Doug went in to work this morning to get caught up so he's not so behind on Monday. The kids are both asleep...in my bed. I like waking up and having them right beside me. I love watching them sleep. They look so sweet, with their long eyelashes and angelic faces. Of course, it'll only be an hour or so before they are up and bouncing around the house, maybe yelling at each other every once in a while. That's okay though, I truly live for it, for them.
My stuffed "I love you, Mom" bear and Trevor's little dog from the baby, are both in the bed. Trevor, several times yesterday, would come up to me with the little dog and say, "Mom, this is what you deserve," and would squeeze the dog right in my face making it bark and say, "I love you, woof woof." The he would smile his snaggle-toothed grin that melts my heart, wink at me, and give me a hug and kiss. God, how I love that boy. Any time he saw that my bear was separated from me yesterday, he would bring it to me and say, "Here Mom. Here's your bear," even if it were sitting only a few feet away. He knows it means something special to me and I can tell he wants to do something for me. Both of the kids are always thinking of me and trying to find their own ways to make sure I'm comfortable and okay...it just amazes me. A 5 and almost 11-year-old are trying to parent ME.
Hugging and squeezing that bear has helped me to fill my arms when I need something to hold, to hug. It never left my side once the kids brought it to me at the hospital and helped to ease some of the emptiness I felt in my heart, soul, and arms. I could bury my face in it and let the tears flow, let the fear and sorrow escape me. I could squeeze it hard to release tension, anger, and frustration, when I know that squeezing a person like that would never do without breaking a few ribs in the process. I could just hug my fluffy bear and find that odd comfort that children find in their stuffed toys. So weird to find solace in a teddy bear when I am a grown woman. But then, sometimes, age really IS just a number, because here lately I feel like a sad, lost, scared child. I just want to be a kid again, run around without a care in the world, and not know the dismal reality that I am facing right now. I don't want to face these responsibilities or be the one that has to do this. I don't want to go to the funeral home.
It's not often I don't have the answers...I am a self-proclaimed know-it-all, after all...but I just don't have the answers when I need them the most, and I NEED the answers more than ever right NOW. I wish I didn't know all the things I have to know, or have the experiences that I've had to experience over the past few days. Medically, sometimes I wish I were dumb to it all and that I wasn't so absorbed in the facts, but even the nurses and chaplain were blown away and impressed by the information I had, the questions I had, the preparedness, and the fact that I needed to know everything that was going to happen so that I could plan as much in advance as was possible. I could talk about things, the cremation, what would happen when and after I delivered, etc. It is just my way of coping and I like to be in control as much as possible. Don't think for once I am not fragile or falling apart inside, because I'm destroyed, shattered. By absorbing myself in the facts and getting things done ahead of time, it's just my way of not having to sit and do nothing, knowing what is coming but wondering about all the details or leaving the details for when I am feeling even worse physically, mentally, emotionally...I don't like to go into anything blind, and I want the facts. There is no naivete in my body. I'm not one to sugarcoat things and put a less-than-horrible spin on things if the situation isn't less-than-horrible. Less-than-horrible just doesn't fit this situation, and I am not going to act like or say that it does. I lost a child...another child. I held him in my hands because he was too small for my arms. No one should have to see what Doug and I saw or experience what we have, yet again, experienced. The surreal-ness of the situation is still surrounded by the memory of sounds of Brahms Lullaby, occasionally wafting down the hall and through my door...the sound of healthy babies being born all around me. Happiness. How I wished those sounds were for me.