Sunday, November 14, 2010

Wanting to Want to Remember

I had a nightmare.
At least I think it was a nightmare.
Sometimes PTSD makes it difficult to distinguish between what is a dream
and what is a flashback,
especially in the early moments after waking.

I dreamt of our camcorder.
Sounds silly, right?
It was a wedding shower gift from my bridesmaids.

I replayed in my mind all the discs we had created with it.
So many discs.
So many memories worth saving,
all contained to the first two years of our marriage.

Our trip down to Florida to see hub's family.

Long car rides with the camera rolling
as we cracked jokes and bantered nonsensically to break the monotony.

Images of my husband waking in the early hours of morning.
He hates to be recorded this way - I love it.
How intimate it is. How only I get to see him like this.

The two of us talking over my pregnant belly.

My mind played over the contents of each disc,
and then it stood in fear
before the one that we can't seem to watch again.

Less than an hour long.
It is her whole life.

There are scenes from my first induction.
That trip to the hospital was full of hope.
It failed and we went home empty handed and I felt it then.
In retrospect, though I had no way to know, I felt it.
It was a foreshadow of what was to come -
me staring longingly at the car seat in the back.

The empty car seat.

I felt it and it scared the life out of me.

Then came the scenes from a week later - her second induction.
Peyton was stubborn.
She wouldn't come out.
We still didn't know.

I had felt it on that car ride the week earlier,
but we didn't know.

At this point in the video,
we still thought we were having a take home child.

The images move on to the Operating Room.
Hubs telling me we had a girl.
Me looking at him in disbelief.
The anesthesiologist asking what her name was.
"Peyton," I uttered, even though it was not the name we had discussed and decided on.

These first five minutes of the video are joy filled.
Or at least as close to joy filled as any in her life.

I am in a haze,
a deep anesthesia induced haze,
but I feel joy.

I remember the fear and disorientation from the drugs.
The way my body shook violently.
The nausea.

I remember feeling that I was missing her birth in my fog.
But there was joy.

She was here.
She was fine.
The doctor told me she was perfect.

That scene ends.
Then, of course, the joy is lost.

The rest of the video details her degradation
from a perfect, pink little thing,
to one who is bruised and battered.
Our little Peyton, by the end of the hour,
is barely recognizable.

We watched the video right after she died.
Literally right after.
In those early days.
It might have been the night of her funeral.
I can't remember.

What I remember is that my parents were here,
and we sat together
and we watched it.

It was so hard
that we couldn't face it again.
So we put it away.

"Maybe each year on her birthday?" we said.
"Or her angelversary."
Neither has ever felt possible for us.

The videos ended.
The nightmare continued.

That's what my dream/flashback was focused on this morning.
On the after.

There are no videos after that one.

This, among all the other things listed, is what scared me the most.

There was life.
And then Peyton and her death.
And then grief.

Can one simultaneously live and grieve?

If you can, we haven't figured out how.

Not truly.

Maybe in a day to day way.
But never in a way that felt worthy of remembering.

Since her death there has been cause for documentation,
but no desire.

A cruise my parents took us on in the early months.
The birth of my nephew.
Weddings.
A camping trip.
Christenings.

It's as if we have been going through the motions but not really living them.
Seeing things but not experiencing them.
Breathing but not being.

I want to get back there.
I can feel that change happening inside of me.

I want to get back to that place
of wanting to remember where I am,
rather than just wanting to survive it.

18 comments:

  1. I am not sure that we can truly LIVE, and live abdundatly, amoung grief. It robs our joy, focuses on the sorrow. And I think it must be OK to live that way for a time. I guess the difficulty, is learning when and how to live again...

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  2. Maybe documenting, even without the desire, is a good thing. Maybe in looking back you will see where you have come. I know I see this in my writing—maybe it could be that way with video too? I think I have two pictures of me pregnant with my second child. We were still deep in our grief fog and very rarely pulled out the camera, but I sometimes wish I had a record of that pregnancy. I know it would have been nothing like my first, but still wish I had a few more pictures of that time.

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  3. Wanting to remember is a beginning. Another tiny step...

    Praying for you as you take each tiny step, making a path in a place you never wanted to walk. And, praying for healing...and maybe someday, even a glimpse of joy....

    For now, wanting to remember is still something.

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  4. I think, and this is just based on my experience, that you have to come to the point where you give yourself permission to fully enjoy life again and not feel guilty when you catch find yourself smiling and feeling joy. It took me a very long time to reach that point (my son would be 17 next Sunday) but I pray it doesn't take as long for you as it did me. There are so many things I now wish I had allowed myself to enjoy more. But I finally realized that being happy and living my life didn't mean that I didn't love or miss my son, nor does my joy dishonor his memory. As a matter of fact, I feel certain that he would want me to be happy.
    Am I saying that life is all roses all these years later? Ofcourse not. My life will never be complete again, no matter how many years pass. But it is nice to feel some peace and I pray that peace comes to you sooner than it did fo me.
    Praying for you every day!

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  5. I can totally relate to this post...its kinda crazy actually. I have completely stopped living to remember the life I live but just trying to get through it. I mean sure I do take photo's from time to time but nothing like I used to. My daughters death has put me in a constant fog. I do things but more times then not forget that I did them. My memory has sort of turned off for now.
    I too want to remember and want to get back to that place-that person I was before my daughters life ended. You are inspirational to me. Please continue to post, my little 20 yr old heart needs it. ~Felicia (check out my blog at tanaleedavis.blogspot.com- I need some followers..lol)

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  6. That was beautifully said, Kristin. I started reading your blog a while back, and have finally caught up. I can't even remember which site I was visiting that brought me to yours, but you captured me with your writing. You really have a gift with your words.

    I lost my baby boy Matthew just a few months before you lost Peyton. It was unexpected for us as well. I too received glowing reports in the operating room, but things took a downward turn for us in the nursery. My little guy was born with a severe heart defect. He was able to receive the oxygen he needed when he was tucked safe inside me, but he couldn't maintain that on his own. He lived for just 2 1/2 days.

    I am on the other end from you in that Matthew was my third child. We have two girls at home. For the longest time, I felt like I was going through the motions with the day-to-day living. I still am in many ways, but my girls are what brings me joy. They are the bright spots in our lives. I felt so bad that I couldn't protect them from loss and they were knowing profound sadness. Not only did they lose their brother, but they lost a piece of their parents too. As parents, you need to feel the intense grief, but over time, I also found that having other children has been the biggest motivator to experience joy too...joy amongst the sadness. I am still figuring it out, but I'm guessing your two little snowflakes will have a big part in you finding moments you want to remember :).

    I never started a blog, but there is part of me that wishes I had. You can e-mail me if you like at skmaanderson@msn.com I wanted to pass along another blog too. It is of a friend of a friend who lost her first child three years ago. She experienced infertility before and afterwards, and is now expecting again like you. I think she is about 6 weeks behind you. I am so happy for both of you. The site is babyhoustonstory.blogspot.com
    Take care, Krista

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  7. That was beautifully said, Kristin. I started reading your blog a while back, and have finally caught up. I can't even remember which site I was visiting that brought me to yours, but you captured me with your writing. You really have a gift with your words.

    I lost my baby boy Matthew just a few months before you lost Peyton. It was unexpected for us as well. I too received glowing reports in the operating room, but things took a downward turn for us in the nursery. My little guy was born with a severe heart defect. He was able to receive the oxygen he needed when he was tucked safe inside me, but he couldn't maintain that on his own. He lived for just 2 1/2 days.

    I am on the other end from you in that Matthew was my third child. We have two girls at home. For the longest time, I felt like I was going through the motions with the day-to-day living. I still am in many ways, but my girls are what brings me joy. They are the bright spots in our lives. I felt so bad that I couldn't protect them from loss and they were knowing profound sadness. Not only did they lose their brother, but they lost a piece of their parents too. As parents, you need to feel the intense grief, but over time, I also found that having other children has been the biggest motivator to experience joy too...joy amongst the sadness. I am still figuring it out, but I'm guessing your two little snowflakes will have a big part in you finding moments you want to remember :).

    I never started a blog, but there is part of me that wishes I had. You can e-mail me if you like at skmaanderson@msn.com I wanted to pass along another blog too. It is of a friend of a friend who lost her first child three years ago. She experienced infertility before and afterwards, and is now expecting again like you. I think she is about 6 weeks behind you. I am so happy for both of you. The site is babyhoustonstory.blogspot.com
    Take care, Krista

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  8. The kind of thing that makes us lump up...remembering the days gone by, and how far we have come...or are apparently from what has come undone...Gawd!

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  9. You so beautifully and powerfully describe the feelings involved. I am glad you are starting to want to remember again.

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  10. We were never big on video taping. We have some videos from when our son was younger but they taper off as he got older. I was very much a HUGE picture taker. I documented everything little thing we did. I was the dreaded picture taker, posing people, getting teased about it. That dramatically decreased after we lost Janessa. I prob would have never cracked out the camera again if it wasn't for our son. I have thought about that so many times. How the decrease in the photo albums will be impossible not to notice when he goes through them later in life.

    I still feel like I am in survival mode most of the time. Joy has crept in from time to time. But it has never felt the same.

    The snowflakes will not cure the grief from Peyton's death but they will bring you & your husband so much joy. Intense, abundant joy that will fill your hearts more than ever imagined. I am glad you have come to a place where you feel the tug to enjoy life again. Peyton would want that for you. I want that for you.

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  11. I have carried my camera on outings with family but when I get home I have realized that I didn't take any pictures or I only took two or three. I am just not in the mood to do this anymore. I have to force myself to do it. Once I start it gets easier.

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  12. Baby steps... Better days are soon to come ((HUGS)).

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  13. Kristin I came to your blog via Expectations Revised. Just as I started to reading My Immortal started playing. I closed my eyes and I was back holding my daughter for the last time. I took in the words of the song and the precious memories I was experiencing. The songs kept coming and so did the memories. I started reading and my tears began. "It's as if we have been going through the motions but not really living them.
    Seeing things but not experiencing them.
    Breathing but not being."...this has been my life for almost five years, maybe longer. Your girl...your sweet sweet Payton is beautiful. I am sending you love tonight and will be reading your entire blog or as much as I can get in before I fall asleep...many blessings...

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  14. In my humble opinion, the mere fact that the desire to live again is there is a sign that it will happen....
    One day at a time.

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  15. ooohh I wanna cry. .I told my mum about your blog and let her read your post, she sub and hugged me for almost 20 minutes. Hope you're okay and as always, pray for your family and your precious baby Margaret:)

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  16. I tried to write a comment yesterday and my browser froze. I wanted to say that I recognise that moment of wanting to live again, it happened two years after my dad died. I just suddenly woke up and realised I wanted to eat good food, be around fun people, be alive again. It's not the end of the grief by any means, just a change. It was a wonderful feeling, celebrate it by spoiling yourself. It's good that you have reached this before the snowflakes are born because you still have some time to revel in life, and find your humanness again. It's a gift!

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  17. I do hope you get there. That place that you can't feel you can get out of feels miserable. I'm sorry you've had to go through this and am hopeful you're seeing to the other side. Getting back to 'you' is so important and yet so hard.

    Here from the Friday Roundup...

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