Tuesday, October 27, 2009

Leaves, Ships, Notes, Tears

This last week has been sort of blah physically and emotionally. I have been feeling down about many things, missing Peyton, the SIF, and generally just not feeling great. Today AF decided to stop by after a three month hiatus, and that, I guess, explains some of why I am feeling how I am feeling. Her arrival used to signal another opportunity to try. Now, knowing I am not ovulating on my own, the blush has sort of fallen off that rose.

I find myself really missing Peyton right now. I don't know if it is the season (which, because of its raw beauty here in the northeast has always been my favorite) the impending arrival of my new nephew next month, or just this overwhelming feeling that my own dreams for a family are getting further and further out of reach, but whatever the cause, I am hurting.

I find I am at a place now where I sort of keep my "break downs" to myself, allowing the fears and sadness to envelop my thoughts, all while keeping a straight face for the benefit of those around me. It’s exhausting to have to pretend, but worse always feeling vulnerable and exposed.

The sense that I no longer have a place, among either those who have children, or those who have never had children, is overwhelming. Even this community, which has been such a safe haven of understanding for me, seems recently to be brimming with news of impending rainbow babies, and while my prayers, love and heart do go out to my dear friends at this happy news, (believe me I have not lost sight of the suffering and loss they have endured to get there), my heartache at being left out is growing. I am stuck in the sand, watching their ships sail off into the sunset, and begging from the shoreline for someone to stay with me, to cry with me, to hold my hand. I want my ticket off this island.

On my way to visit Peyton's grave yesterday I started talking to her in the car. I do this sometimes, when I am really missing her, or see something that I would have showed her as mothers do. Yesterday it was the Technicolor landscape of Fall, the way the leaves, en route to her grave, reflected in our local river. I so wish she was here to share these moments with. It’s like I see these things, and my heart starts to swell, and then the wave of grief comes over me, and where there was color and beauty, I am left deflated among twigs and brown bare branches.

Reaching her site I found a marker in hub’s car and penned a note/poem on a yellow napkin. I meant to leave it, but realized this morning that I had not. Today it's raining and once I publish this post, I am going to make my way, note in hand, back up to her. I am hoping the wetness of the day will melt the napkin, delivering it into the earth to be with her. The note read:

Can you hear me?
The way I talk to you on drives
sharing the beauty all around me,
or try to teach you about this world,
the things a mother should teach her child?
Look, I say, Look Peyton,
at those leaves, how they glow with orange, red and yellow hues in the sun's light.
How different life would be if you were here, in the backseat, smiling.
Would I even know what I had?
How precious a gift you were, or how lucky your safe arrival in my arms made me?
I am speaking to you Peyton,
I feel like you are listening.
But, maybe you aren't there.
Maybe your crazy mother is trying too hard to find a sign where there is none,
or to believe what her heart wants.
It doesn’t matter.
I go on teaching you just the same.
Talking just the same.
Loving just the same.
Sharing just the same as if you were here with me.
Your life ended with the fall of last year’s Autumn leaves.
My love for you did not.


  1. Missing your Peyton with you.


    I believe she can hear you, and loves when you teach her things.

  2. I think it is so wonderful that you still talk to Peyton. I hope in time I can talk to my Elliot without crying. You are such a strong woman and I admire you!

  3. "...begging from the shoreline for someone to stay with me, to cry with me, to hold my hand." I'm standing there right with you...you are NEVER alone.


  4. I like to talk to Carleigh, especially at her grave. I like to do it when I am alone that way I can say whatever I want.

  5. Kristin, I will stand on the shore with you and hold your hand and cry. I will not be having any more babies, my possibility has gone. I can feel your anguish in your words to Peyton, in your poems and here in your blog. I think the feeling of standing alone in all of this is something we all at one time experience. I lost Calvin on November 16 last year. Fall used to be my favorite season but this year I can barely stand to look at the trees in all their fall colours. So much of my life changed in the moment that my son took his last breath. I suppose it's to be expected but it hurts and it's lonely and I hate every second of being babylost. And although I too wish our fellow blogging friends well in their pregnancies with their rainbow babies, it is SO hard for me to accept that I made a decision to permanently end my own fertility when I thought our family was complete. I do however have much hope for you and your future babies. You have been through so much emotionally that maybe your body is waiting until some of the pain softens before it allows you to open your heart and body to another child. I will keep thinking positive thoughts for you and my fingers crossed for your rainbow baby to come and fill your arms again. Just think, this is the first day of a new cycle, that in itself is positive....however much we all hate Aunt Flow (who also showed up at my house this morning). Sending you love

  6. I wanted to thank you for your comment where you mentioned telling your parents of Carleigh & Jordan. You are too kind. (((hugs))) I pray every day that I can make a difference in someone's life, that I can help them, even if it is just a little bit. So thank you for sharing.

  7. What a beautiful thought that the rain will make the words on the napkin fall into earth to be with her. She is very lucky to have you as her Mommy, and keep talking as I know she hears you and watches over you. Hugs, Nan xo

  8. Those are beautiful words for your dear girl. I can tell that you love and miss her so much.

  9. Praying for you and your hurting heart very, very hard. I'm glad you've shared your pain with all of us and I'm sure Peyton is joining all of us in praying you are blessed with her sibling soon. (((Hugs)))

  10. {{HUGS}} I am so sorry have to go through this. Your note is beautiful. I am sorry Peyton isn't here with you.

  11. The poem is beautiful, and so is the fact that you still talk to her. Just because she's not there in the backseat, doesn't mean she isn't there, learning whatever you have to teach her...

  12. Your words to Peyton made me cry. I talk to my daughters, both of them.
    Love and strength to you xo