That's what I feel like: a broken record. Saying the same thing over and over again.
It's a GIRL!!
My dear friend Lisa had her baby girl early this morning at 12:58 am. I wasn't ready for this. Yes, she was due last Sunday so I knew her baby was coming. But, I had myself convinced it was going to be a boy. I was sure of it. That must have been my way of protecting myself a bit. If it was a boy, it would have been different from Love. Maybe if it was a boy I wouldn't compare her baby to Love for the rest of it's life.
But it was a girl.
So, let's tally this up:
4 of the 5 girls I hang out with were pregnant at the same time.
D: Girl in November
Me: Girl in January (but due in May)
T: Girl in March
L: Girl today in April
Not one boy in the whole bunch. And this is my crew. These are the people I hang out with EVERY DAY.
Maybe I need new friends.
Um, and now that I look at my son who is 2, I think I might be going insane. I put a friggin' ponytail on the top of his head as a joke this morning and was laughing my head off. It's still there, and now I want to cry. That looks like a pretty obvious slip from my subconscious. Trying to make my son into a girl. Interesting. Good thing my next therapy appointment is tomorrow.
My dear friend Susanne came up for a visit this weekend. She is one of my closest friends, and I love her to bits.
But while we have been going through this grief process, she has kind of disappeared on me. I haven't been too mad at her, because I know that she is there if I need her, and that she didn't mean to be mean.
But, I can't say that I wasn't a little disappointed in her.
So, she came for a visit on the weekend, and over some wine late Monday night we got to talking about Love, and her birth, and her death, and our whole experience at the hospital etc...
A couple of interesting things came up:
1) I was able to tell Susanne that her disappearing act wasn't as helpful as she had hoped it would be.
Susanne explained to me that whenever someone close to her has a tragedy in their life, like Love's death (or her friend who was just diagnosed with cancer), she wants to give the person "space" and is worried about "saying the wrong thing". I was glad for the opportunity to set her straight. I explained that what comforted me throughout this whole mess was that I had friends that reached out to me in my time of need. They threw me the proverbial life raft when I needed it. I had friends who called every day and understood when I let it go to voicemail. They would say that they were just thinking of me, and of Love. I could call back when I wanted. Or not. But just know they were thinking of us. They would let me bawl my eyes out when we were together, and not recoil in horror. One friend brought over food. One made a blankie for my daughter. Many sent flowers. Some sent cards.
She disappeared to give me "space".
i told her that people's grief is not about HER. It's about THEM. And she should be less concerned about saying the wrong thing, and more concerned about being there for her friends.
It was a great conversation, and was not hostile at all (like it may sound here in print). I hope it helped. I hope she will be around more. I guess we will see.
2) I can finally talk about Love without crying through the whole conversation (although my throat still gets thick and I feel all flushed), but I do cry whenever I start to talk about the guilt I feel over her death. I didn't realize it was such an issue for me, but when I think about Love's death, I am still haunted by thoughts of what I could have done differently to make it so my daughter would have lived. And I know on paper that there is nothing I could have done, and if I could have done something differently I would have. But. I can't help but think that maybe if I had just seen a sign, gone to the doctor, rested more, ate more leafy greens, I don't know... I guess as the mom, the one who is carrying the baby, you just think that you missed something. Still lots of work to do on this front I guess...
I'm three months out. I am smiling more, laughing more, and getting back to life. But it still hurts.
I miss my baby girl.