It’s hard to cope with Tommy’s death when I haven’t really come to terms with the fact that I’m not pregnant anymore. I should be 30 weeks now. That’s still far far from August 25th, my due date. So sometimes I’m crying about just not being pregnant anymore. It’s all tied up together, but sometimes that sadness is very acute.

 

My newest coping method idea is to travel as much as possible to speed up the summer (the summer I imagined I’d be all fat and hugely pregnant and swollen and hot) and just face that due date head on. And by head on I mean taking the day off of work and lying in bed with my husband/ mom (they’ll probably have to take shifts) and crying.

 

Tom Sr and I were talking about our upcoming travel plans last night. We realized that we felt like a family very early on while I was pregnant. And all these adventures we had while I was pregnant were family memories. We feel like Tommy Jr was with us when we went to the Opera. He was surely the most appreciative and best behaved baby ever to see The Marriage of Figaro. And he came with me and my friend Robin on a business trip to Detroit, where he got a lot of attention. He and I also went to New York City with my boss, and had pizza with Unkie Kev. He helped mom work on her writing. We went as a family to visit Tommy’s Grandparents in Michigan for Easter. Tom Sr, Tommy Jr and I went to a spectacular wedding and we all danced together. We took a family trip to Florida and drove in a convertible and put our feet in the ocean and played mini golf. We even saw an armadillo.

 

I guess what I’m trying to say is that I realized the traveling doesn’t just have to be an escape. It’s just more family adventures. We are a family now, me Tom Sr and Tom Jr. And we’re going to make more family memories.

When I bend over to take off my shoes I can feel a little pinch of soreness on my spine. It’s the site where the doctors gave me a spinal. Having a shot in my spinal cord was one of the biggest worries I had while I was pregnant. I fretted so much about it, in fact, that I was considering natural childbirth. What a silly little thing I was…but now I understand why I had been so afraid. By the time I was in the operating room, being pulled and prodded at like a cow, having tubes pushed in my veins and urethra, the terror of the shot in my spinal cord was just part of a nightmare coming true.

 

But I’m getting ahead of myself. I wanted to try and write specifically about the surgery. I have been avoiding writing about the C-Section because it’s difficult to relive, and it’s difficult for people to understand. My sadness and anger and fear about it have been the hardest thing to relay to my friends and family.

 

The surgery was traumatic. I guess no one ever imagines a scenario where they’re being held down and operated on while awake.  I know it would have been different if there had been more time- I know not everyone’s experience is like mine.  But I can’t reflect on that surgery without getting teared up or anxious.

 

There were dozens of people in the room and only three who would acknowledge me or talk to me.  Those three people will always have a special place in my heart- their compassion was the only thing that kept me from having a complete nervous breakdown in the operating room.  I kept saying “Stop, please stop touching me” and “What are you doing?” but most of my pleas were ignored.  

 

The type of C-Section I had prevents me from ever having a vaginal birth.  They had to do a more aggressive surgery because Tommy Jr was so small.  So going into labor in the future could compromise my uterus- it’s not considered safe.  I wish I had known I was in labor that day, I wish I had understood that what I was feeling, and that it was probably the last time I would ever feel it.  I feel like I was robbed of something I didn’t even know was so important to me.  Sometimes when I try and confide this feeling to other women, they try and cheer me up by saying “you’re lucky”, or that “vaginal birth isn’t a vacation” or some other quip.  The truth is that I had the option taken away from me without anything being explained, without me being reassured, without anyone considering my dreams of motherhood.  Giving birth to a baby was very much a part of my dream.  Violent surgery was not.

 

If I have another child maybe I’ll be able to carry him or her to term and my scheduled C-Section will be a breeze.  The terror and violation I feel every time I look at my scar will probably fade with time.  But some of that memory will never go away.  The blood on the sheet that shielded me from viewing what they were doing to my body, the doctor shouting to hold me down, the pressure I felt while they rearranged my guts and uterus- those memories are burned in my brain.  I will forever remember the feeling that they tore my heart out that day and put it in a little incubator on the 10th floor.

This weekend was difficult. As soon as I met Tom after work on Friday I was a wreck. Even when I wasn’t crying I was sullen or worse, surly. I think the surliness is from the tranquillizers. I don’t take them very often anymore- we’re even weening ourselves off them to sleep. But this weekend I had to make an exception.

 

I just couldn’t get above water. I felt emotionally and physically wrecked. I kept announcing loudly “My throat hurts” and scattering my shoes and clothes all over the apartment.

 

Even Saturday night, we went to the movies early then to dinner. I laughed and laughed at the movies, then morphed into a teenager at dinner. I played annoyingly with my chop sticks, I stared at the ceiling.

 

I thought about the last time we had eaten at the restaurant and how thrilled I was that they had “fake” sushi- sushi with cooked fish. I was pregnant then and craving sushi like crazy. I couldn’t stop thinking about it throughout the whole dinner. I kept touching my belly to remind myself that it really was over…that I hadn’t just woken up from a horrible nightmare.

 

I’m trying to be kind to myself, and patient. I’m finally realizing that this grief is so much a part of me now, that I can’t avoid it or expect it to soften anytime soon. But I feel wedged in too. Like I can’t smoke- physically it made me want to barf and socially I got a half a dozen distressed emails and text messages about it. I can’t move away because we have concrete plans to stay. So many things I want to do to manage my grief come under scrutiny by people who don’t have any idea what I’m going through. And I don’t have the energy to stand up for myself. I’ve become such a mouse. It’s frustrating and I’m afraid of what happens when the lid finally blows off.

Tommy Jr was born a month ago yesterday.  A small black “29” is written on my calendar this week.  Tommy would be one month old if he were still with us on earth, but would be 29 weeks old if he were still in my belly.

 

I took the last 8 surgical stickers off my c-section incision yesterday and had a bit of a meltdown.  I was crying and crying in the shower and I could suddenly feel Tommy’s presence.  He was reassuring me, urging me not to cry.  Having him near me is such a comfort, it has stopped the hopelessness I was feeling.

 

A friend wrote me an email yesterday explaining his belief that Tommy Jr is not “gone forever” as I have written a couple times here.  He is a religious man but couched his beliefs in a way that an ex-cynic like myself couldn’t deny.  I do believe that Tommy is still with me, and that he always will be.  I believe that Tom Sr and I will be with our baby again, in another life, on another plane of energy.  I have to believe that to honor what Tommy taught us, and because I feel it as a truth.

 

But I’m being my best self as I write this.  I’m being my most loving, hopeful, optimistic self.  When I’m being my worst self, my fearful bitter self, I can’t stand not having my boy with me physically.  When I walk to and from work I keep finding myself walking behind families with young children, or mothers with babies.  Sometimes I cry, right there on the street.  I cry because I feel lonely and scared and lost.  I cry because I won’t see Tommy grow up.  Other times I smile and feel my baby with me too.   And I smile because I’m a mother, and Tom Sr is a father, and we always will be.

 

Tom Sr and I are committed to honoring our son.  He came to us to remind us how special our love for each other is, and how special we are as individuals.  I think Tommy Jr. knew he would only have a short time on earth and he chose to come to us.  He chose us because we could access the joy and love for each other and for him, despite the heartache we’ve suffered since he left.

 

Happy Birthday sweet baby.  Thank you for being our son.  We miss your little body, your sweet skin (remember how I called you my little hot dog baby?), your big hands and feet, your reaching out to us, your perfect little ears and nose and beautiful face.  But we are so happy to have your loving, strong spirit with us now.

I think about my little boy constantly. He was a little person- he had a personality the first day he arrived in the world. I’ll never forget how awestruck I was the first time I met him. He was just so vividly an individual.

 

Tom and I received the professional pictures that the hospital arranged to have taken the last night he was with us. They are so beautiful- this is one of my favorites. Even though Tommy Jr was too young to open his eyes, I think in this picture he’s trying to gaze up at his Daddy. And Tom Sr looks so beautiful and serene.

 

These pictures reminded us how happy we were on his last day. Tom and I are smiling like mad in every picture- we knew the sadness would come crashing in, but that evening we were happy. Seeing our child in pain and being completely unable to help him is the most heart-wrenching, soul-crushing, emotionally crippling thing I’ve ever felt. But that last night, we finally got to comfort him and to bond with him the way parents are supposed to. We are so grateful for that time we had with our son. I know he was grateful for it too.

I thought of something today that always makes me happy: people’s bathroom reading. I love every magazine, book, crossword puzzle and newspaper. I like it better too if they’re on the floor- like someone was just reading right before you came over.

 

If I go to your house for the first time and you left a People magazine on the floor next to your toilet, we’ll be fast friends. If you left a half-done crossword puzzle and a pen, I’ll try and make us best friends. You should tidy up the rest of your house though, just the first or second time I come over. After that you can just live like you usually do.

 

There’s just something so carelessly intimate about seeing people’s bathroom reading. Like they’re letting you get to know them better than they normally would- maybe by accident, maybe because of carelessness. Either way you’re in. You know they love rereading Catcher in the Rye or subscribe to Traditional Living regardless of what facade they put on otherwise.

 

A magazine rack is ok, it’s not as good as something on the floor- but it’s better than nothing. Nothing is suspicious. Nothing makes me think you are eternally worried about what people think of you. I’m pretty worried about what people think of me, but not worried enough to take the reading material off the back of the toilet.

 

Looking at the reading on the floor of a dear friend’s bathroom and smiling today made me remember for a minute that I’m still here. I’m not the same anymore, but I’m not gone either.

Tom and I went to our first support group meeting last night. It was over two hours long. It was equally helpful and fucking awful. The thing is, I know I’m going to “get through” this. I know I’ll feel better someday.

 

If I were in danger of closing the drapes and becoming a heroine addict it would’ve have happened already. Plus, Tom won’t let me. Plus I talk on the phone to my mom ten times a day and she’d totally figure it out. Plus, I’m a fucking human for god’s sake. I’m of the species that builds skyscrapers and sends people into outer space. I trust my brain.

 

The real problem isn’t learning how to get over the loss, it’s coming to terms with the fact that Tommy Jr is gone. Forever. That is not going to change, no matter how sad or happy I act.

 

That fact explains my current attempts to act out. My boss is concerned because I want to dye my hair blond. She’s intervening by sending me to a fancy hair colorists who will likely talk my out of my big plan.

 

The truth is I would do anything not to be this person. I would dye my hair, lose 40 pounds, get radical reconstructive surgery and shock treatments and move to New Mexico. I can’t be this person. This person who’s baby died. This person who ruined her little family. Who made her husband a childless father. Who disappointed four of the dearest parents who desperately wanted a grandchild. This person who has saggy breasts and rubs Bio oil on her stretch marks while crying and who still has to wear maternity jeans but has no baby in her arms.

 

I know I’ll get a lot of comments for writing what I just wrote. I know it’s not logical or factual, it’s just how I feel. I feel like my body ruined our lives.

 

On a positive note (aren’t you glad you read this far down) I’ve started feeling Tommy around. It happened a couple nights ago, I could just tell he was near. And last night I woke up at 4 a.m. and couldn’t fall back asleep, but I didn’t mind because I could feel him. So I talked to him a little, told him some stories, and smiled a little. You have to take what you can get when some one passes away. If Tommy couldn’t stay here with me, but will visit me once in while in the dark when I’m half asleep…well I’m grateful for that.

 

Well Tom and I both made it at least for a few hours. I was dreading it, but I wasn’t prepared for how bad it really was. It wasn’t the work part- that’s the easiest part. It wasn’t seeing my co-workers, that was a positive part. It was just being apart from Tom Sr, and being back at the place where it all started. I had to take deep breaths the whole walk to work. Our little office was so haunting and the over-airfreshened air in the bathroom made me burst into fresh tears. I know it’ll be a little easier tomorrow, and it’ll just continue to get a little better everyday.

 

My motto for this blog (and at my best- in my life) is “Everything will be ok”. I feel so silly about that now. I feel naive for ever saying that, even preaching it, and making little rings that had the motto stamped around them. It makes me want to sneer at myself. I feel bad for thinking that, and for writing it here. But this event in our lives, it will never be ok.

 

Tom and I will heal, and we’ll move on in a way I think, but Tommy Jr will always be gone. Hopefully someday I’ll reread this and realize some way that it is ok, then I’ll dazzle you all with how much I’ve grow spiritually and emotionally through this joy and trauma.

 

Right now though, I feel like I’ve changed, and the person I’ve become is my 16 year old self. I’m all fragile and bitter and impatient and self-centered and aggressive- when I’m not sleeping for hours in the middle of the day.

Well it turns out that resuming smoking is going better than I originally thought. I’m not terribly pleased by this but I could’ve done worse by this point.

 

Tom and I are going to try to go back to work tomorrow. I’m scared.

 

I’m so scared in fact, that I’ve been looking into reality TV shows as a life alternative. I ruled out Shear Genius and Project Runway, but the Amazing Race and The Alaska Project are still options. We could do them as a couple and it would be slightly less alarming to our families than my other ideas: moving to a hobby farm, doing heroin (just sniffing it, not shooting up), being unemployed.

 

Work is scary for a lot of reasons, but here are the main ones:

 

1) I have to go back and sit in the chair that I sat in while I had contractions alone for five fucking hours, pretending that it was anything other than five hours of contractions. While sitting there, I will have to find a non-narcotic way to stop myself from saying (outlet and internally) WHY DIDN’T I JUST GO TO THE HOSPITAL.

 

2) A big part of my job is calling people and chit-chatting with them. I am very afraid to make small talk with people. I don’t want to scare them by bursting into tears but I don’t want to be weird and refuse to talk about it. I know I should “do what feels right’ but what if I feel differently all the time?

 

3) I think I will probably slip right back into the routine of it and the next thing I know six months will have gone by. I’m afraid for this to be over. I know that there will never be another time where it’s ok for Tom and I to be home together all day, crying and sleeping and whispering memories.

 

It’s like the weeks after Tommy was gone, we all still had these weeks of family time. Even though one of us wasn’t physically present. When we go back to work a new thing will be broken. This fragile little ghost family will get burst like a bubble. Soon I’ll be complaining about stupid shit again and trying to lose weight and buying birthday cards.