Quick Update

* Warning there is a picture at the end of this post*


The last couple of months have been busy. The mundane sort of busy that I am grateful for now. We've had a few ups and downs with Eden (she had RSV in December and was pretty ill for awhile and was diagnosed with a milk protein allergy that has affected her weight gain), but (knock on wood) nothing super serious. She continues to be a delight. J & K are wonderful and growing up more and more each day. I cannot believe that K will be 4 in a few shorts weeks and J 6 not long after. JD was promoted at work recently which given the current state of the economy was somewhat unexpected and give us some pretty exciting options for the future. This summer will be 2 years since Owen died. Two years, its forever and then again its just the blink of an eye.

I have realized that as much as I don't necessary fit into the blogosphere the way I used to, I miss it here. I have a lot I need to write about and I hope to start posting again more regularly. I haven't yet decided whether I will write here or create a new space. I guess I'll see what feels right. Right now this blog feels like Owen's space and maybe I need to find a space that's more suited to where I am right now.

So that's my quick update. That, and of course this:

Still Around

Despite all evidence to the contrary, I'm still around. I have more that I probably need to say but I'm not sure this is the right place for me to say it. I'm still trying to figure out where I belong. But mostly, I'm just busy being happy. It still sometimes feels like a betrayal to admit it, but I am just really happy with my life right now, deadbaby and all. Who knew?

Holes

It's not all angst, I swear. There is a lot of good in post-loss mothering too. I was just surprised by how much more aware of my loss it has made me. I know I said over and over again that I knew a new baby wouldn't take away that pain of losing Owen, but on some level I must have believed it would. Otherwise, I wouldn't have been surprised when it didn't, right?

I was talking the other day to another deadbaby mama and she was telling me that after her daughter died she had a physical. During that physical, her doctor discovered a heart murmur that was never there before. I can't stop thinking about it. It's like losing her daughter literally left a hole in her heart. I know it's crazy of me, but I think its the most beautiful thing I've ever heard.

It got me thinking about the hole Owen left behind. I see it more clearly now, since having Eden. When I look at her with J & K, Owen's absence is more glaring than it was before Eden's birth. I can actually see a hole in our family now. It's become more concrete for me. Between the preschooler and the infant, there is a toddler missing. I know that nothing, not Eden, not any other child, can fill that gap.

What Eden does, though, is fill up other spaces in me, holes I didn't know were there.

She makes my heart sing, holes and all. I've missed that.

The Question Unasked, Unanswered

So with the New Year, I guess it's time for this post. The real reason I haven't been writing much since Eden was born. It's not really because of the day to day stuff, or fear of hurting others (although there is some of that), the real reason I've been avoiding writing is because I knew that if I started blogging here regularly again, I would eventually have to write this post. I mean, how long can words circle around in your head before they have to come out? It seems for me that answer is about 5 months.


I think I killed my son.


Let me back up. I didn't always think this. In fact, I know the exact moment that phrase came in to my head for the first time. It was August 11th, I was in the hospital and the hematologist was explaining my diagnosis to me. I.TP or idiop.athic thromb.ocytopenia pu.rpura, or in layman's terms low platelets for an unknown reason.

Dr. R was reading over my medical records and said to me "I see you lost a son to abnormal bleeding in utero- so you've had episodes of this before?" It was half question, half statement.

"No." I said quickly. "or...not that I know of..." A feeling of horror swept over me. "Could I have had this and not known?"

He looked at me. Then he shook his head. "Oh no, they would have tested you here before you delivered him. It's just that the intracranial bleeding....well that is not uncommon with ITP pregnancies. But it must have been something else."

"He wasn't born here. I had testing after he was born but not for a few months. I don't think I was tested when he was born." I was getting frantic.

"No, no. I'm sure they tested you. Let's deal with what's going on now." And he changed the subject. Not unkindly, he was just preoccupied with getting me safely through the current crisis. (In appointments since then Dr. R has confided how afraid for me he truly was those first few days. He didn't sleep and he and the OB did not leave the hospital until my platelets started rising.)

In every quiet moment since then I have wondered. What makes me crazy is that I do remember having lots of bruising that summer. I remember remarking to JD about it. I remember one of the midwives asking me hesitantly if I was "safe at home." But I don't remember any platelet testing.

I shared all this with JD after Eden was safely home. "I have all my records in the trunk with Owen's things. I could look...."

"Ashleigh, don't go there. What would it help? What would it change?"

"No. no. You're right. I should let it go."

But I didn't. I didn't let it go.

In my records are the results from all the various tests they ran the day Owen was born. No where among them is a simple CBC. No where is a platelet count.


I think I killed my son.

An Elephant Never Forgets

The other day, it happened. Something that I've been dreading for some time, but also somewhat expecting. It happened with someone I am very close to.

We were standing around,chatting amiably as I juggled Eden in my arms while doing several other things. She remarked laughing, "You can tell she's your third baby, can't you?"
"Fourth" I replied softly, sort of half under my breath.
"What?" She said, looking at me blankly. My heart sank.
"Owen. Owen was my third baby. Eden is my fourth." I responded, trying keep my voice light.
"Oh, no, I just.... I mean... I didn't..." She stammered. "I for-"
And then, blessedly, Eden vomited down my front allowing me to escape the inevitable.

I think if I had had to stand there and listen to her finish her thought, if I had to listen to her say she forgot about my son, I would have been the one vomiting.

Silent Night

I come here all the time, intending to post. Instead, I'll sit for awhile staring at the blank screen and then go do something else. The truth of it all is mothering afterwards is not easy, but I am afraid to complain. I don't want to tempt fate to take her from me. I would not survive.

Avoiding

The silence over here has been deafening, hasn't it? The fact of the matter is I've been avoiding this blog, avoiding this space. After all, I've had my happy ending, right? This should be where the story ends. If this were H.ollywood, then the credits would be running right now. Some cheerful ditty playing interspersed with shots of me smiling and playing with my now complete family; J & K dancing around Eden while she smiles and coos angelically.

But that's not life, not reality. Reality is, as much as I love Eden (and oh god do I love this little girl), as full as she makes my heart, I still miss Owen with same intensity. I'm still grieving. I guess I always will be. Its a strange and guilt-ridden place. How can one person be so lucky and so unlucky at the same time? So blessed and so bereft? I feel guilty even writing this when so many of my deadbaby mommas want to be right where I am. Sometimes I feel like I'm lost in desert with all of you, only now I have a bottle of water. I'm grateful for the water, its life saving, but being lost in the desert still sucks.