Tuesday, December 15, 2009

Bah Humbug.

Last Christmas came right after losing Peyton, in those first fresh months where I wore only pajama pants, and didn't run a brush through my hair. To be honest, it was about ten months till I cared at all about my appearance, and even now, it doesn't fall high on my list. I was angry last Christmas, that it had to come at all, that I had to watch my nieces (who despite this loss, I love dearly) open their little girl packages, while my little girl laid frozen, or worse, beneath the earth. I had worked so hard to be healthy while I carried her. I had held her. Loved her. Nursed her. Where were my little girl's presents beneath the Christmas Tree?

Two years ago on Christmas (Eve to be exact) I found out I was pregnant, and that night we broke the news to my family. The house was filled with celebration, and all felt right in the world. We were having a baby. That was going to be our last Christmas without a child. I hate myself now for assuming so much, and having taken the promise of her existence for granted.

This Christmas, two full years after first learning of Peyton's existence, I feel myself going through the motions, but really not "feeling" the holiday spirit. I don't even want to write out the cards. What is there to say?
"My child died. I fell apart. Your lives are all better than mine. Bah-Humbug!"

I try to remind myself of all the things I have to be thankful for. My husband. My family. My friends. My good health, and that of those I love. My new rescue puppy Charlotte. The generosity of those who have donated to Doing Good In Her Name. My writing. The friends I have met in this blog world. And yet, even among these many things that I list, there is a huge, empty, void. She is gone. She is still gone. Was she ever really here?

I would like to say that with the passage of time I have come to accept this loss, but it is not true. Instead I sort of cope, like an old man with a wooden leg, I limp along, but never truly find my way back to a comfortable stride. Something is off. Permanently.

Yesterday we set up our "Peyton Tree" which in reality is not a tree at all, but a plant. I wanted something living, something that I could try (crosses fingers) to keep alive in this house to always remember my sweet girl. I thought I would feel better after finishing the tree, but I didn't. Instead I was sort of pissed off. I shouldn't have to have a Peyton Tree. I should have a Peyton. A smiling, laughing, dancing, little 15 month old to thank the Lord and Heaven for having blessed me with. This is our second Christmas since Peyton was born, and this is our second Christmas without her.

I hate posts like this. Ones where I have no wisdom to offer, or comfort or inspiration to give others on this journey. I read some women's blogs and feel somehow "less than". They have unconditional faith. They find joy in the season. I read them and wonder what is wrong with me, why I can't see the forest through the trees, and then I remember it is because my branches are empty. There is no baby on this tree top. Little hope of fresh buds in spring. There is loss, and infertility, and a looming sense of failure and inadequacy, and that is the reality of mothering a dead child during the holidays.

This year I have a new nephew, he was born just after Thanksgiving, and his healthy arrival is another thing I recite on my Thankful list. I didn't blog about my sister's pregnancy, and how it felt for me, because I didn't know how to do those feelings justice. I would like to say I had been a better sister as she carried this year, but I didn't have it in me. She said she understood, but I feel bad for it nonetheless. It is not her fault that my attempts at having a family have been so tragic, and it is not my little nephew's fault that his older cousin, the one he will have outlived by the time we gather around that tree, is not here with us. He deserves to be surrounded in joy and celebration, regardless of my own personal crap, because his healthy arrival on this earth is a little miracle, and not one to be taken for granted, as we all know too well.

This year I will sit around the family tree and watch all the baby items be opened, and smile as my nieces, too, open their gifts. I will survive this Christmas, as I somehow managed to last year (thanks in large part to alcohol and some really bad Karaoke) because the world just doesn't stop for me. It continues to turn, even as ours has come crashing down.

I will go through the motions, and fight back the tears with a smile on my face, because that is what you do in babyloss land, and I will hope, that even if just for a moment, my smile will feel good, and genuine, and real. As I do, I will be praying that wherever you are, those moments of joy, no matter how brief, come calling for you, too.

28 comments:

  1. "I read them and wonder what is wrong with me, why I can't see the forest through the trees, and then I remember it is because my branches are empty." I understand that completely. Sometimes there is no wisdom to be gained, only solace to be sought. Sending you lots of love xxxx

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  2. I hear ya'. I don't wanna b*tch about loved ones who are no longer in my life, but miserable types all around just amplify the void for me. I'm lucky to have my husband hold me, this season, as well as everything else that keeps me going.

    This year, I'm experiencing just a little bit of the holiday spirit but nowhere near as much as I'd like. Trying to find ways to add more light into my world, I guess. Funny you post this because last night was especially difficult to bear. I hope I can find the right words to describe it... and let it go. Writing helps so, so much.

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  3. And I will be thinking of you & wishing for you those moments as well. I love that wintersong! Its beautiful. I have another one that we all will love & I'll post it on my blog asap!

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  4. Sometimes there is no wisdom to share, just raw emotion. And that is okay.

    Thinking of you...

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  5. If it makes you feel better, your post actually has been very helpful for me. I have a lot of the same feelings but haven't been able to put my finger on them. I hope that there are better holiday seasons for all of us in the future. For now, I just hope we make it through.

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  6. I appreciate your raw emotion even when you don't think you have wisdom to give. I know that smile that you will put on this CHristmas. I went Christmas shopping for my nieces and nephews and I felt so empty for not getting to buy baby gifts for my Jenna. It felt so incredibly wrong. Almost like betrayal. Then I realized that this is something else I have missed out on, we all have. I am so sorry for your pain. My heart hurts with you.

    xo

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  7. Yup. I know that feeling. Going through the motions as well.

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  8. Even as I sit here with my "rainbow" I can still relate to SO much of what you say. We were pregnant with our firstborn girls on a similar timeline. I just went past 2 years since we found out we were preg the other day. We also told our families Christmas Day, thinking it would be our last without a child. That remains frozen as our greatest Christmas ever. I know this year will be wonderful, with our son safely here, but she still wont be, and never will. And my heart is still heavy because of this. I too have a sister who is preg (with her first) and I haven't blogged about it as I too don't know what to say. Some of the sting has gone now that Angus is here, but it is still strange. And now made more complicated by the fact she knows she's having a girl.
    Anyway, a long winded way to say you're understood and that as always, I'm so sorry.
    xo

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  9. You often share much wisdom with us all...sometimes posts like this just need to come out.
    Enjoy your karaoke and alcohol - I know I will!

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  10. I wish you would come to my blog and link on a blog called "walk with me"...there is a button on teh side. I don't understand what you are ging through. I have my girls. But this lady MORE than understands and I would love for you to meet her.
    much love.

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  11. Sending you hugs, I too am going through the motions right now when I thought all was going to be better this Christmas.

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  12. What Seraphim said is just so very wise. Sometimes I think we try so hard to be wise that we end up feeling guilty for our real emotions. I have felt very un-wise these days as I approach my girl's one year. Holidays can be so very raw. XO

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  13. I go through the motions and forget that I am doing it until I get a wake up call. Now I think, I'm not doing that so much anymore.

    I'm proud of you for making sure that other families are blessed with the little things in their time of need. I think you are doing more than going through the motion...you are making an impact...a very positive one in Peyton's name.

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  14. This will be my first Christmas without my sweet baby Gage. I am dreading it like the plague. How can I sit and watch everyone so happily eat and open their gifts when I am dying on the inside? I have to do my best for my daughter, but if is is too intense, I will come home and go to bed. The only thing I can hope for it peace for you, me and all of the other families this year.

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  15. This is my first Christmas without Shealyn. Last Christmas Eve, I was laid up in the doctors office, conceiving her. I will be going through the motions right along with you, and attempting to drink away my sorrow. I wish I had more.
    Sending you a big hug.
    xoxo
    Betty

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  16. I'm thinking of you. You have every right to say Bah Humbug....no gift under the tree could replace the gift you lost in your little girl. What is left is simply the gifts she continues to inspire. Sending you warmth during this cold season.

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  17. I get it I really do. I could have written that post myself.. Hugs to all of us spending Christmas without our babies..xx

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  18. We would be honored to write a special dedication for your precious angel baby Peyton and make her our first featured baby. Please contact us if you would like to arrange this.

    With love and best wishes

    Poet Of The Heart

    http://angelbabyofminededications.blogspot.com/

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  19. I don't know what to say except that I can relate to so much of this-even though are stories are definitely different-and it hurts me to know how much pain you are going through. I know I've said this before, but every time I click on your page I am so struck by how beautiful your Peyton is. I wish she were here to celebrate Christmas with you.
    I wish, I wish.
    Hugs and love to you. I'll be sending warm thoughts your way.

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  20. Hugs to you. I have no advice . . . Your writing is raw and full of emotion. Brought me to tears. I pray you will find peace and happiness in the new year. Although I have never met you or Peyton, I think of you and your daughter often.

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  21. You write so beautifully through your pain. I have not lost a child, but I have a child with a fragile immune system. I hold every moment close. Will this be our last? Will she live to see her next Christmas? Her next birthday? It's so hard to count your blessings.

    Much love to you.

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  22. Praying for you. I cannot imagine what you must be going through. Your blog brought tears to my eyes.

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  23. I'll be thinking of you, your husband and your sweet Peyton this holiday season. I'll be sending lots of prayers and special thoughts your way.

    I don't much care about this Christmas either. It'll be our second Christmas since Jayden was born without him. He too never experienced a first Christmas. Decorating a tree at his graveside seems so incredibly wrong.

    However, I have to find a way to muster up some enthusiasm for my two granddaughters. It's hard though. I'd rather pull a blanket over my head and wake up Jan. 2, 2010.

    Hugs to you...

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  24. You are correct.

    The world stops for nobody....and that possibly is the painful and the happy part about it. I don't mean happy in a sarcastic sense...it is like the changing of seasons...that repeats itself again and again, and no two seasons stay same, or create the same memories....on one hand there are fresh chapters to read, on the other, we would so like to cling to 'before/when it happened'.

    I am happy that you have the love in you to adore your niece so, and I know that you would be a great aunt to your nephew too.

    Acknowledging your sense of the great changes that occurred within a span of two Christmas Eves....who would have known....

    I was so touched with: " I had held her. Loved her. Nursed her. Where were my little girl's presents beneath the Christmas Tree?"

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  25. {{{Hugs}}}, I'm thinking of you and hoping the pain gets a little easier and hopefully some joy will creep back into your life.

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  26. The wisdom that you offered to me is that I am not alone, none of us are. We all hurt so badly for our little ones that have passed and no Christmas will ever go by where we don't think of them. Thank you for posting your feelings and sharing them with me. It's healing to know that other people are thinking and feeling the same as I am at this time of year that's supposed to be so beautiful and happy when it's not because of our beautiful angels. I will pray for you too to have a moment of joy on Christmas Day even though it will be hard. HUGZ.

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  27. You may not feel as though you offer comfort, inspiration or wisdom in your words. But you do.
    Thank you for your writing. xo

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  28. You may not think you have any wisdom or comfort to give but that simply isn't true. You don't need eloquent words but to just be yourself. I am hoping this Christmas we can all find a little joy in something.

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