*Note: After the shock and the hurt died down, I curled up in bed with his blankies and cuddled and smelled them and had gratitude that I got some part of him back again, if only for a short time.
The irony of grief is that it is often caused by death and yet IT never seems to die.
I was having a good day.
Until I wasn’t.
Despite a late night, I woke up before 4 am this morning.
I lay in bed curled on my side, feeling my little baby kick and squirm inside me and just let the million thoughts that I usually have running through my head play out and keep me company. Soon, the black shadows of the night started to give way to the midnight blue of early morning.
It made me think about Matthew.
Matthew always took his early morning feeding right when the light started to change. It has always been a melancholy time of day for me and often as I would sit nursing him I would rock his sweet body and feel happy that I had such great company to make it seem less gloomy.
After he died I would wake up automatically that time of the morning surrounded in cold, blue light and I would squeeze my eyes tightly shut, put my hands over my ears and curl in the tiniest ball I could and sob. Like if I did those things I could block out the waves of pain and loneliness that often felt like a physical assault. It’s been a long time since I’ve done that, but I do still think of him in those hours. I think about him all the time. Still, being 5 years into loss means that I can pick myself up and have a good, if not great day after the morning memories.
Like today. It was good. I took a long nap to make up for the early morning and had THE best sandwich and soda delivered by my amazing friend, Michelle (Seriously, she is the best, people. And funny. And with really great hair.) I felt a burst of nesting energy and got dishes done, cleaned, did some laundry and Twittered average things like this:
After I updated this the dryer alarm went off. I finished all the laundry in the house and it occurred to me that I needed to wash the baby blankets of Matthew’s that we are going to use for Baby Aaron. We didn’t want to use any of his clothing, but we both felt that reusing his soft little blankies would be ok.
So, I dug out the tub marked “blankets”, hauled it upstairs and opened it. It hadn’t been opened since we packed it away five years ago. Everything was in a plastic space bag. I put the tub on my bed, released the suction valve and opened the bag.
And it hit me.
THE SMELL.
It smelled like Matthew.
Exactly like him-my sweet, red-headed baby boy.
Like he was right there nuzzling into my neck, making his sweet little noises and sucking on his green pacifier. Baby smell. The best smell in the world. Until your baby is dead and that smell on a blanket is all that is left of them.
The feeling that hit me were so intense I stumbled backward. Tears poured down my face and I felt like I was in the TV series “Chuck” when he “flashes” on something. Hundreds of images of my baby, my family, my friends, sweet images, horrifying images, my feelings, my joy, my pain…I was so overwhelmed I couldn’t breathe.
I felt like my heart was going to explode.
Hearts are funny things-they keep insisting on beating even when you are in so much pain you feel like it should kill you. Mine has been destroyed so many times you would think that there wouldn’t be anything left to explode by now. And yet? There always is.
All I could do in that moment was cry and IM my husband. He told me he was sorry but he was also at work. So, I twittered to try and get some of it OUT.
(And you internet people? Give the best virtual hugs in the world. I can’t thank you enough.)
Then I curled up on my bed and squeezed my eyes shut and put my hands over my ears and cried and rocked until I could breathe easier.
You’d think after so many years I would handle moments like this better.
Lately my thoughts have taken on a vividness and recollection that has not happened in years. I think there are many reasons for this. The loss of two sweet babies in our little internet world has stirred many feelings and memories. I feel helpless and vulnerable about many situations in my life. SO many things have changed and it has left me feeling like I’m sitting in a stormy lake on a boat with no oars.
I’m also entering what I call “The Triumverat”: Mother’s Day, Memorial Day and Matthew’s birthday. It is a time of grieving suck second only to his anniversary in September. And I’m pregnant with almost the exact timing I was with Matthew. Matthew was born on June 7th. I am due on June 3rd. I AM SO GRATEFUL AND HAPPY FOR THIS BABY. I KNOW HE IS COMING AND IT HELPS. But the feelings and memories coupled with time of year have been hard on me. They will be the same age. My baby will be the same age Matthew was on his anniversary this year.
I can’t think about it often. It freaks me out.
I actually feel a big weight has lifted with this Mother’s Day because of baby Aaron. I worry about the other two events but when I think about Mother’s Day I’m happier this year. It’s easier and feels lighter and much more joyous. AND I HAVE SUCH GUILT ABOUT THAT. I know I shouldn’t, but there is a part of me that thinks I SHOULD hurt forever. Because Matthew is dead. It should hurt forever and ever, AMEN. (I’ve been working on that but it is a hard habit to break.)
I have a naturally goodnatured disposition full of laughter and hilarity. I LOVE to have a good time. But underneath I am just worn down and pushed over the edge emotionally at this point with worry. I know I am battling a huge, huge and scary depression. I walk a very fine line with it many days. My head goes to places I never wanted to (and never thought I would) go again. Add constant health problems. Wacked out hormones. Insurance suck. Finances. Relationship suck and realizations. Rejections. Being scared to death of the actual delivery. Trying to get this kid through the first year without him dying on me.
It’s a lot to muck through and I feel like it has all eaten me alive slowly over these months.
I’ve tried to be pro-active. To do what I can to help the situation. I’ve tried bluntly asking for things I think would help but let’s just say it hasn’t worked out so well. It’s been such a hurt that I’m done doing it.
I just have to cope the best I can. Be grateful for friends and family and what I have. Hope that it gets better. Write a blog post and pour my heart out to random internet people to lessen some of this godawful load I feel despite knowing I am coming off as the biggest psycho depressive fear-monger on the planet.
I pray that there is no post partum depression so that I can let the joy of this baby help me. That love can ebb some of this hurt away. Combat some of this deep, horrible, old grief and fear.
I guess that the only way I can do that it is to realize that along with the grief that never seems to end, the good things never die, either. The joy of what Matthew was, and what he continues to be to me and my family. I just have to try to focus on that and find comfort about my other worries any way that I can.
Still…I think it is going to be one hell of a long, lonely night.
Stumble it!
Filed under: 
Oh, honey. I have no advice, or words, just love. Thinking of you. xoxo
OMG Loralee. I am so sorry. I wasn’t around on twitter at the time, I hadno idea. I am bawling.
I wish I could do more for you! I wish I could be there. *hugs*
Oh Loralee, you wrote that so. Beautifully. I wish I could ease some of that pain and give you more than a virtual hug.
Many hugs to you my friend. Thinking of you.
I can’t imagine it NOT hurting. But that’s all the more reason to get it out there. It’s only going to hurt worse all bottled up.
For what it’s worth, my PPD was a mere blip with Oliver. I’m hoping the same is true for you this time.
Giant fluffy internet hugs to you. May your tomorrow suck less than your today.
I’m sorry honey. Get your ass down here and Daisy and I will give you a good cuddle.
I’m glad you let yourself have a good cry, sometimes that is just what we need to make it through the next minute or next hour. I wish we could all be there with you to hold your hand and sit with you but just know we are here when you need us.
Though I lost my son before I was able to snuggle him at night, on a smaller level I understand those waves of grief that slam into you so fast you have no time to brace for it. I wish so much that I belonged to this online community when Kai went to heaven, I was so alone. But know that as you go through this roller coaster in the coming month, we are all here. Tweet, email, dm away when you need to (((hugs)))
Loralee- I am sending you a virtual hug from new york. I pray this baby will let you release some of the hurt and pain. thinking of you and praying for an easy delivery.
You are totally NOT coming off as “the biggest psycho depressive fear-monger on the planet”!! I am constantly amazed at your humor and the joy you find – in the midst of medical issues, the triumverat and everything – you are awesome.
I’m so sorry that you are going through this (and that I missed your Tweets). And although I knew losing a child is a different kind of grief, the only thing that gets me through missing my dad is realizing that the only reason it hurts so much is because we shared such a special relationship. And I wouldn’t give that up even if it meant that I never hurt from losing him.
There’s no rule that says that you can’t grieve one loss while being thrilled at the same time over a new addition. There are separate and distinct events, and you are allowed to feel whatever you feel.
Sending HUGE hugs your way and much love.
Sending you tons of love, warm thoughts, prayers and hugs. I wish there were more I could do.
Sigh. Just sigh.
I think you’re amazing. Absolutely, utterly amazing. Not psycho, not depressive, not fear-monger… just achingly honest and brave.
I admire you so much. You have no idea.
I can’t even begin to imagine how horrible today was for you. I’m so, so sorry. I’m especially sorry you had to face it (mostly) by yourself.
Hugs to you, Loralee.
I don’t what to say other than my heart goes out to you. Sending you internet hugs. I have to agree with califmom, may your tomorrow suck less than your today.
I’m just reading this now. (((you))) This was gut-wrenchingly honest and beautiful.
All the positive energy I can muster is heading your way right now.
Can’t you just have this baby already cause it seems like it is dragging on forever for everybody.
I saw your tweet earlier. I can’t say anything other than I send hugs and love.
Loralee, I’m not in the same situation, but I truly understand how depression can get you to places that you never want to go. Promise me sweetie, if the post partum depression is really getting you, please, please let your doctor know so she/he can help you.
I wish that I lived close to you– I would spoil you with lovely fruity blender drinks, fun snacks & stupid jokes.
The grief over Matthew is what it is. My Mom is grieving the sudden death of my Dad (on leap day last year) and is 1500 miles away from her daughters to boot. In many ways, she has done so well and I am proud of her. But sometimes, even though she knows that he is gone, a small part of her thinks that he is just off on a fishing trip. It is what it is.
Just one more thought– try to have someone with you, if you wish, when you are doing something that may bring those waves of grief. I wish that I could hug you, Loralee.
God, I am so sorry. So very, very sorry. No one should ever know this type of pain, and Matthew should be right next to you this very second.
Also, @anon: WTF? Seriously?
Oh Loralee. I simply can’t imagine what you must be going through right now. And I know that nothing I can say will change anything. But you are not, as you say, “the biggest psycho depressive fear-monger on the planet.” You are far from it. You are a woman who has suffered staggering losses and is going through emotional and financial turmoil that no one, least of all a hormonal pregnant woman, should have to endure. The whole thing it just so wrong. So unfair. So sucktacular. You have been through enough. All this new, added stuff is just not fair. I don’t even really know you and I want to punch people on your behalf. I want to follow you around and punch anyone and everyone who fucks with you. Because you don’t deserve this. What you are feeling in relation to Matthew and the new baby on the way is perfectly natural and you should be able to focus on that. Your grief and your joy can coexist. Hold those blankets close. Take in Matthew’s baby smell and tell him how excited you are that his baby brother will be here soon. Talk to him and let him help you survive through these next few weeks. That’s what angels are for, after all.
I love you.
You know where I am.
I’m trying to think the best about your comment Anonymous, but it just felt…mean. But I honestly don’t have a lot of perspective right now and I’m emotional. I don’t want to delete a comment if I’m reading it wrong.
I know this process is long and tough on everyone. And I feel like the world’s biggest whiner by saying anything.
I will try to hope you are just wishing me a speedy delivery and not being a jerk?
Um, anon commenter? Double You Tee Eff?
(((hugs)))
Jill had the perfect solution.
Love you, honey, and I’m here if you want to call to get it out.
I am sending you the most gigantic hug right now. Except, I just ran, so I apologize for the sweat.
xoxoxo
Oh Loralee, my heart hurts for you right now. I’ll be keeping you in my prayers.
Oh hun, I wish I could hug you. You have suffered a loss of monumental magnitude. I will keep you in my prayers
Loralee I found this blog before I started reading your blog. yohttp://jacksonparkcity.blogspot.com/
They had their little daughter pass away. I wanted to send this link to you before but couldn’t figure out how to post! I’m kind of an idiot. A couple of weeks ago they had a new little baby boy. She and her husband have a beautiful way of writting about their loss and the blessing of their new little son. If you check out their blog maybe you can relate to some of the feelings that they express and maybe find a glimmer of comfort. My heart goes out to you and your family, and I am excited for this new little boy to be born into it.
Loralee, my heart breaks for you. May Aaron’s arrival help turn the memories of Matthew into ones that bring smiles instead of tears (although I’m tearing up reading this, sweetie.)
I know this might sound weird coming from someone you’ve never actually met or seen or spoken to or hugged, but…Loralee, I love you. :-) You can handle whatever’s coming your way and when you feel like you can’t handle it, write away and we will have your back.
Also, I’ll be praying for you about the postpartum thing too. Extra prayers can only help!
xo
Many hugs and prayers for you. (And ignore and delete that anonymous comment.)
I’ve never commented before and I guess it wasn’t the best way to start. It was some of both. I do wish you a speedy delivery but I’m finding all the sadness and anxiety that comes out in your writing hard to take on.
other people will probably say I should have just stopped reading and maybe that would have been the best thing but I really do like your blog a lot and just got frustrated. I was hoping that maybe it would make you look outside yourselve more instead of consentrating so much on yourself and how sad and worried you are and also get some of my own annoyance solved.
I did not mean for it to really hurt you. you say a lot you get really mean emails and comments so I thought this wasn’t to bad, but it was bad timing on my part.
Hey girl, you know I am walking right there with you..Got your back, know what you’re feeling. Go and hide under the covers all you want..It’s the only thing I can do when I have my Wrigley moments. Proud of you for not putting a brave face on and just letting it all out.
Anon-
I’m not really sure what to say to this. I think this is probably such a sensitive topic for me and I’m probably much too emotional this evening to attempt a reply, so it’s probably for the best that I think about it and try later.
I will say that it was good that you came back to clarify instead of a hit and run situation.
Loralee,
So sorry about your loss, even though it was a while ago, I have only just started reading your blog and caught up on it all. I can understand how it would still be hard after all this time, especially when scent is the strongest sense tied to memory.
Big big hugs, and a world of crongrats on your upcoming joy!
Also, I am guilty of one of my blogging pet peeves. Only coming out to say something to questionable or negative comments instead of acknowledging the loving, supportive ones.
You people keep me company so often when I’m down. Happy. Sad. Excited. Giggle. Stupid and silly. So many of us have laughed and rejoiced together and wept and supported each other.
You are all so wonderful. Your words mean so much to me and are often my only company when it’s the wee hours of the morning or I’m alone.
I cannot thank you enough for being there right now with this even though it is so many years after the fact. I have a place to take it and it means a lot to me.
xoxoxo
First and most importantly, hugs and so much love to you Loralee. Losing a child isn’t a hurt that ever gets better, in my experience. Sure you can be distracted and busy with living life but when it emerges, it’s as bloody, raw and unhealed as it was the on the day of loss. And honestly, fuck anyone in the eye who cannot get that writing about it, talking about it and not sitting in the corner rocking and crying is the better way to handle it. To my knowledge, nobody is forced to read this or any other post and you’re not calling up random people and reciting monologues. So, yeah, right in the eye.
Second, anon, I am just not getting you, at all. The lack of compassion is astounding obviously but directing Loralee to get outside of herself when you are unable or unwilling to do the same; you honestly believe that your irritation with her pain supersedes her actual pain and loss? Blow me. And so far as I can tell, Loralee is raising children, running her household, tending to not insignificant health concerns along with the attendant insurance issues. So yeah, I would say she spends the vast majority of her time ”outside of herself” but regardless, this is her blog and while you’re entitled to your opinion you are not entitled to anyone agreeing with you or patting you on the head for relieving yourself of your annoyance at the expense of Loralee. So. Yeah. Right in the eye, anon.
Darlin, you are in my heart.
Loralee, I missed this on twitter due to the everlasting drama that is my life. I’m sending you enormous hugs and big smooches and I’m here if you need a shoulder or an ear to vent on, and CharmingBitch said it WAY better than I ever will. You rock my world.
Love you, xoxo Amy W.
Sweet, voluptuous, glittering, honey-filled love to you, my friend. Love to you.
I wished I lived closer. I’d give you a big hug and a box of thin mints. I just can’t afford a plane ticket to Utah from Chicago right now. I am praying for you.
delurking to tell you I think you are amazing. My heart goes out to you during this time. I wish there was something I could say that would make you feel better, but a virtual hug is all I can do.
Oh, sweetie. I don’t know what to say – the tears are rolling down my cheeks. Hugs and love to you, my friend.
Hugs (()), I am thinking about you! :)
I can add some more hugs (((())))
I’m thinking of you often. I’m sorry doesn’t seem big enough – no words seem big enough. Big hugs.
On December 10th, 1980, we had a still-born 11 pound baby girl. 28+ years later and Annie still keens over that little girl. We both do. She, perhaps more than me; after all, she is the one who carried her for almost 10 months. But that little girl left a hole in our lives that never closes, and we’ve had three healthy sons since then. I suppose what I’m saying is, that the pain never really goes away. That said, a person would have to be really cold-hearted to expect that it would. It’s just that over time you begin to realize that the pain is a measure of the love you feel for the lost child. No true Mother EVER truly gets over that pain. I wish I could do more than offer a *HUG*, but that you can take solace in knowing there are people who know and understand your pain helps me feel like I have helped you – a little. I hope so. You are a rare person Loralee, and it hurts to see you in pain. ANY kind of pain.
Loralee,
I can’t imagine being in your situation and not being on a complete emotional roller coaster. One day, one memory, one smell at a time. It is your blog and you can do or say what ever you need to do to get through. Cyber love and hugs to you. Wish I could do more.
Hugs Loralee.
I can’t say anything to make you feel better, but isn’t it cool that so many people care?
More hugs. Beautiful and heartbreaking.
I did not know the history…I am so very very sorry.
Can I hug you? Because I want to hug you. And then I want to cook you meatloaf and then hug you again.
xoxo
Sending love and hugs from Idaho. Hang in there lady – we’re all here for you.
Sending you love. So dem much love.
I am going to crush your post bebe body at BlogHer in the biggest crushing hug evah.
I’m so sorry but thank you so much for having the strength, grace and ability to write this. To share your pain, growth, regression and life. Thank you.
My heart is breaking for you. As much as someone you have never met nor heard of nor knew existed can send you love, I am sending you love. Thank you for sharing, and I hope you are able to find some peace each day.
Loralee, I’m so sorry that this happened to you. You post was beautiful, raw, and heartbreaking. I can’t even begin to imagine what it’s like for you right now, and while I don’t know you in real life (or heck, blog life), I just wanted to run over and give you a hug.
A day at a time. Seriously.
Anon, like the other posters, I don’t get you either. Bloggers are people-humans, with feelings, not trained seals that are out here to entertain the masses. If you don’t like what you read, then move on. Asking Loralee to look outside herself to relieve YOUR frustration because YOU don’t like what your reading is not just appallingly rude but incredibly selfish on your part.
Don’t let the door hit you on the way out, sister.
Thank you for sharing your life and thoughts with us however you wish to share. We are lucky to get even the smallest glimpse into your world. I am so sorry you went through this and can’t even begin to imagine the pain. Virtual hugs to you.
lanaclevermomme
I just read your blog for the first time and I want you to know that while I know there is nothing that any one person can do to erase your pain, we can all help to ease it simply by letting you know you are not alone while you ride out these waves of lonliness and longing. I’m sending prayers of support for you. Now ANONYMOUS–I am sending some prayers for you as well because while the human side of me wants to berate you for your callous remark made earler, the more spiritual side tells me that one cannot make a remark like that unless one is struggling, whether consciously or unconsciously, with something causing them pain so great that they feel the need to be hurtful to others. May you find what you’re looking for as well.
Am thinking of you and praying for you.
I can’t even imagine going through that. All I can say is that I would not have been able to wash those blankets. I would have had to keep at least one of them in that bag. Loves.
@Lena
I actually decided not to do it and I put them back. My friend wanted to get me a special gift for the baby and we talked about it today at lunch. So, she is buying him new blankets. I think it’s for the best.
In the end I just couldn’t do it.
loralee, girl, my heart breaks for you. being pregnant with Carli was hard after my miscarriage, so i can only imagine a brief glimpse of what you must be going through. just know there are so many people here sending you good thoughts and prayers.
Smelling your baby in those blankets had to be a very hard thing to take. I don’t think anyone ever gets over losing a child, no matter how old that child may be.
And to Anonymous: It’s so easy for you to say mean things while you hide behind the curtain. If you are “frustrated” or tired of the pregnancy stuff, don’t read. No one is forcing you to. And how in hell you could even think that no one would find what you wrote offensive is beyond me. Next time, if you want to be taken seriously, leave your name. Coward.