Melancholy Musings

I am someone who loves sunny and bright days.  No, I don't just like them.  I require them.  My state of mind dictates that I need to see the sun and feel warmth for me to be my normal cheerful self.  I was severely disappointed when I noticed that it was all gloomy gray skies this morning because I know that means I'm going to struggle with my mood, with my emotions, and it means that I'm going to feel a hurt inside that I don't fully understand and that I can't stop.

I sometimes wonder if it means that I'm an emotional fraud because I don't naturally feel upbeat and happy though I'd guess that most people see me that way.  I just don't feel that way all the time and I struggle mightily with my mood.  I have to force myself to slap a smile on my face and see the half-full glass.  Sometimes I'm successful, but other times the effort is impossible and all the joy in the world still leaves me aching.

I know that my only hope was to be distracted or to get my circulation going so I tried to get out with my boys and get in some exercise.  I really did.  I pulled out walking shoes and actually was holding socks in my hand at one point.  The wind kicked up just a little and the trees moving in the breeze caught my eye.  The movement kept me looking out the window and, before long, I noted that the melancholy weather mirrored my heart.  I sighed heavily and sat down, hugging my boys to me and desperately trying to not cry in front of them.

Thankfully, we had some things going on today and it kept the sadness away for the most part.  I may feel empty inside, but I'm not going to start weeping in front of a contractor or in front of my son's teacher.  That's actually one of the ways that I know it's not depression. . .I still have a slight measure of control and I can force myself to get out of the house.

When we arrived home, my son brought me a flower that he picked from our front yard and I gave a hollow smile with a quiet murmur of thanks for the gift.  I stared at it as he scampered off, thinking that I was holding something that had been living and was now dead in my hand.  It was considered lovely, but was pulled and tugged on until it broke and it died.  He regularly picks these flowers and I know that it will begin to close and shrivel up before the afternoon is over.  Usually I put them in a shallow bowl of water, trying in vain to keep them open and looking pretty.  Today I'm just staring at it, wondering if I'll notice the minute that it begins to change. . .the very moment that it goes from looking vibrant and alive to looking withered and dead.

Trying to keep my shit together is such a delicate balance and one that is so easily disrupted.  As soon as I'm able, I want to grab my shoes and get out.  If only it were possible to outrun these feelings.  This melancholy is tiresome.

Sadness in My Mailbox - Part II

About two months ago, I wrote a blog post about a catalog that made me break down and cry like a baby.  In light of recent events, I received an unwelcome package in the mail today that should have yielded the same result.  I received the maternity clothes that I ordered last week.

I don't know why I ordered those stupid clothes.  I hadn't gained any weight yet and I certainly wasn't showing anything even remotely resembling a pregnant figure.  Fat figure, yes; pregnant, no.  I still have all of my maternity clothes that I wore when I was expecting my son.  I hate shopping for pants without being able to try them on.  So why did I do this to myself?  Why in the world did I order these stupid fucking maternity clothes?

I find it oddly fascinating that I didn't dissolve into a blubbering mess of tears.  I stared at the package for a few moments and then tossed it on a pile of magazines that I keep intending to donate somewhere.  I didn't even open it. . .I mean, why bother?  It's not like I'll be wearing the clothes anyway.

* * *

On a related note, I'm still exhibiting pregnancy symptoms for some damn reason.  As if the last few days haven't been awful enough without nausea and impossibly sore breasts.  My food aversions seem to be decreasing though and it's good to finally be able to eat vegetables and drink water without running to the toilet to yak it up.

My body still hasn't started to release the baby.  It is killing me to know that my beloved baby is still there, dead and rotting in my own body.  This is the stuff that nightmares are made of. . .it's truly horrific. 

I'm beginning to wonder if I should just have the D & C and be done with it.  I just can't bring myself to do it.  I know that having to undergo that procedure will rip open a long-closed wound and I just can't do it.  But I also can't stand the knowledge that my body is stupidly holding on to my dead baby.

The internet is a blessing and a curse in times like these.  It's wonderful to read of all the times that the ultrasound was wrong and the baby was found perfectly healthy when they checked before doing a D & C.  It's awful to read of other women's experiences with miscarriage at 10-weeks.  I have read several accounts of women who actually saw their dead baby's features as they pass it out of their body.  That sounds like it's too much to bear.

I don't know what's worse:  Seeing your dead baby at home and at least being able to bury it or honor it in some fashion or not seeing it and letting the doctor throw it away like biological garbage.  Unfortunately, I know what they do with the fetal tissue and I can not allow that to happen to this very loved and wanted baby.  I just can't. 

I don't know what I'm going to do, but this back and forth crap is making me crazy.  Opinions?  Suggestions? 

* * *

I've been contacted by more than a half-dozen women who have experienced a similar situation.  I had no idea this was so common.  I appreciate that so many of you have shared your experiences because I was sure that this was my fault, my shame.  Thank you for being so open and caring.  Here's hoping that one day all of our wounds will be healed.

Sadness in My Mailbox

I broke down in tears yesterday when I received the mail.  What arrived in my mailbox to make me cry like a little baby?  A catalog.  To be specific, it was a Hickory Farms catalog.

Why did a Hickory Farms catalog make me cry?  Was it because I'm back on Weight Watchers, but those fatty summer sausages and cheese logs are so darned delicious?  Was it because I love their candy baskets?  No, it was because I sent Hickory Farms offerings to my brother for Christmas for the last several years.

I had been enjoying a couple of weeks without any tears, so I guess that I was due to have a crying jag.  I stared at that stupid catalog, bitter tears streaming down my cheeks, and longed to make a purchase that I thought he'd like.  I'm afraid that the holiday season will be terribly difficult this year and it just hit me that I'll never make a purchase for my brother ever again.

This is Sirius

Yes, the title of this post is a Wonder Pets reference.

I was overcome by tears when I was driving home yesterday afternoon.  I was listening to The Bridge on Sirius and I was hit by a double-whammy of sad songs that made me long for my brother.  I had been having a few really good days so I guess I was due to get upset over something as random as songs on the radio.

Though it is about two lovers, the opening lines of Jim Croce's Photographs and Memories immediately brought tears to my eyes:

"Photographs and memories
Christmas cards you sent to me
All that I have are these
To remember you

Memories that come at night
Take me to another time
Back to a happier day"

The rest of the lyrics are heartfelt and touching, but they don't really fit a sibling relationship.  Jim Croce really knew how to write a song to stir up emotions in the listener.  I'm glad that he was alive and recording back when your looks weren't the most important thing in the music industry or he probably never would have made a single album.

The second song that continued my downward spiral was Carol King's So Far Away.  Everyone probably knows the words to this song, but this part made me bawl like a little baby:

"You're so far away
Doesn't anybody stay in one place anymore
It would be so fine to see your face at my door
And it doesn't help to know that you're so far away"

The 70s may have been a crappy decade for a few reasons (stagflation, fashion, and energy problems), but it truly produced some of the finest songwriting and musical collaborations.  Not sure what I mean on that last bit?  Check out who played guitar on So Far Away for a perfect example.

Maybe Next Month. . .

:-(

I don't know why I keep getting my hopes up.  I really should have known because I discovered that our birds (the ones with the nest under the eaves) were gone and an egg was broken on our driveway.  I know it sounds insane, but that's what happens when you're desperately seeking a baby.  You start looking for deeper meanings in all kinds of situations.

I'm happy for the women I know who are pregnant, but I feel a sharp empty sting when I learn of yet another pregnancy.  I'm happy for the women I know who have recently welcomed additional children to their families, but I'm embarrassed to admit that I cry when I leave after visiting with the new babies.  I guess I'm not that great of a friend because, instead of completely focusing on their joy, I can't help but feel a little sorry for myself.  I try to make sure that I have a good heart, but I just revealed that it isn't as good as I'd like.

I know that God is always in control and that everything happens for a reason.  God is still good and I'm still faithful.  I've already been blessed so much with my family:  my wonderful husband and our delightful son.  I give thanks every single day that I've been so abundantly blessed with my loving family and these two people represent more blessings than I could ever deserve, but I can't keep myself from boldly asking Him to bless me yet again.

We're to give thanks in all things.  That's a pretty tough order at times.  Times like tonight.  But I'll remind myself that He's in control and I'll thank Him.  I'll thank Him because suffering tenderizes the heart.  Disappointment leads to bitterness and this mother's heart needs to be periodically softened.

When the time comes that I weep for joy at the sight of a new baby, I'll remember all these bitter tears.  And I'll give thanks to Him yet again.

A Heart Full of Bitterness

I have one. I don't know when it took root. I'm not sure exactly when I realized it was there. I thought it was gone; I really thought I was finished with it. But it came back. I definitely have a heart full of bitterness and I want it gone for good.

I wasn't always this way. Quite the opposite. I was sweet, joyful, loving, and forgiving. I readily let go of past hurts and looked toward a happier future. But something terribly disappointing happened to me about 20-months ago and I just can't seem to move past this hurt.

I'll spare readers the details of what caused this bitterness. Anyone who knows me reasonably well probably knows exactly what I'm talking about. Let's just say that I was hurt in the most spectacularly painful fashion by persons who, one would reasonably expect, should have acted quite differently. I have cried an ocean of tears over this event and it wouldn't be beneficial to rehash it here.

I've tried to be mature and I let these people know how I felt. Their excuses were lame and didn't hold much weight. But I do love them and I believe that I have forgiven them this wrongdoing. So why am I still resentful and why do I seethe with quiet hostility?

I prayed every single night for well over a year to remove the bitterness from my heart. After around 18-months, I publicly declared that my heart was restored. Somehow, in the last two months, I have been seduced back to this ugly state. I've tried to rationalize it. I've tried to ignore it. I've even tried to learn more about it. But nothing has helped make it go away. And I hate it. I hate that I feel this way.

A quick Google search yields a wealth of information about bitterness. It seems that bitterness is emerging as the hot new mental health disorder. That's great, that's just great. I'm actually leading a trend for once in my life and it's for this?!

I've read that suffering from bitterness means many different of things. Among them, I'm holding this emotion on purpose, I'm not a good Christian, my marriage is in trouble, and I'm angry with Republicans - specifically the Bush administration. Hm, I knew I should have finished college to trap some smarts in my noggin. Silly old me just thought it meant that I'm having trouble moving past an extraordinarily painful event. Who knew it had so much hidden meaning?

I don't know how to remove these negative feelings, but I do know that dwelling on them only serves to make them magnify. My life is too good to focus on one terrible event. I know that I have a wonderful life. I have a happy marriage, an awesome husband, and an adorable little boy. My family loves me and I am content. I will not allow my outlook to be poisoned because of other people's thoughtless behavior.

It seems that growth and maturity always comes with tears and frustration. I hope that I look back one day and reflect on how much I've grown from where I am today.

Learning Tenderness Through Tears

Though I studied and researched nearly every aspect of parenthood prior to the arrival of my son, it is impossible to prepare for certain aspects of this journey. I knew I would love my offspring; I just couldn't imagine how deeply I would love my baby. I knew that the early days with a newborn would be tough; but I had no idea how exhausting it is to nurse every 1 1/2 hours for nearly five months. I knew that I'd be bothered by my baby's tears; I didn't know that hearing my baby cry would set an alarm to ring throughout my body.

I don't know if it's biological or psychological because I'm not that smart, but my heart races and my head pounds whenever my baby cries. I have trouble thinking straight when I hear him sobbing. I have wept while he's crying on more than one occassion because it hurts me to see him hurting. My only instinct is to pick him up and cuddle him close whenever he has real tears.

I don't overreact if he falls down, bumps his head, or if he whines a little. I usually don't react at all besides telling him he's okay and to walk it off. Otherwise I'd be cuddling him all day long. . .I've got a busy little guy and he's constantly bumping into things.

But real tears are something very different, as every parent knows. Real tears signify real pain. The pain doesn't even have to be physical. I think babies can suffer emotionally and every now & then my son cries for no discernable reason. I assume that he's crying then because he needs some loving assurance that we're there for him - whenever he needs us.

Hearing a child cry used to make me insane before I had my son. Only then my problem was that the parents weren't keeping their kid quiet. I'd look at the family in the next booth at a restaurant and used to wonder what was that squaling brat's problem. Yes, I was the childless woman who had zero sympathy for their problem and would glare until they left so I could enjoy my meal without further interruption.

I thought my own baby crying would be an annoyance, something that was ruining my good time. I didn't realize how my son's sadness or hurt would make me feel. There is nothing that feels more like a stab in the heart than seeing your own baby's pain and tears.

My attitude has changed. I feel sorry for the parents if I hear a crying kid in a restaurant these days. I figure that they want a fun time out too and they don't want their kid to mess up their meal either. I feel bad mostly because I've had my share of meals that were cut short because either my husband or I had to take the baby outside.

I've learned tenderness through my son's tears.