The Last Thing

So my dad called the other day and told me that when he went to visit my mom's grave, he discovered that Owen's stone was there. So on Saturday, we went to the the cemetery. I like how permanent it is. I need for something about Owen, other than his loss, to be permanent. Standing there, I realized it is probably the last thing we will ever buy for our son. There are so many other things I wanted to give him. Owen, I had so many plans for you, for us.

Anger

It's funny because I really haven't felt much anger since losing Owen. Everything I've read about grief and everyone I've talked to has mentioned anger as one of the initial stages of grief and I've been feeling like maybe I'm doing it wrong or something - until yesterday. We got a bill from the Medical Center where I had my prenatal care and where Owen was delivered. I was glancing over it and at the bottom I notice a charge for a Fetal Nuchal Translucency scan and the date of service- August 16, 2007. My heart just stopped and I was (and am) livid. I know my anger over what is obviously a mistake is irrational and misplaced but I can't help myself. I called the phone number on the bill and of course its a billing service not related to the Medical Center in any way and the woman I speak with knows nothing. I explain I believe there's been an error and I know I didn't have this particular service. And then she asked if I was certain. I almost lost it, through clenched teeth I told her that yes I was certain as the pregnancy had ended over two weeks earlier when the baby was born dead. She told me that she would have an account manager "look into it" and call me back. She never said she was sorry and no one has called me back. I think I hate them now and I am very very angry.

Eight Years

Eight years ago today JD and I were married. While this is not the path I imagined, there is no one else I would want by my side, holding my hand as we travel. This morning he woke me by placing a tiny box on my pillow, inside was a beautiful ring- diamonds for me, he said, and rubies for Owen. Like you, it is perfect for me. I love you JD.

Pregnancy & Infant Loss Awareness Day

Today, in honor of Pregnancy & Infant Loss Awareness day, I am lighting two candles. One for my Owen and one for your lost child.

You Can't Miss What You Never Had?

I have the dubious fortune of having a dear friend who has also lost a child. I don't want to share too many details without her permission, but C lost her infant daughter at about 2 weeks of age. We were friends before children came into either of our lives and now have this bond that neither of us ever imagined. While I wish we did not share this, I am thankful to have her. She is one of two friends I have that still say Owen's name out loud and are willing to talk about him. Anyhow, the other day we were emailing and I admitted that I felt I didn't miss Owen. I felt horrible about admitting that, and sort of embarrassed too. I felt like I was doing something wrong, I mean how could I not miss my son? I knew I loved and love him, shouldn't I miss him? After thinking about it for several days, I think it's how I was defining missing that was wrong. I was trying or expecting to miss him the way I would miss J & K if the unthinkable happened and they were gone. I would miss specific things about them - the things that make them who they are. However, with Owen born still, I really don't know those things about him. I never heard him cry. I don't know what he liked or what made him fussy. I never saw his eyes open. I don't know what his breath smelled like. All I can do is imagine who he might have been. I've decided to change the way I think about it and give myself permission to miss what I never really had.

Destination Unknown

These past few days have busy, full of the mundane things that make each day fly by and leave you wondering what you actually got done that day. I went most of the day yesterday without thinking about Owen and I don't know how I feel about that. Actually, that's not true, I know exactly how I feel about that. I feel awful and guilty. After all, what kind of mother "forgets" about one of her children? But then again, it felt kind of good to feel a little bit "normal" again. I mean what exactly is my goal on this path of grief? To go days without thinking of him? To "move on," as so many well-meaning people have suggested I do? To remember him and not feel like I would do anything to have him here with me? None of that seems right. I don't know how to do this and I hate it.

Conversations in the Car

I was driving J, my 4 year old, to school today when he announced that there was a baby in my belly and it would be coming out to play with him when it got bigger. I reminded him that while, yes, there had been a baby in my belly, he was not there anymore. Baby Owen died and would not be able to play with him. He told me he knew that baby Fluffy (his name for Owen) died but that there were lots of babies in my belly and someday one of them would be big and healthy and would be able to come home and play with him. I wish I had his confidence. I had a vision of what my family would look like and it did not include photographs of a dead baby, my dead baby. Oh Owen, I wish things were different.