Happy birthday, sweet Eleanor

Today is Ellie's third birthday. It seems impossible to be three years already. The pain is still so fresh and so big. I have a hard time conceptualizing what has happened. We have our own sacred rituals and will be volunteering today at the Ronald McDonald House where we stayed, as well as delivering care packages for newly bereaved parents at the NICU where she lived six short days. She's in my heart always, but this is so damn hard!

Just like this time three years ago, I'm lying awake thinking of her. Then it was in the hospital as I was to deliver her by csection at noon. I hugged my belly and cried and hoped. Now I am happily lying next to her fussy, teething baby sister, still crying for what is gone and hoping for the future of my surviving children. Happy birthday, my sweet Eleanor. 

New Year, New Focus

I feel like a broken record. Not only am I tired of the repetitive thoughts my grief produces, but I feel my small readership is too. I am not a fan of resolutions, but this seems like a perfect time to start on a new journey. I can't promise I won't fall back into writing rambling posts, but focusing on something different will be good for me.

I've often thought about how historically and cross-culturally women have grieved over the loss of a child and how has society and family responded. Recently I even started to read an article about parental bereavement and sociobiology (how our "genes" respond).

I would also like to invite guest bloggers to post from time to time. My husband posted a while back and I know it helped him in his grief. Maybe a grandparent, sibling, or close friend would like to contribute...although I do not share this blog with my entire family. It is just easier for me if they think I am "moving on."

So, check back soon if you are a history and science geek like me, or if you just want to read something a little different. Happy New Year.

Where's the remote control?

Am I alone in wishing for a mute button? Or maybe a rewind/fast forward option to life? How about pause?

Last night I COULD NOT turn my brain off, no matter how many cognitive therapy exercises I tried. Those last few hours haunt me and the two weeks proceeding Ellie's death have traumatized and damaged me. Every moment of January 14, 2010, is burned into my brain. I live in constant fear that something will happen to my surviving children. Every time my husband drives off with them safely latched in their car seats, I panic. I hate that my first thought when I see their daycare's number pop up on my phone is that one of them has been badly hurt. I think about what we would do in a fire or home invasion. What if the car went into a lake? It's awful, irrational...and I don't know how to make it stop.

Her birthday is approaching. Three years. What would she look like? What adorable personality would she have? I cannot believe it has been three years. Today marks the day we went in for my 30 week check-up. I couldn't believe I had gained 12lbs in two weeks. We tried to get another face shot with the ultrasound tech to no avail. I felt off all day and was worried something was wrong. And it was. It wasn't a nightmare although I desperately tried to will it. Couldn't I just rewind? I'd do something different...anything, if it would save her. But it happened. Six days after she was born on January 8, I held her for the first time while she died listening to me singing a lullaby and her daddy holding her hand. Now all I have are these loud, repetitive thoughts and fears.

What will happen when three years turns into 30 years? Sometimes I think about how much more peaceful I will be then. I will, right?