makes one wonder how can we get control over that which was have no control?
ReplyDeleteAnd when I find myself in a mind fuck like that I go for a run, and afterwards I almost always feel better.
(yikes, cussing in two consecutive comments. i swear i don't talk like a sailor all the time)
I wish I knew, Catherine. I'm sorry you ahd to go through that at work. And here I am worried I won't make it through the Ma rc h of D Im es walk wothout crying on Sunday...
ReplyDeleteIt takes some getting used to, hearing other stories, those ending well, and those not so well. I'm not sure I'll ever stop having some sort of gut-twisting feeling whenever I hear about those kinds of things.
(())
Catherine,
ReplyDeleteI've been thinking of you. Hope the intervening days have been a little easier, not because I think you need to get control, just because we all need easier days to balance out the harder ones.
I suspect the comment that sent you running would have sent me running too (or left me glued to my seat with tears streaming). I'm lucky to work from home--it makes hiding a lot easier.
" thought it would be more manageable by now, that I might have made what happened a part of me."
I heard/read somewhere that it takes 2-7 years to integrate a major loss (and of course that doesn't mean you're all better). It takes longer than we expect, longer than we want it to, and when we think maybe, just maybe, things are getting better/easier/more manageable, a comment or a smell or some other trigger sends us spiraling again.
I wish I could tell you how to regain control. The best I can offer is to be patient with yourself and keep talking/writing about Georgina and how her death has affected you. I really think it's part of the process.
Hugs,
Sara
:(((((
ReplyDeleteI have that chorus too on many occasions.
Lots of love and hugs...
Sarah xoxo
I'd settle for a little bit of control. I'm to the point where I make it to the car, alone, before the freak out or break down, but still they come... Especially when someone laments about their 36 week "preemie". Really??? REALLY??? I know... Judge not... But I find it hard.
ReplyDeleteHoney, believe it or not, you have a great deal of control. You go to work. You work with Jess. You do so much. It's hard, but you are doing it. One step at a time. That's all we can ask.
XOXOXO
oh catherine...i wish there was something wonderfully wise i could say....I'm so sorry you are feeling this way. I agree with what some others said - go gently gently and it hasn't been so long for you so please cut yourself some slack to be wherever you need to be. with much love xxxx
ReplyDeleteI've been thinking of you, Catherine. I am no closer to clarity though. You've been through a great, life-altering trauma with both of your daughters. We've all been greatly humbled by our losses, I suspect, and much as we might want to move through grief and come out on the other side in an "acceptable" timeframe... shrug. I just don't know if you can control that. You may find techniques that are positive and from which you benefit. I think you're probably doing those things already (like writing!). So, beyond that, I am not sure what you can do.
ReplyDeleteCatherine, I am most likely just projecting, but I'll go out on a limb, at the risk of overstepping (forgive me). Your husband wants you to be well, of course. The effect of this trauma on you is yet another loss, perhaps (don't mean to presume) and is one that impacts your husband in a way he cannot easily bury. Perhaps this is part of his grief that he might be struggling with. I think that my husband went through something like this, and presenting the problem as something that YOU need to work on, rather than it being an issue of his grieving (if it is) might just be easier? more recognizable to him? I don't know.
Oh, Biojen, your first paragraph especially is very astute. Thank you for raising some excellent and thought-provoking points.
i've been waiting for some words to come that would help. but there aren't any.
ReplyDeletei think that having jessica there, living and well, means that you have a permanent shadow. 'if georgina had been here she would have been doing that with jessica.' like fate spending 24/7 going 'ha ha! you should have had two beautiful daughters, not one'.
plus as someone says above, being a mum and working means there isn't time to sit still and go through the grief.
i think you're doing amazingly.
hugs x
@Audrey - I think you might be right. Hmm, I'll have to think about that one.
ReplyDelete@B - I do often hear the evil cackling of fate going ha ha!
@everyone - thank you so much. I'm so glad that you are hear and take the time to read and comment. It means so much to me.
No tips to help you through, no ideas on regaining control. Just understanding.
ReplyDeleteI want another baby too, quite desperately. And I'm trying to accept that it's not going to happen.
very late to this and hoping you are feeling better now. it seems to me every time I start to feel more centered, something will happen to throw me off balance again. off my feet, and then the gloom descends all over again.
ReplyDelete((hugs)) to you. I have no good advice, just warm thoughts, peace and strength.
I know you do this, and doing this is dangerous without set times to allow yourself a good cry...but I find that acting normal until I start to actually feel normal works, for the most part. Fake it til you make it, ya know?
ReplyDeleteIt must be so hard, though, to be reminded in the one you love the most, of the one you lost. We all think of someone else's lot as harder or easier than our own, but that's how I see your lot. Having an older child keeps me just distracted enough to not be reminded too much of what could've been. If that makes sense. This coming from the girl who's almost convinced herself that Olivia was just a dream.
Fake it til you make it.