The Aftermath

So, here we are about 6 weeks after the worst day of our lives. There have been many people (including strangers who've just happened upon this blog) emailing me with their thoughts and condolences and let me start by saying that I appreciate them all! Forgive me if I didn't respond to you, but just know that we thank you for your kind words and support. And what a helpful bit of therapy this blog has been.

Many of you have asked for an update on how my husband and I are doing, so I thought I'd share that with you and share what I've learned over the last few weeks. I've been reading a book called "Empty Cradle, Broken Heart". It's helped tremendously by reminding me that I'm not alone. There are stories of parents who have gone through the exact same kind of loss. Every now and then I come across a line that really speaks to me and allows me to think of my situation in a different light and calms me. A lot of you came across this page because you've gone through something similar yourselves. It amazes me to realize how many people have been through this. So many (too many), but somehow, I still feel very alone in this. I remember the day Lucas died as we were leaving the hospital, I saw everyone hustling around going on about their usual business and I just wanted to scream out "Don't you people know what just happened?! Don't you know what we just had to go though? Why isn't the world stopping for us?!" I had no idea how I was going to get through the first night, much less weeks after. Turns out, the whole "Fake It 'Til You Make It" concept actually does work. At least for short period of time. If you say "I'm okay" enough times to the 50 million people that ask how you are doing, it sort of works like a daily affirmation and you start to believe it whether you really feel okay or not. Before you know it, you've accidentally buried your true feelings deep inside because the actual answer to the "How are you doing?" question should have been, "I feel horrible. I just lost my son. How do you think I'm doing?"  But that wouldn't be very polite, would it? Also, having to see the puzzled look on people's faces when they had no idea what had happened and suddenly realize that I'm no longer pregnant when they were sure I wasn't due until August. So lesson #1...learning how to answer questions in a civilized manner without alienating everyone we know.

Ryan and I have great family support and encouragement from friends and coworkers, but this struggle is ultimately our own, and we're learning to cope with it on our own. Lucas was our baby. He was ours to raise and teach and watch grow. But I guess in the end, he was just a "loaner" from God. He was sent to us for a short time for some reason that only God knows right now. He's already made one difference. My husband and his brother hadn't spoken in over 2 years. They're talking on a regular basis now.  Maybe Lucas's purpose for me will be apparent someday.  But until then, I ask myself 50 times a day "Why me?" Why not this pregnant lady, or that one? Why not that girl that got knocked up and doesn't even take care of herself? Why does she have a healthy baby? So, lesson #2...learning how to hide the fact that I'm jealous and resentful toward every pregnant women and new mother I come across. I know, I know...it's a horrible thing to admit, and believe me when I say that my innocent little conscience took a beating on this one.  But it's a normal reaction. It's part of the grieving process and I'm working on it. I'm angry. Angry that this happened to me. I want to find someone to blame so bad, but the truth is there isn't anyone I can point the finger at, because this was going to happen no matter what. So what do you do with anger that you can't direct at anyone? Answer: You still direct it at someone. Myself and my husband in this case. And what happens when you do that? It makes you shut out the world, not care about a thing, and makes your husband think you don't love him anymore. 

This leads me to lesson # 3. How to keep sadness and anger from corrupting our relationship. The initial numbness and shock are starting to wear off and reality is starting to set in. Well, for me at least. I can't speak for him. I seem to do okay when I'm at work. It's easier to turn it off, so to speak, and run away from it. But the minute I walk through the front door at the end of the day, I can't run from it anymore. It's real and it happened and there's nothing I can do to fix it. This is when the sadness and anger get the best of me and I just want to shut everything out...including my husband, apparently. I had moments where I would lash out at him, even moments where I didn't want to be around him at all. I just hope he understands that this feeling is going to rise and fall for a while and I'm just trying my best to stay ME through all this. I told my husband the other day that it's almost as if I don't want to be me anymore. I want to reinvent and be someone new. I have no idea what this feeling means. Seems a little too deep to try to interpret without the help of a trained therapist, so I usually just sweep this emotion under the rug and leave it alone. Hopefully it will manifest into something positive. We ultimately came to an unspoken agreement that we HAVE to continue to talk about how we feel. I HAVE to let myself cry when I need to. Don't shut down. Let it come out even though it hurts and it's easier to just ignore it. It's like a slow poison and I can feel it eat at me when I don't let it out. I've got to learn to tune into this better. But I do want my husband to know that he means the world to me and that no matter how distant I may seem, I love you and I'm not going anywhere.

Lesson # 4. Don't be ashamed of the way I was feeling during a nightmarish situation. Feeling disconnected with my son, feeling like I wasn't being mother I should be.  I still struggle with these same thoughts I had the day Lucas died. These emotions are getting really old and I wish I knew how to come to terms with them. They're going to take a while. Did we do the right thing? What if this? What if that? Why didn't I hold him longer while I had the chance? Why didn't I sing to him? Why didn't I talk to him more? Why didn't we spend more time at the NICU? Why did I not call every 10 minutes to check on him through the night? My book had some reassuring lines about this issue that go something like this. I did the best I could do and made the best decisions I could make for my son in an IMPOSSIBLE situation. I did my absolute best. Holding him with his breathing tube was supposed to be our time to let him FEEL our love. I wanted him to FEEL that we love him and to KNOW what love is. I couldn't hold him very long. I was 2 seconds away from changing my mind. I was absolutely in love with my baby boy. I had to stop. But still, I regret not holding him for an hour. I pray that he felt our love somehow. This is probably one of the things that bothers me the most. I felt like a horrible mother because I didn't call all day, every day to check on him while I was an hour away. I didn't sit by his side for hours on end. (maybe I did...things happened in the blink of an eye, it's hard to gauge). I couldn't be the perfect mother because I COULDN'T be the perfect mother. I WAS an hour away. I knew they would call me if something was wrong. We had 2 other people and one car and a laundry list of things to do and arrangements to make that just didn't make staying at the hospital from dawn to dusk possible.  I have a legitimate, understandable answer for every single question that plagues me. I answer these questions in my head over and over again every single day. When it's all said and done, it all comes around to "I did the best I could do." My head knows it. It's just hard to make the heart believe it. I think back to when we drove to the hospital. I was sure that it was nothing. Sure that I'd just overdone it on the trip. I'd be out in a few hours...no biggie. We have a picture Ryan took of me not long after we got there. I'm laying in the hospital bed with the monitor hooked up and I'm smiling. Completely unaware that things were about to go extremely wrong. I hate that picture. And then I think about the very moment that Dr. King stood there and explained to us that we were going to deliver then and there. Without even knowing details of the prognosis of a 24 wk preemie or the chance of survival, my heart said FIGHT...SAVE HIM! But in a little corner of my mind, there was always a little voice saying "You're not going home with your little boy." I tried to tell that little voice to shut up, but as the hours passed after his birth and he was gone to San Francisco, I began to feel very disconnected from him. Now that it's all said and done, I realize that I was subconsciously saying goodbye before I ever said hello. Maybe that was good thing in the end. Kind of like a head-start. I don't think that affected my decision, but I think it helped me somehow come to terms with the whole situation. Maybe even made it easier.

I wish I could say that I've learned some profound and meaningful life lesson through all of this. But I don't think that's ever going to be the case. I'm just working on learning how to move on. Ryan and I are able to try again in the future. I'll need to see a high-risk obstetrician and take some extra precautions to keep this from happening again because I am at higher risk for repeat placental abruption. We also have to wait a year because I had a c-section. As much as I would love to try now, I know it would be a mistake physically and emotionally. So, this next year is our chance to get anything we need to get out of our systems (which we had done before, but we can do it again I guess.) We've got another year to not have to worry about middle of the night diaper changes and feedings. We can still go wherever we want, whenever we want. Go out and get drunk with friends without feeling guilty.  I guess we'll just focus on each other and we're going to start going to church again.

Next week will present a new challenge. We had Lucas cremated and his ashes were supposed to be sent to our house. So, we've waited and waited and he's still not home. Ryan contacted the funeral home in California and finally heard back. Since shipping ashes across the country is not the usual protocol, there must have been some confusion and they were sent back to the funeral home. We were getting very worried, but at least we know where he is now. He should come home next week some time. I feel so insensitive as I think to myself  "Any day now, my son will be waiting for us in a box on our doorstep." What an odd sentence. But as odd as it sounds, I want my son here. I feel like maybe I'll feel his presence if his ashes are with me. Maybe that's just a foolish illusion. I know it's not HIM the way I wanted to have him home, as a baby. But in a way, it really is him. We will be more at peace when our whole little family is here. I bought a beautiful container for his ashes. It's a silver plated cross shape. The lid is a cream marble design and in the middle there is a silver heart surrounded with rhinestones. It has Lucas's name and dates engraved on it. The cross reads, from top to bottom, "May God bless you and keep you and may his light shine upon you always." Rather appropriate, I thought.

Thank you, everyone, again for all your kind words and prayers. It's been rough, and so far we're doing as well as can be expected. There have been quick mentions of counseling, but as of now, we're going to try to handle this on our own. I plan to start a team in Lucas's honor and collect donations for the local March of Dimes event this fall. I don't plan to do anymore posts. I hope I never have to. Please say a quick prayer while you're thinking about it that we don't. Thank you.

Jessica Wemyss