Dear Analin,
This post should have come a week and a half ago. Yet, as these things go, there was a hiccough.
On the day we found out you are having a little brother, we also discovered we're of a higher risk for Trisomy 13/18 deficiency. Both are considered non-compatible with life because the chances for a live birth are 50%, then a 5-10% chance the baby would make it through the first year of life.
Today, we found out that not only does DNA confirm this baby is a boy, but all chromosomal markers came back normal for the Trisomy's. We are headed down the path for a healthy, live baby boy.
I haven't made that announcement yet because of the pending test results. A few people know, though, people who have known we were going in to find out and specifically asked. Even fewer people knew about this test.
It has been a rough week waiting for these results. There were thoughts of, should we pick out a name? Should we work on the baby registry? Are we only meant to have two boys? That was just on my part. I know your daddy had a hard time, too, thinking small percentages (0.5% chance) might do us in, yet again.
Today, we found out voluntarily taking that test was very worth it. Bonus, DNA confirmed what the ultrasound basically shouted. We are having our 3rd boy.
It's poetic. I like it. Our fourth baby, but our third boy who will be our third baby to bring home.
Not everyone was thrilled with the news. I wouldn't say they were upset this baby is a boy. It's easy to understand people wishing a girl for us, not only with our two boys but with your loss as well. Someone mentioned they'd hoped we'd have twins - one of each.
I'm happy with a boy. I love boys. I'm scared of girls, to be honest. I'd figure it out, of course. And there were a lot of mother/daughter things I'd been looking forward to and that I miss not being able to have with you. Especially now, knowing this pregnancy could have taken a completely different path so early on, healthy is the name of the game. Boy or girl equals love any way you cut it.
On the other hand, a house full of boys. What's a mama to do? Lol. Someone mentioned if they all get through high school and on to college, I'd be up for Sainthood. Well, I'm up for the challenge of college, at least. :)
I love you my one little girl.
Mommy.
Friday, April 17, 2015
Friday, March 27, 2015
Conditional Acceptance
Dear Analin,
It's snowing again. Mimi always says it snows on her birthday, but I hoped we could get that early March warmth and hold onto it.
Not so much. We live in the Midwest. I really should know better by now. Haha.
Last year we still had snow about this time, but lots of it. Your daddy's broken leg was healing. Your brothers got their one day of snow play because the Winter had been far too cold. I kept hoping the cold would stay just a little longer.
Last year I didn't mind the cold. In fact, I loved it. I feel a peaceful type of pleasure when the weather matches my mood.
Outside could stay cold so I could stay cold inside and keep the pain at bay, fed to me in tiny melting rivers as I could handle it.
This year, though, I'm ready for warmth. I'm ready to open the windows, let in the fresh, cleansing air and get to work, make things better and new.
To be clear. I am not over anything. Nothing is erased or forgotten about your loss. It's a little more assimilated, a little more part of every day life. Those little rivers are carving their canyons in my soul every single day. I haven't accepted your loss any more today than I had the day we found out.
I've accepted the pain. I've accepted everyday grief. I've accepted I cannot change a dang thing. Not for one heartfelt minute does that mean I've accepted you're not here. Losing you is still stupid and pointless. I still feel the undercurrent of shock.
My life is so wonderful. I could make hours of lists. A life that wonderful should not feel loss like this. The two should not coexist.
But they do. So acceptance is gradual, complicated and conditional.
Last year, I forced myself through the motions. I pushed myself as far as I could push. I left early, broke down in the middle of parties and strangers, and flat out refused to go when it was too much. I was coddled and nudged, pushed and looked down on when I couldn't quite make it to that one last party of the month. I do not regret a single decision, a single party attended or missed no matter the opinion (or even the support, to be honest) of others. There will be more of both, I'm sure.
I'm ready for the warmth to come. I really want to feel sun again, to have warm skin and a little more melting of that cold place inside me. Pain is not a friend, not something I want to feel every day. It takes engagement with life and our loved ones to help move us beyond, something I'm beginning to crave.
Too much Winter and you forget there is ever Spring, much less Summer. So bring on the season change. Bring on the family gatherings and birthday parties, baseball practice and backyard soccer games, vacations and lazy days. Bring on a healthy, happy pregnancy with a Summer baby come the end.
We'll deal with Autumn when it gets here.
Until next time, beautiful love.
Mommy.
It's snowing again. Mimi always says it snows on her birthday, but I hoped we could get that early March warmth and hold onto it.
Not so much. We live in the Midwest. I really should know better by now. Haha.
Last year we still had snow about this time, but lots of it. Your daddy's broken leg was healing. Your brothers got their one day of snow play because the Winter had been far too cold. I kept hoping the cold would stay just a little longer.
Last year I didn't mind the cold. In fact, I loved it. I feel a peaceful type of pleasure when the weather matches my mood.
Outside could stay cold so I could stay cold inside and keep the pain at bay, fed to me in tiny melting rivers as I could handle it.
This year, though, I'm ready for warmth. I'm ready to open the windows, let in the fresh, cleansing air and get to work, make things better and new.
To be clear. I am not over anything. Nothing is erased or forgotten about your loss. It's a little more assimilated, a little more part of every day life. Those little rivers are carving their canyons in my soul every single day. I haven't accepted your loss any more today than I had the day we found out.
I've accepted the pain. I've accepted everyday grief. I've accepted I cannot change a dang thing. Not for one heartfelt minute does that mean I've accepted you're not here. Losing you is still stupid and pointless. I still feel the undercurrent of shock.
My life is so wonderful. I could make hours of lists. A life that wonderful should not feel loss like this. The two should not coexist.
But they do. So acceptance is gradual, complicated and conditional.
Last year, I forced myself through the motions. I pushed myself as far as I could push. I left early, broke down in the middle of parties and strangers, and flat out refused to go when it was too much. I was coddled and nudged, pushed and looked down on when I couldn't quite make it to that one last party of the month. I do not regret a single decision, a single party attended or missed no matter the opinion (or even the support, to be honest) of others. There will be more of both, I'm sure.
I'm ready for the warmth to come. I really want to feel sun again, to have warm skin and a little more melting of that cold place inside me. Pain is not a friend, not something I want to feel every day. It takes engagement with life and our loved ones to help move us beyond, something I'm beginning to crave.
Too much Winter and you forget there is ever Spring, much less Summer. So bring on the season change. Bring on the family gatherings and birthday parties, baseball practice and backyard soccer games, vacations and lazy days. Bring on a healthy, happy pregnancy with a Summer baby come the end.
We'll deal with Autumn when it gets here.
Until next time, beautiful love.
Mommy.
Tuesday, March 10, 2015
Big Sister Analin
Dear Analin,
I have a very, very good reason for such a long silence. I have been sick. Super sick. Going on 16 weeks now, and still not quite through it.
(Right. Bandaid method.)
You're going to be a big sister.
Well, I guess you already are.
(See, not so bad. Okay, then.)
We don't know if it's a little brother or sister yet. We find out in April. There's absolutely no way we wouldn't. I'm terrified. Hence the bandaid method comment.
It's a little funny, a little understandable. An extended result of this fear is that new infants, particularly girls, scare me right now. It's a gut reaction and not something I really have control over, other than to breathe through it.
The reason is - in my opinion - ridiculous. I'm really scared of my reaction to the sex of this baby. I'm afraid I'll be disappointed if it's a boy. I'm afraid I'll be even more terrified it's a girl, since the only girl I've carried before didn't make it.
I may, but I doubt it. I fully expect this to be one of those fears that proves without bite when the time comes. I am thrilled to be pregnant. I hate the symptoms of pregnancy and I always have, but the end result is a miracle worth having.
This miracle will happen about 3 weeks early and with a blood-thinning shot a day that's left my stomach a ring of bruises. I assume we'll be induced around then, anyway. We had a confusing test result we won't be able to discuss with the doctor until April regarding my hormone levels and their effect on the baby's growth rate. As the option for an appointment was ours and not a requirement, we're going on faith it's not a huge deal, particularly with all the other monitoring this baby already requires. The accompanying 12 week scan was perfect and the chromosome portion of the test came back normal. That leaves us firmly and relatively safely in to the second trimester and free to share the news.
We haven't told many people so far. We told the mothers first very early on. My mom because she needed time to adjust. Daddy's mom because she needed so much to hear we were pregnant again. We told a few other inner circle people because of how sick I get in the first trimester and how much help we need. Then after this baby's 12 week ultrasound, we started telling others as we met them.
Now it's officially public. It will be interesting to see how people react.
I don't mean whether or not we're congratulated. I mean how it's handled after. So far, we either receive a ton of questions, or none. Acknowledgement of our pregnancy or ignorance of it. Either reaction is fine. I'm really not expecting one or the other, I'm just truly curious about how each person reacts in an observer kind of way. I'm a little weird like that sometimes.
I don't think this pregnancy is easy for anyone, remembering what happened with you. My 6 year old neighbor summed it up perfectly when she said to my son during a play date, "Your mommy had a baby in her belly before but it died, so hopefully this baby will make it."
Guileless. I loved it, actually. Her words made me smile in their painless honesty. Kids say the darnedest things, right?
So I may be a bit sea sick now, and a lot busy later, but I will always be thinking about you. I'll not be able to stop the comparisons, to try and figure out where you would be in the mix if you'd stayed. Of course there will be more letters. I can't wait to explore you with a younger sibling.
I miss you. More now, to be honest, with another baby growing. I'm scared for a lot of things but trust this is the way things are supposed to be, whether or not I understand it. Deep breaths. Lots of rest. We'll make it to our August due date eventually.
I love you, beautiful girl.
Mommy.
And now to hit publish ...
I have a very, very good reason for such a long silence. I have been sick. Super sick. Going on 16 weeks now, and still not quite through it.
(Right. Bandaid method.)
You're going to be a big sister.
Well, I guess you already are.
(See, not so bad. Okay, then.)
We don't know if it's a little brother or sister yet. We find out in April. There's absolutely no way we wouldn't. I'm terrified. Hence the bandaid method comment.
It's a little funny, a little understandable. An extended result of this fear is that new infants, particularly girls, scare me right now. It's a gut reaction and not something I really have control over, other than to breathe through it.
The reason is - in my opinion - ridiculous. I'm really scared of my reaction to the sex of this baby. I'm afraid I'll be disappointed if it's a boy. I'm afraid I'll be even more terrified it's a girl, since the only girl I've carried before didn't make it.
I may, but I doubt it. I fully expect this to be one of those fears that proves without bite when the time comes. I am thrilled to be pregnant. I hate the symptoms of pregnancy and I always have, but the end result is a miracle worth having.
This miracle will happen about 3 weeks early and with a blood-thinning shot a day that's left my stomach a ring of bruises. I assume we'll be induced around then, anyway. We had a confusing test result we won't be able to discuss with the doctor until April regarding my hormone levels and their effect on the baby's growth rate. As the option for an appointment was ours and not a requirement, we're going on faith it's not a huge deal, particularly with all the other monitoring this baby already requires. The accompanying 12 week scan was perfect and the chromosome portion of the test came back normal. That leaves us firmly and relatively safely in to the second trimester and free to share the news.
We haven't told many people so far. We told the mothers first very early on. My mom because she needed time to adjust. Daddy's mom because she needed so much to hear we were pregnant again. We told a few other inner circle people because of how sick I get in the first trimester and how much help we need. Then after this baby's 12 week ultrasound, we started telling others as we met them.
Now it's officially public. It will be interesting to see how people react.
I don't mean whether or not we're congratulated. I mean how it's handled after. So far, we either receive a ton of questions, or none. Acknowledgement of our pregnancy or ignorance of it. Either reaction is fine. I'm really not expecting one or the other, I'm just truly curious about how each person reacts in an observer kind of way. I'm a little weird like that sometimes.
I don't think this pregnancy is easy for anyone, remembering what happened with you. My 6 year old neighbor summed it up perfectly when she said to my son during a play date, "Your mommy had a baby in her belly before but it died, so hopefully this baby will make it."
Guileless. I loved it, actually. Her words made me smile in their painless honesty. Kids say the darnedest things, right?
So I may be a bit sea sick now, and a lot busy later, but I will always be thinking about you. I'll not be able to stop the comparisons, to try and figure out where you would be in the mix if you'd stayed. Of course there will be more letters. I can't wait to explore you with a younger sibling.
I miss you. More now, to be honest, with another baby growing. I'm scared for a lot of things but trust this is the way things are supposed to be, whether or not I understand it. Deep breaths. Lots of rest. We'll make it to our August due date eventually.
I love you, beautiful girl.
Mommy.
And now to hit publish ...
Thursday, December 25, 2014
Christmas Letter 2014
Dear Analin,
I wonder how many people have been waiting for my letter to you today. To be honest, I just thought to write it. I wish it could be filled with the hope I'd put into Xavier's letter this year, but unfortunately, something happened.
Today the man you would have known as Pawpaw passed away. He has been sick for a while but it was a strange accident that sent him to the hospital where they helped ease him on. He had a big smile and rarely spoke without a joke, even if it wasn't quite the time for it. He will be missed by many.
His death has brought me back around to this time last year when we were struggling through the season. It brought me back to a great uncle's death just this past month. And others again, over the past year or so.
I wish I could be little again, young when death did not exist outside of fairy tales and could be healed with true love's kiss. I do not look forward to a time when bodies age and people who have known me longer than I've known them find their time to move on. Even when death does happen, it's distant to us and easily absorbed.
It is so sad when someone dies on Christmas. Everyone celebrates and your heart breaks into the glitter.
Death is natural. Some people claim to be okay with it. But I don't want to forget myself and those I love. I don't want to be forgotten by those who go before and after.* Whether it's an entrance to Heaven or a reincarnation that causes the loss of memory, I love what I have now. I love life and feel blessed to have such love around me. I suppose I won't care past the forgetting. I care now. A lot.
So, death as natural as it may be, sucks. To put it plainly. Even when it's time.
I love you to pieces, Analin. You and your brothers and our family. If there is a way to remember, I swear I will do it when it's my turn.
This is not the letter I wanted to write today. I'd rather tell you how proud I am of your brothers and their love for family in the spirit of giving. In the way they played together this morning rather than rush down to find what Santa left. Yet, here we are.
I will love you forever, my sweet.
Mommy.
*This thought follows something that has really bothered me today. The Pope recently announced all of God's creatures are welcome into Heaven and we will find our beloved pets there. In response, one poster quoted verses from the Bible stating that when we pass into Heaven, we forget ourselves and all whom we've known. I can't stand the thought, if you can't tell. It breaks my heart to think about and I pray this is one of those interpretations someone along the way got wrong. <3
I wonder how many people have been waiting for my letter to you today. To be honest, I just thought to write it. I wish it could be filled with the hope I'd put into Xavier's letter this year, but unfortunately, something happened.
Today the man you would have known as Pawpaw passed away. He has been sick for a while but it was a strange accident that sent him to the hospital where they helped ease him on. He had a big smile and rarely spoke without a joke, even if it wasn't quite the time for it. He will be missed by many.
His death has brought me back around to this time last year when we were struggling through the season. It brought me back to a great uncle's death just this past month. And others again, over the past year or so.
I wish I could be little again, young when death did not exist outside of fairy tales and could be healed with true love's kiss. I do not look forward to a time when bodies age and people who have known me longer than I've known them find their time to move on. Even when death does happen, it's distant to us and easily absorbed.
It is so sad when someone dies on Christmas. Everyone celebrates and your heart breaks into the glitter.
Death is natural. Some people claim to be okay with it. But I don't want to forget myself and those I love. I don't want to be forgotten by those who go before and after.* Whether it's an entrance to Heaven or a reincarnation that causes the loss of memory, I love what I have now. I love life and feel blessed to have such love around me. I suppose I won't care past the forgetting. I care now. A lot.
So, death as natural as it may be, sucks. To put it plainly. Even when it's time.
I love you to pieces, Analin. You and your brothers and our family. If there is a way to remember, I swear I will do it when it's my turn.
This is not the letter I wanted to write today. I'd rather tell you how proud I am of your brothers and their love for family in the spirit of giving. In the way they played together this morning rather than rush down to find what Santa left. Yet, here we are.
I will love you forever, my sweet.
Mommy.
*This thought follows something that has really bothered me today. The Pope recently announced all of God's creatures are welcome into Heaven and we will find our beloved pets there. In response, one poster quoted verses from the Bible stating that when we pass into Heaven, we forget ourselves and all whom we've known. I can't stand the thought, if you can't tell. It breaks my heart to think about and I pray this is one of those interpretations someone along the way got wrong. <3
Thursday, November 27, 2014
Thanksgiving Wishes
Dear Analin,
I thought I had learned a long time ago to keep my wishes simple and attainable. Now, to me, attainable is still pretty high. For example, it was always okay to wish to marry a prince as they exist in the world, but wishing for a telepathic unicorn was probably beyond a wish's scope.
Yet, there I was last night, the clasp of your necklace hanging in front. As I moved it to the back, I wished for you.
11:11 on the clock. I wish for you.
Twinkle, twinkle little star.
I always alter my wish to the more sensible side. I wish you are happy where you are and your brothers are happy here. That they grow healthy and live long and that I get to see it.
It always starts with you.
Now here we are at Thanksgiving, the day to be thankful for those wishes that have come true, and for the possibility that more will. I am, and I do, but I miss you so much. Today a bit of that hurt is leaking out.
The funny part is, just yesterday I marveled at how well we were doing. We have our moments, but we are still living life and enjoying each stage. Joshua is doing amazing in school. Sebastian is basically potty training himself. You would be toddling around, but you aren't and that has to be okay. Sometimes it is. Sometimes, a bit of the hurt leaks out.
Just a little bit. The pain is bigger than a lifetime, after all. But we need that release, that gradual leak when it gets too big to handle. Like on birthdays and holidays and random, slap in the face, I-wish-you-were-here days.
I was slapped in the face today. I'm not sure why I'm surprised. Holidays are pinpointed moments, time where family comes together. Of course it's more obvious on these days who is missing. Yet, I was surprised. Because yesterday, I was a super woman and happy and excited for the holiday and thrilled our house is already decorated and sparkling with lights and glitter.
Today I'm just a girl with a broken heart.
One day. One day, my sweet, I'll sit down and write to you about excitement and what we would have done with your future in a bittersweet glow. Maybe. I hope so.
Today I am thankful I got to know you. I am thankful your big brothers talk about and love you. I am thankful your daddy knows when to sit beside me and when to let me sit by myself in the quiet. I am thankful for the joy of the holidays and the excitement I'm sure will return.
And I will wish. It doesn't matter that this wish is impossible. Sometimes, wishes should be out of reach so we learn to reach higher. I am thankful for that, as well.
I love you, beautiful girl.
Mommy.
I thought I had learned a long time ago to keep my wishes simple and attainable. Now, to me, attainable is still pretty high. For example, it was always okay to wish to marry a prince as they exist in the world, but wishing for a telepathic unicorn was probably beyond a wish's scope.
Yet, there I was last night, the clasp of your necklace hanging in front. As I moved it to the back, I wished for you.
11:11 on the clock. I wish for you.
Twinkle, twinkle little star.
I always alter my wish to the more sensible side. I wish you are happy where you are and your brothers are happy here. That they grow healthy and live long and that I get to see it.
It always starts with you.
Now here we are at Thanksgiving, the day to be thankful for those wishes that have come true, and for the possibility that more will. I am, and I do, but I miss you so much. Today a bit of that hurt is leaking out.
The funny part is, just yesterday I marveled at how well we were doing. We have our moments, but we are still living life and enjoying each stage. Joshua is doing amazing in school. Sebastian is basically potty training himself. You would be toddling around, but you aren't and that has to be okay. Sometimes it is. Sometimes, a bit of the hurt leaks out.
Just a little bit. The pain is bigger than a lifetime, after all. But we need that release, that gradual leak when it gets too big to handle. Like on birthdays and holidays and random, slap in the face, I-wish-you-were-here days.
I was slapped in the face today. I'm not sure why I'm surprised. Holidays are pinpointed moments, time where family comes together. Of course it's more obvious on these days who is missing. Yet, I was surprised. Because yesterday, I was a super woman and happy and excited for the holiday and thrilled our house is already decorated and sparkling with lights and glitter.
Today I'm just a girl with a broken heart.
One day. One day, my sweet, I'll sit down and write to you about excitement and what we would have done with your future in a bittersweet glow. Maybe. I hope so.
Today I am thankful I got to know you. I am thankful your big brothers talk about and love you. I am thankful your daddy knows when to sit beside me and when to let me sit by myself in the quiet. I am thankful for the joy of the holidays and the excitement I'm sure will return.
And I will wish. It doesn't matter that this wish is impossible. Sometimes, wishes should be out of reach so we learn to reach higher. I am thankful for that, as well.
I love you, beautiful girl.
Mommy.
Monday, November 3, 2014
Post-Loss Infertility
Dear Analin,
Your biggest brother wants another baby he can take care of. Sebastian is almost 3 and is getting self-sufficient and it's causing a bit of a power struggle between the two of them.
To be honest, Daddy and I have been ready to try for another baby for a few months. We are healthier than we've ever been in our lives - a gift from you. Since we lost you we've been eating better and exercising more, if not regularly.
After losing you I started reading a lot of books on female health in particular. I've learned a lot - enough that I'm upset and frustrated I didn't know this information before now. Because, as it turns out, losing you has resulted in a side effect that is relatively common to women after they lost a pregnancy.
I have post-loss infertility. There is a surprising lack of information on this type of infertility when you look at how often different support groups talk about it. Then again, it's probably not all that surprising for many reasons, such as it's women's health, it's a 'secret' affliction, there's no pill to fix it, so there's no reason to pay attention to it. In fact, the information I've been able to gather about it has been more from personal anecdotes than any medical sources.
What I found suggests post-loss infertility appears differently in different women for reasons no one really knows, though I'm sure emotional health has something to do with it. For me, my luteal phase is not long enough or strong enough. That is to say, I may release an egg, it may be fertilized, but I'm not making enough of the hormone to allow said egg to implant for long, if at all. So right now there can be no baby, no matter how hard we try or wish for one.
Before, with you and your brothers, getting pregnant was so easy. Yet another change we were not prepared for. One that fills each month with a roller coaster we never thought we would be on.
I'm working on fixing it through my diet and herbs and other supplements. We aren't to the point of seeking infertility help yet. One of the things I've learned in the last year is how to chart my cycles, and the charts tell me my luteal phase is improving. There's no way to tell how long that will take. There's no reason to go to the doctor if my body is fixing itself in it's own way.
There will be fear and worry, more than we probably expect. But boy, your daddy and I are ready to give you a little sibling, to teach them about you as they grow, to fill our family with more love than loss. To hopefully find a physical healing apart from the emotional one, another step on our grief journey.
No one will ever replace you. You are our first daughter, our third baby, the fantastic girl we barely got to meet. Maybe, one day, more letters will fill this blog - letters from big brothers and little siblings yet to come.
One can hope.
I love you so much, sweetheart.
Mommy.
Your biggest brother wants another baby he can take care of. Sebastian is almost 3 and is getting self-sufficient and it's causing a bit of a power struggle between the two of them.
To be honest, Daddy and I have been ready to try for another baby for a few months. We are healthier than we've ever been in our lives - a gift from you. Since we lost you we've been eating better and exercising more, if not regularly.
After losing you I started reading a lot of books on female health in particular. I've learned a lot - enough that I'm upset and frustrated I didn't know this information before now. Because, as it turns out, losing you has resulted in a side effect that is relatively common to women after they lost a pregnancy.
I have post-loss infertility. There is a surprising lack of information on this type of infertility when you look at how often different support groups talk about it. Then again, it's probably not all that surprising for many reasons, such as it's women's health, it's a 'secret' affliction, there's no pill to fix it, so there's no reason to pay attention to it. In fact, the information I've been able to gather about it has been more from personal anecdotes than any medical sources.
What I found suggests post-loss infertility appears differently in different women for reasons no one really knows, though I'm sure emotional health has something to do with it. For me, my luteal phase is not long enough or strong enough. That is to say, I may release an egg, it may be fertilized, but I'm not making enough of the hormone to allow said egg to implant for long, if at all. So right now there can be no baby, no matter how hard we try or wish for one.
Before, with you and your brothers, getting pregnant was so easy. Yet another change we were not prepared for. One that fills each month with a roller coaster we never thought we would be on.
I'm working on fixing it through my diet and herbs and other supplements. We aren't to the point of seeking infertility help yet. One of the things I've learned in the last year is how to chart my cycles, and the charts tell me my luteal phase is improving. There's no way to tell how long that will take. There's no reason to go to the doctor if my body is fixing itself in it's own way.
There will be fear and worry, more than we probably expect. But boy, your daddy and I are ready to give you a little sibling, to teach them about you as they grow, to fill our family with more love than loss. To hopefully find a physical healing apart from the emotional one, another step on our grief journey.
No one will ever replace you. You are our first daughter, our third baby, the fantastic girl we barely got to meet. Maybe, one day, more letters will fill this blog - letters from big brothers and little siblings yet to come.
One can hope.
I love you so much, sweetheart.
Mommy.
Friday, October 10, 2014
The Wrong Conversation
Dear Analin,
I'm being told how to feel a lot lately. Or maybe, to be more accurate, how not to feel.
Don't be mad, it's not worth it. Whomever you're mad at doesn't understand anyway. Don't waste your energy. They'll never change. It won't change, so don't be so upset about it. Don't tell anyone, you don't want to hurt their feelings, too.
And I get mad all over again.
Because you know what? My feelings are valid. Emotions are personal and sharing them with someone shows how much I trust them. It's not to be told I shouldn't feel the way I feel.
We all feel. Until we're told not to. Repress that crap. Then get emotionally and mentally crippled because of it. And then, oh my goodness, why didn't you just tell me you felt that way?
I hate it. I can't even explain how much I hate it and I want to scream - literally - at the person telling me I cannot feel that way because it isn't good for me or for someone else. Well, guess what. That's how I feel. Deal with it. And maybe I just won't share with you anymore if you can't support me in it.
Feeling is feeling. Be empathetic when you can, sympathetic when you can't. But I wish people would just let people feel.
The conversation shouldn't be about not feeling. The conversation should be about not acting on those feelings. Honestly, that's the conversation parents need to have with their children. That's how we teach your brothers. Okay, be mad, be sad, but don't hit or throw a temper tantrum or scream at me. Feel your feelings but control your actions.
I feel like I could be a heck of a lot more eloquent about this, but the fact of the matter is, I'm mad. I'm in a lot of pain and I get mad because of it. I get sad because of it. I feel helpless and out of control. Telling me not to feel how I feel, not to get upset about something out of my control, these are things I know. I know how I feel isn't necessarily logical or productive. Guess what? Knowing that doesn't stop one ounce of the feeling.
And this is why that conversation on control is so important. These letters to you help me maintain my outer control. Talking to your daddy does the same. I wish I could say the same for other people, but that's just not the case. And, if I'm to be fair, they get to feel the way they feel, too. That just means we keep that part of ourselves away from each other, or ourselves completely, depending on how bad it is.
Mine isn't bad. It just breaks my heart a little bit. I need to share how I feel now to be able to feel better later. I just wish it was understood I mean to vent, not to model my life on those feelings.
So, yeah. The beginning of year 2 without you isn't all that great. </3 I miss you so much. Your loss has changed me a lot. I was never this vocal before with my emotions. I guess I never had to be.
I love you like crazy, beautiful girl.
Mommy.
P.S. I originally wrote this with some grown up words and then edited them out. If I missed one or two, I'm sorry. <3
I'm being told how to feel a lot lately. Or maybe, to be more accurate, how not to feel.
Don't be mad, it's not worth it. Whomever you're mad at doesn't understand anyway. Don't waste your energy. They'll never change. It won't change, so don't be so upset about it. Don't tell anyone, you don't want to hurt their feelings, too.
And I get mad all over again.
Because you know what? My feelings are valid. Emotions are personal and sharing them with someone shows how much I trust them. It's not to be told I shouldn't feel the way I feel.
We all feel. Until we're told not to. Repress that crap. Then get emotionally and mentally crippled because of it. And then, oh my goodness, why didn't you just tell me you felt that way?
I hate it. I can't even explain how much I hate it and I want to scream - literally - at the person telling me I cannot feel that way because it isn't good for me or for someone else. Well, guess what. That's how I feel. Deal with it. And maybe I just won't share with you anymore if you can't support me in it.
Feeling is feeling. Be empathetic when you can, sympathetic when you can't. But I wish people would just let people feel.
The conversation shouldn't be about not feeling. The conversation should be about not acting on those feelings. Honestly, that's the conversation parents need to have with their children. That's how we teach your brothers. Okay, be mad, be sad, but don't hit or throw a temper tantrum or scream at me. Feel your feelings but control your actions.
I feel like I could be a heck of a lot more eloquent about this, but the fact of the matter is, I'm mad. I'm in a lot of pain and I get mad because of it. I get sad because of it. I feel helpless and out of control. Telling me not to feel how I feel, not to get upset about something out of my control, these are things I know. I know how I feel isn't necessarily logical or productive. Guess what? Knowing that doesn't stop one ounce of the feeling.
And this is why that conversation on control is so important. These letters to you help me maintain my outer control. Talking to your daddy does the same. I wish I could say the same for other people, but that's just not the case. And, if I'm to be fair, they get to feel the way they feel, too. That just means we keep that part of ourselves away from each other, or ourselves completely, depending on how bad it is.
Mine isn't bad. It just breaks my heart a little bit. I need to share how I feel now to be able to feel better later. I just wish it was understood I mean to vent, not to model my life on those feelings.
So, yeah. The beginning of year 2 without you isn't all that great. </3 I miss you so much. Your loss has changed me a lot. I was never this vocal before with my emotions. I guess I never had to be.
I love you like crazy, beautiful girl.
Mommy.
P.S. I originally wrote this with some grown up words and then edited them out. If I missed one or two, I'm sorry. <3
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