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My second child and our first daughter, Camille, died and was born on June, 30 2011 when I was full term at 38 weeks pregnant. I gave birth to my rainbow baby, a second daughter, on August 31, 2012. This is me trying to figure out how to be a mother to my living son and daughter and function in society after our tragic loss.

Tuesday, September 13, 2011

Don't forget to take your meds, sleep more and breathe deeply

I didn't sleep again last night. I woke up exhausted and knew I still needed to get my son ready for school. He didn't want to go and I am always tempted to let him just stay home with me...but I think the normalcy is good for him and preparing him for when I go back to work.

I dropped him off and went and got caffeine. It is one of those days. I was driving down the road when I was overcome by a wave of anger. This happens sometimes. I get moments of anger, it just washes over me. I can't do anything about it and I am consumed by it. I feel filled with it and almost hot and overwhelmed. I feel like screaming or cussing and then the anger mutates into total and utter despair and I feel like I am crashing with the wave, and the washing over instead, washes me away. I feel sunken and adrift and empty. Like the sadness will corrode my soul. I feel it eating away at the edges of my heart and the tears fill my eyes.

I forgot to take my anti-depressant yesterday. I think to myself, I must sleep more, go home and take your meds, clean up, take a shower, do something...So I come home and take my meds but instead of doing anything productive, I get on the computer to sink into blog land. This place simultaneously buoys me and scares me, that there are so many babies dying all the time. I need this space, I need to feel connected and that I am not alone. I have known these baby loss mamas for such a short period of time but feel so much love for you all. I hate that I am here. I don't want to be here. I HATE THAT I HAVE TO BE HERE. I want my daughter, I want to be filling my soul with the soft sweet smell of baby. The smell of her head and her full sweet cheeks, stroking her legs and feeling her grip my finger in her tiny hand. I want to see her smile and coo as she nurses and revel in her aliveness and instead, OH GOD instead I sit here sobbing, typing about my wishes and my loss and my missing. I can hardly stand the anguish sometimes. I am so bitter about my loss and seeing all the alive healthy babies being loved by their mothers. This was NOT SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN!

I went to yoga last night. I felt good. I didn't push myself. I tried to stay comfortable. I knew I would be sore. I feel so weak. It was a really positive experience for me. A time to focus on my body, to try and get to a space where I can just be accepting, even just for moments...or to not think of anything except the movement or the stretch, or the breathing. The release whether physical or emotional, it was a nice reminder to try and let go of some of that...yuckiness I hold onto. At the end, while relaxing, the music I swear was sucking at my heart and the emotional release, well I just cried and cried. It felt good, I just let the tears stream down my face. Maybe I should go once a week. Maybe it would be good for me.

All these emotions: it feels so out of control...it is out of control, but I have no energy to be anything but authentic. I just can't fake it. I allow myself the space to be what I am, in the moment. It makes me feel really manic sometimes, the emotional roller coaster of grief. Trying, I am trying. It is the best I can do right now.


  1. I feel much the same: moments of utmost despair, followed by red firey rage, and then almost calm. It shuffles between emotions, really.

    I know what you mean about the babyloss land being a hard place to be. Most days I feel so very fortunate to have access to this online community, and other days I feel held down by it, and overwhelmed by the sheer volume of moms and dads missing their babies.

    I think it's good for taking what you need, absorbing it all and thinking about it. Some days, if you can't manage it, delete the new posts and try again another day. You know?

    What I'm trying to say is I'm right here with you. :)

  2. I hate that you have to be here, too. That we all have to be here. Sometimes I feel so dirty. I just want to scrub and scrub and scrub my skin til I rid myself of babyloss. I hate it.
    Keep being authentic. That's all you need to be.

  3. I'm so sorry Renel. I have these kind of days from time to time, though they are less frequent than a few months ago. I think trying IS all you can do. It's all any of us can do. Try to face each day, try to go through the motions, try to deal with this shitty unluck.

    Thank-you for writing and sharing as you navigate through this journey. We are here for you, here with you, whether it's every day or once a week or whenever your heart needs to connect to others who feel like you do. I am so sorry.


  4. This is the shittiest club, I know. I hate that you have to be here, too. And I wish I had some profound piece of wisdom for you but sadly, I don't. I'm just listening and being sad right along with you.

    I remember going to a yoga class shortly after Calla died and just crying, especially all the way through savasana. Keep going. It has helped me in so many ways.

    Love to you.

  5. Yep Mary Beth... Savasana. Crying and releasing and trying to breathe.

  6. Grief is certainly an overwhelming roller coaster... we're all here for you while simultaneously wishing that none of us had to be here. Love to you all xoxo

  7. I hate this too, and I am bitter too, and like you, the anger simmers and settles into sadness and even numb. (hugs) I get it. I wish I didn't, but I do. ~Lindsay

  8. I hate so much that you're here too Renel. I hate the waves you're enduring, the anger out of nowhere (well, not nowhere) and the overwhelming distress. It's just so unfair.

    I know the waves. I know the sleeplessness. I know the sinking into blogland, wanting that connection but not wanting it all at the same time. I know forgetting to take the meds (i'm averaging remembering to take the AD's about 5 days out of 7 here), and I know the primal desire to want to fill the soul with the sweet smell of our babies. Fuck it's fucked.

    The yoga sounds really cathartic. I'm starting myself next week. Yoga peace on a Tue night and yoga fit on Thu morning. I wish we were in the same suburb to go along together then ride these waves over coffee afterwards. xo


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