And yet . . .
It's our wedding anniversary this week.
We were so hopeful. I look back at those drunken evenings, filled with potential, possibility and scribbled schemes on scrappy bits of paper. Lists of pros and cons. Holiday plans. Wedding plans. Furniture rearrangements. Plans to re-landscape the garden. Lists of baby names.
Sometimes I think that was all we had in common. Hope and a liking for plans.
It was enough to keep the conversation going for over a decade.
But now we have fallen. Silent.
I hope it's not a permanent state of affairs.
In the evening, the dull, dual buzz of baby monitors fills the house.
Although Jessica is nearly three and doesn't need a baby monitor.
We pretend it is so that we will hear her fall out of bed.
But we both know it is so we can listen to her breathing.
Just checking. Even after all this time.
He sits downstairs with a drink.
I think he is looking for our half-made daughter at the bottom of a glass.
But she isn't there.
I've checked.
I still have a good look around down there from time to time.
Just in case I missed her.
I sit upstairs.
Looking in the sparks and wires of the internet.
But I suspect she's not here either.
Only a pale imitation of someone who might have been her. Once.
He knows that I am searching for her.
That I write here in this semi-public diary.
Pouring my heart out to strangers and yet . . . he has never sought this place out.
Perhaps he doesn't care to know what I think.
Perhaps I have already bored him half to death with it all.
Whereas if I knew he was talking about her, anywhere, I would be there. Like a rat up a drain pipe.
Because I don't know what he thinks about her. If he thinks about her at all.
When he does mention her name, I am mildly shocked.
As though he no longer has any claim on her.
We are not always silent.
I have my evening store of anecdotes, saved up from my tiny patchwork day with two young children.
Small miracles and disasters.
He has his tales of work and the outside world, the latest car and TV series.
But we no longer plan. Only half heartedly. With caveats.
Sometimes I think it was all that hope that did for us.
Oh, Catherine. This post and the song knocked the breath right out of me. Thinking of you both and hoping the aftermath of all that hope becomes easier to navigate, less lonely and perplexing.
ReplyDeleteMy temptation is always to fill these silences with babble, but this has generally proved spectacularly unsuccessful.
Love to you.
Marriage is so complicated. Sometimes wonderful, sometimes a battle. This is especially true when there is tragedy that sits squarely in the middle.
ReplyDeleteThinking of you...
Catherine,
ReplyDeleteI suppose it's not a coincidence I came across this post. I never read blogs anymore because I'm never on the computer. I just wanted to let you know I've got you in my thoughts. It just sticks with us, doesn't it? I'll pray you get through this and improve 'us'.
Peace, my friend.
Not really much to say, but I loved the truth of how this reads. Life changes...
ReplyDeleteWe ended up referred to a grief counselor on the occasion of my one NICU breakdown which was great to really hear what he was saying and thinking. The fact that I ramble out my thoughts online seems to help us a lot as well, because I sometimes make more sense when he can read the whole thing instead of processing as we go.
Oddly, we've never really used baby monitors. Tried for about a week with Chiron, but they just don't make sense to me. One of Trajan's best friends (who's 4) is still monitored and his parents are not sure when they might even think about removing it.
I get it mamma..
ReplyDeleteThinking of you.
Are you married to my husband?! ;) He rarely speaks of our girls, he has never read my blog although I have invited him to, he is sitting in the other room as I am here on the internet. They sound an awful lot alike!!
ReplyDeleteI know for us we have periods where we just don't connect and then at other times we seem to be on the same page. I think it's just the way relationships work.
Happy anniversary, I hope it is great!!
You just summed up my very own marriage. Perfectly. Are you secretly spying on us?
ReplyDelete"Whereas if I knew he was talking about her, anywhere, I would be there. Like a rat up a drain pipe."
That's really just it.
xo
Catherine this just brought out the instant tears:
ReplyDelete"He knows that I am searching for her.
That I write here in this semi-public diary.
Pouring my heart out to strangers and yet . . . he has never sought this place out.
Perhaps he doesn't care to know what I think.
Perhaps I have already bored him half to death with it all.
Whereas if I knew he was talking about her, anywhere, I would be there. Like a rat up a drain pipe."
This morning when I was trying to stop crying long enough to put my make up on, he just glanced at me and went downstairs.
If I try to get him to talk about her, he just says he's sorry for being heartless. I know he isn't heartless, I know it's too painful for him to go over and over like I do.
Shit isn't it?
I understand. We went through this before Freddie, when the gulf between our feelings was too wide. It was only going through that, going to Relate, sorting it all out for the sake of the children, that taught us to survive the aftermath of Freddie.
ReplyDeleteDH is a silent person, in fact he has been more visibly knocked about by £3000 worth of car and house bills this week than he was by the death of his son. I've had to learn not to mind that. He also has times when he retreats into a book, or a computer game and sometimes I think that is how he grieves. It certainly isn't with tears or words.
For him, done is done.
I recognise those silences, in our house they are the product of a weariness of thinking and coping, not of having nothing in common any more. But it has been the other way; the trouble with life with small children is it is often grinding and boring and leaves little time for shared interests outside that. And grief sucks the soul out of most things.
If you are really worried it is serious, I honestly believe now in asking outright if there is a problem. If there is, even if it isn't huge but is festering, I wholly recommend Relate. Couple counselling after child loss certainly doesn't mean you are on the rocks, just that you need a reset.
And some time; a walk in the woods, just you, a meal out. DH and I make time now to go out and deliberate face out niggles and worries. We alk, talk, then have a meal so we conclude in dignified company, then walk a little more to come back together. Since Freddie, it has been a godsend.
I totally get it. ((hugs))
ReplyDeleteCatherine,
ReplyDeleteMen are so different sometimes, aren't they? My husband isn't interested in talking about Anna. It makes him sad. Not talking about her makes me sad. I have been with him for almost 18 years. B.A. (Before Anna), we were young, unstoppable, and had a twinkle in our eyes. A.A. we are old, defeated, and spent.
I am not sure if that was your husband that commented above saying it was no coincidence that he read the post, but if so, I think that is really special.
Happy Anniversary, sweet girl. Thinking of you! XO
Christine
we go through things like this too. times when we're closer, times when we drift apart. it's like we grow into a different phase every so often, too. we're sort of in an in-between place right now.
ReplyDeletemy hubby has never read my blog either, although he knows of it and we talk about it.
I'm sorry Catherine. It is so very, very hard to be grieving and to be trying to hold a relationship together too. As you know, since you sometimes comment on my DH's blog, our experience is a little different. My husband is willing to share his grief with me and to hold me in mine. But, even then, there are hard times. For us, bringing home our rainbow was so wonderful and so precious and has tested our marriage more than the early days of grief because it renewed the grief and augmented it with tiredness and a sense of what we missed out on last time. It's another example of how unfair losing a baby is - we don't get a free pass in other areas of our life and I always thing we should.
ReplyDeleteI hope this is temporary for you and your DH, Catherine.
Hi Catherine,
ReplyDeleteI'm sorry for the tough times right now. ((HUGS)) I think all of us going down this path know how the loss of our children can knock our marriages for six. I don't really have any words of wisdom, except perhaps for the perspective that in my own marriage, there is definitely an ebb and flow, with some times more silent, more strained than others. But our lives are like you described: the anecdotes, his work stories, my complaints about the craziness in this house. He rarely mentions C. But then on a rare occasion, he'll say something, just a simple sentence, that clues me in that she's not so far from his thoughts either. But more often than not, C. is in our silence. And I don't want to start that conversation if he's not willing.
We'll be talking about her in the next couple of weeks anyway as he birthdate approaches. So, we'll go from laden silence to stilted discussion, breaking voices, tears, sighs, and back to enveloping silence.
Another wanting to send you many hugs and much love. That was such a moving post. I too would love to know what M truly thinks about Ava, I have tried to understand how we can all manage our grief differently but it is so hard at times isn't it. I agree with what J has written, our angel children are in our silence. I have to believe that, the unwritten understanding that no one else has.
ReplyDeleteWishing you peaceful days and that one day maybe some plans can be made again, even if only tiny tentative ones. That makes total sense to me by the way, we too were full of plans, now I don't even dare to try and make any.
Sending love to you and all of you beautiful children.
Sending lots of love. Ben Folds just seems to get it, doesn't he? Every damn time. Marriage is one of the deceptive things, and when things are fraught, it's ironic how lonely we can feel despite being connected to someone else.
ReplyDeleteThinking of you as you work through this--much love and understanding from way over here.
xo
Oh dear... there's not much advice from my side (being single, ha!) other than I hope you guys will reconnect, talk and giggle as you used to. Thinking about you and hoping you'll have a lovely anniversary!
ReplyDeletexoxo
Oh, and BTW, we have dual baby monitors over here, too. Even though E is three--I just need to know what's going on in there. I don't know when I'll get rid of it . . . if ever.
ReplyDeleteOh. What can I say? Him downstairs with a drink, me upstairs with the computer. That is us.
ReplyDeleteThe silence, but it isn't silence because we do talk, but it is different talk. I want to plan and plan and plan - take the world by its horns and scream, "you can't get the better of me." He wants status quo, a good book, the telly.
It is fragile, not broken.
I do struggle with talking about it on my blog. In so many ways it feels too private, and yet how losing Laura has affected our relationship is something I struggle with constantly and there seems to be so much silence around relationships after the death of a child. So I do write, but I know he reads....
xx
I relate to much of this, which doesn't shock me too much (given that we share the exact same wedding anniversary). *sigh* Just want to say thank you for this beautiful, insightful, honest post. I still need to write my anniversary blogpost...and then wonder if my husband will ever get around to reading it.
ReplyDeleteOh, Catherine-- as always, your words just cut right to the heart of the matter. While we are not silent here (my own babbling would prevent that in any case), I do envy the window into me that my husband gets from my blog. I would give anything to have the same window into him ("like a rat up a pipe" is so very accurate). We do talk about Hudson often, maybe even more now that her little brother is here and so much like her, but I don't have any sense whatsoever of what he's FEELING about her. And it makes me feel lonely and sometimes a little crazy, like why am I still so acutely grieving when he doesn't seem to be? I keep trying to remind myself that men and women really do grieve differently, but I often wish that we just grieved the same. Thinking of you and hoping for that hope to make its way back into your life together. Sending love, dear friend.
ReplyDeleteMen and women seem to deal with things so differently. I can only imagine what a loss like yours would do to a marriage...
ReplyDeleteHugs to you...
PS My husband doesn't read my blog either...
Haven't been to visit for ages! Many apologies!
ReplyDeleteThinking of you....
(((((Catherine)))))
Oh. I. Get. It.
ReplyDeleteMy husband doesn't read my blog; the few times he has he hasn't even mentioned it until much, much later.
You may want to think about counseling together--I say this only because I-we-came so close to losing our marriage after our 3rd child was born. I nearly asked him to leave; we weren't speaking and it was months of agony before we talked properly again. And it has been very up and down--two rounds of marriage counseling--but they saved us. They really did.
Hugs to you...
It is like that here too, silence, wondering if he remembers at all. Perhaps we can be silent sisters, both inside sound proof boxes, the people we loved, or used to love, outside.
ReplyDelete