Guilt

     A comment I received on a post earlier this week made me really think.  I had been talking about how guilty I felt when I realized I was feeling happy, and the commenter mentioned she was dealing with the same "mind games" and guilt.  One sentence really cut me to the quick:  "Isn't it crazy how we feel guilty no matter what we do?"
     And that sentence right there was the one that made me face another haunting thought I haven't had the guts to deal with.  I feel guilty over the death of my son.  That's what it all boils down to.  If I didn't, I wouldn't feel guilty for being happy, for having good days, for not mentioning him whenever I could.  And every day there's a new idea of what I could have done differently, to perhaps change the outcome.

I could have bought him clothes.
I could have read to him every night.
I could have exercised more.
I could have eaten better.
I could have gotten more sleep.
I could have stayed away from herbal teas.
I could have been more excited to try to get pregnant, even though I had just had a baby.
I could have prepared Carpenter's room for him instead of saving my guest room to the last possible minute.
I could have held him one more time at the hospital.
I could have kissed him.
I could have ...done so much more for my son.

     I feel guilty for not doing the absolute best by my son in every way.  Maybe if I had just done these things, or something, I could be holding my sweet boy in my arms right now.  Maybe I could have done something to save him.  And while the logical part of my brain tells me no--that I've already had a healthy baby and did nothing different the second time--I don't think I'll ever shake the guilt. 
    So, I'll just take a second to say what I wish I had said straight to Carpenter's little face as I held him in my arms.  I'm so sorry, baby.  I did some things right, and some things I regret, but I hope you know that no matter what, I always loved you, and always will.  Forgive me.

Trigger Episodes

I just had what I call a "trigger episode" in Target, and I wanted to write this down before the feeling went away.  I call it a "trigger episode" because I see a grief-trigger, and my body responds physically.  I saw a woman, my age, standing in the entryway.  When she moved, I saw she had been perfectly blocking a stroller--a triplet stroller--full of newborns.  And here's what I felt, physically.

Heart palpitations
My heart sinking
Overwhelming sorrow
The urge to sob
The inability to sob
Weakness in my arms
Jelly-knees
The urge to sink to the floor and lie down
Flight instinct
Cracking voice
Heavy head
Overheating

When I saw her later, walking with her husband and babies, I literally looked at them, yanked my cart around (with Liv in it) and sped off in the other direction.  It's been twenty minutes since I got home and I'm still weak in the knees.  But I wanted to write this down quickly (haphazardly) while I knew I could accurately explain it.  Because sometimes I worry that people think this is all in my head. 

Moving day?

     Okay, I wrote something in my last post that made me want to write another one.  (Stream-of-consciousness blog posts are so helpful to the reader, I'm sure.)  :)  But, I said that recently, I only bring up Carpenter to people who already know about him, and even then I get the feeling that those people are ready for me to move on. 
     I've been thinking about this for a while now.  Three weeks ago, my sisters and I hired a photographer to take pictures of all of our kids together, and I wanted to represent Carpenter as much as possible.  (Liv wore an awareness ribbon and carried his toys and pictures.)  And even though it was my money and my little family, I still felt strange interjecting this absent person into a fun family shoot.  My sisters didn't say a word--they're very supportive--but through the photo shoot, I constantly felt like I was the weirdo, asking people to hold up pictures of a dead person most of them had never met. 
     Monday, when I got the pictures back from the photographer, I decided to get a photo book printed because they were on sale.  I decided to reserve one page for each child, then a page for each individual family, then the full-group shots at the end.  I enjoyed mine so much, I started making one for my parents.  When I got to the page for Carpenter, I went back and forth for an hour, trying to decide whether to include him.  "Will they want him in this?"  "What should I say on his page?"  And the most irritating question, "Is this the last time they'll be supportive and will they want me to drop it next time?"  I mean to say, "Can I keep including Carpenter in family photo shoots, even just family discussions, forever?"  ...or will people lose patience with me? 
     It's amazing how quickly people move on.  Like Betty said on Mad Men, "I know people say life goes on, and it does, and no one tells you that's not a good thing."  They keep moving on, and I'm trying to figure out how to keep one foot back there on February 19 when I held my son in my arms.  I cling to ways to stay close to him, which is why I'm sitting here stitching awareness ribbons and designing t-shirts all night long instead of sleeping (which is completely overrated anyway).  
     But I have to wonder, when will people close to me expect me to move on?  What's the shelf life on their attention span as far as Carpenter is concerned?  And I know that's not a question I can ask.  I probably wouldn't even like the answer.  So instead I think I'll just keep interjecting my little boy wherever I can.  Whether or not people are ready for me to move on, it's just not something I'm willing to do.  

The kids and Liv's awareness ribbon
(Absent: one recent NICU grad!)

Liv looking at her little brother

My sweet kids!