Sunday, April 5, 2009

retreat

I feel myself retreating...from the world, from my emotions. All those feelings are still there with the same intensity...anxiety, fear, sadness, sorrow...tucked alongside everything else I do. And yet I don't feel up to writing in this space with the same frequency, the desparate need to have everyone else understand the depths of my despair has dulled. In fact except for other babylost parents, I assume most people don't understand, can't understand or won't allow themselves to understand...I don't care which anymore.

This change became apparent at an appointment with a new doctor this week...the nurse had taken a full medical history (preeclampsia, placental abruption, stillbirth now etched forever into THAT story) and the doctor was reviewing it with me. "So you had a delivery in August, and that was uncomplicated?" his voice said, singsong. "No, it was very complicated. My baby died. He was born still" I said solidly, as I could see him reading the next lines on the page and realizing his mistake. "Oh that's tough" came the reply and he moved onto a new topic. There were no tears. There wasn't even rage. I expect this kind of insensitivity. I expect that people will say something stupid, or stupidly not say something.

There's something to my recurrent fantasy lately, the one where I live in a village of only babylost parents. I'm tired of explaining myself, don't feel like I should have to anymore. Actually I'm just tired. I feel like I've been sad forever.

We've been watching a lot of movies lately and I've been reading a lot more than before. It's the escape into a different narrative that's comforting, of forgetting about this grief journey, even if just for an hour or two.

This retreat is not necessarily apparent - I'm taking on more than ever at work, volunteering in the community. I smile, I chat, even go out for a beer once in awhile. But I don't want to talk about how I'm feeling, not most of the time.

And still, nothing brings more joy to my heart than when someone mentions my son's name, my Ezra. I miss him more than ever, I just don't want to talk about it right now.

14 comments:

Dani819 said...

"Say something stupid or stupidly not say anything"- that's perfectly put.

Sometimes talking is healing. Sometimes silence is, because it just becomes too exasperating and exhausting to talk. Either way, we're here with you, David, and Ezra.

Hope's Mama said...

I get it Sarah, I really do. I feel like I have been sad forever, too. That happy life seems so far away now. I don't feel like I can reach out and touch it like I could in those early months. Always here for you.

angie said...

The resignation in your voice today, Sarah, is something that is edging more and more into my thoughts. You wrote it perfectly. Who cares anymore why people don't understand, or why they are jerks? They just are, and we best get on with the rest of it. But can I be enraged at that insensitive, unprepared asshat of a doctor for you? Read an effing file before walking into a room. What is wrong with these doctors, nurses, receptionists? No, really. I want to know.

I wonder what a babylost village would be like, though i love the idea of a babylost commune. I almost feel like all of our conversations would be like this: "Hey."
"Hey"
"How are you?"
"You know."
"Did you ever feel, uh, sort of, uh..."
"Yeah. Yesterday, and a little this morning."
"Yeah. Me too."
"Wanna get a beer?"
"Yeah."

Thinking of Ezra, and you...XO

Kara aka Mother Henna said...

Lots of Reiki vibes to you, Sarah. For a long time now, I've been chatting with various bereaved parent friends about how we need a big piece of land, a commune sanctuary, where families come and are welcome to bring their *whole* selves. In some ways, I've found that space online which is helpful. But I never feel more whole than when at MISS conferences each year where there is a physical wholeness. I can sit by the pool and laugh one moment and then shed tears the next as I talk with another mom or dad -- and no one thinks it is weird in the least. Such a relief space.

Anyway, also wanted to add that in my own path, after our Kota died, I found that my rounds of external expression and my rounds of internal BEing were much more pronounced than ever before his death. Both were always equally important, required time, consciously being present, etc., but after his death, the difference between the two states was so much more intense. Now, mostly, I just roll with it. Allow whatever needs to be, to be. And be as gentle with myself as I possibly can.

Sending you miracles for all the parts of the path!
k-

Paige said...

I love the idea of a babylost village. I picture a rustic place, almost like an overnight camp, with cozy cabins and and firepits and rocking chairs with piles of blankets. I'd move there, definitely.

Lighting a new tranquility candle I bought tonight just for Ezra, I'll say his name as I light it and will be thinking about you and David. Much love.

Funsize said...

I feel the same way. Most times I just don't have the energy to bring out Collin's story, because it is just so sad- and I am tired of being sad. I don't think anyone will understand this sadness unless they have been through it themselves.

((hugs))

aliza said...

EZRA. EZRA. EZRA.
i want to scream his name at the top of my lungs in the middle of the street, along with all our babies names. our sons existed.

oh sarah, i too have been sad for so long. i don't know what it's like to not be really. i might not be crying all the time but all the time i'm thinking about how lev is gone and i don't know who the hell i am anymore.

yes, please let's all live together. today i was at a day long retreat and had such a desire for us all to be together in a healing place, hidden from the rest of the world.

love to you ezra's mommy

aliza said...

not hidden...more like protected

CLC said...

It's scary how we just get accustomed to people not getting, even those who we think should, like your doctor. It's easier to accept it though than fly into a rage every time, at least I find it that way. But it's still sad and always will be.

Gal aka SuperMommy said...

Ditto... You say it perfectly, Sarah. Love to you and David, and of course to Ezra, in this shared retreat.

(Doctors suck sometimes at reading medical records before talking...)

Gal aka SuperMommy said...

PS. Can our commune be in Hawaii?

Carly Marie said...

Yeah like Gal said, lets make it Hawaii... I haven't been there but heard its beautiful... wouldn't it be nice even if it was just for a week?!

"Thats tough"... what a joke.

I am sorry you are so exhausted from this new life. It sux. Ezra should be here. They all should be here.

My love to you Sarah.

Rach said...

We are always here, moving around in the 'real' world around us. Here for you whenever... xxx

Dalene said...

Count me in on the commune, too.

Let me say that I just don't understand doctors. I had a similar experience 2 months after B died. The doc had no idea that my baby was fullterm and that he died in labor. Why can't they get the basics right? It is infuriating.