...

Jan. 11th, 2013 08:48 am
bouldersandbrews: (Freya - Rains of Tragedy)
Four years.

Four years ago today.

This time four years ago...

...This time four years ago, I was laying in bed with my husband, calling my family in between bouts of crying. Listened to the sympathy pouring out from the phone. Feeling... so alone, like a piece of me had vanished into thin air without any warning.

Four years ago today I lost the Raisin, my little tiny baby. Felt it pass from me with pain I imagine to be that of actual labor - mingled with the pain of loss, of grief. So much possibility, so much potential... gone. Little Catherine would never watch me water marble my nails and beg me to do hers as well, or ask me why Princess Garnet ran away and would she ever go home? I would never get to watch Dave teach little James to shoot a free throw, or watch Hayden impress his small half-brother with parkour and kung-fu, and teach him how to do vaults as well. Little parkouring basketball-playing Jimmy. Never.

Never...

Such a powerful, small, final word.

I had the Raisin with me for a rather short time - I was only aware of him for two months - and yet in that short time that tiny little life became a huge part of my life. I would sing (badly) to it, talk to it, think about it and wonder and hope. And all of that was brutally ripped from me, leaving me bereft, confused, devastated.

I honestly don't know how I dealt with it. I remember that pain, that grief - far worse than when my grandmother or father died... worse than when my beloved Elayne died. (I know Elayne was a cat, but she was my cat... and I think I imbued my hopes of childhood on her.) Like... again, like part of myself had been ripped from me without any warning.

It's been four years, and I still think of the Raisin frequently. Not every day, but lately... a lot. The pain is still there, but it's different now. Faded. A memory of pain. Almost like the entire miscarriage happened to someone else... but I remember it too closely for that to be true. If for no other reason that the endometriosis that has infiltrated my body, a reminder that yes, you were pregnant, and you screwed that up too and hello there! I'm the consequence.

But of course the memory goes way beyond that.

I know people have asked, and probably still wonder, if I'm ever going to try again. The answer is no. No, because the probability of carrying a baby to term with endometriosis thrown into the mix is slim. No, because I don't want a baby... I want the Raisin. No other baby will do. Little Kitty or Jimmy, that's all. No, because I'm afraid of it all happening again, a Groundhog Day of failed pregnancies. No, because... because two people have filled that ache in my heart, the void that the miscarriage left. I know Hayden and Linz are someone else's kids... but I've come to love them as my own, in every way but having given birth to them myself. I know I've only known them a relatively short time, but in that time they've also become part of me and soothed the wound that the Raisin left behind.

That wound, once so open and seething that even seeing another baby would send me into tears, has faded. It's not any longer a pain that makes me want to crawl into bed and huddle into myself and stare at the wall with blank unseeing eyes, or drink until I can't feel anything at all. It's a kind of... wistfulness, almost, a wistfulness that makes me look around the house and think, Three and a half years old. What would little Jimmy be doing right now? And all I have to think about is what Jason and Melanie's Serenity was like when she was three and a half. Would Jimmy/Kitty have been similar? It's a wistfulness that makes me smile a little sadly at babies and small children and their mothers. I was almost you.

Wistfulness does kind of hurt, but it's not the soul-wrenching agony of fresh grief. I'm thankful for that. Because while having the grief fade kind of makes me feel like a bad person, like I should emotionally flagellate myself daily to, I don't know, somehow make up for my body's failure... no one can endure that level of pain for very long. Much as I think I should, I know I couldn't.

And so I feel that wistfulness, and I endure that.
bouldersandbrews: (Fou-lu)

"I mean, children are the natural result of marriage, right?"

I know people wonder about my lack of children. I also know they'll never say anything about it to me. Too awkward a topic, perhaps.

I also know that most people don't know about the Raisin... or how an unrelated remark like the above feels like a punch in the gut.

Posted via LiveJournal app for iPhone.

bouldersandbrews: (Quistis - Whatever Tomorrow Brings)
Dear Raisin,

Happy birthday, sweetie :) I know your birthday was yesterday, but Mommy was very busy yesterday, and didn't have time to write you a letter. I promise I didn't forget about you, though: you were on my mind a lot of the day. I was thinking about how it would be to be driving in the car and singing songs with you and your daddy, showing you the cacti and the lizard and the jackrabbit, telling you about all the neat things we would do once we found the place we wanted to buy.

You would have been three years old yesterday, my dear. Running around, asking questions, playing, talking, laughing - alive. Maybe you would have liked to watch me play video games, talk on C3 with my MoW buds, bake bread and write. Maybe you would have preferred playing basketball and running with Daddy. I don't know, dear - and I'll never know. But it's still nice to think about, you asking why Princess Ashe ran away, learning how to shoot a three pointer.

I love you, sweetheart. I don't think about you every day, but I think about you frequently. I miss having you with me, and I love you.

Love,
Mommy
bouldersandbrews: (Harle Leaping)
Has it really been three years ago today that I lost the Raisin? It doesn't seem possible that it's been that long, that if not for the miscarriage I'd have a two-and-a-half year old baby running around the house babbling.

On the one hand, it's still something I'm always aware of - that I'd be a mother if my life had turned out just a little bit differently.

On the other hand, it's not this big huge epic event anymore. It happened, but it happened three years ago. Time does seem to heal all wounds, after all.

:-\

Jan. 11th, 2011 10:34 am
bouldersandbrews: (Freya - Rains of Tragedy)
This time two years ago I was laying in bed, alternately calling my friends and family with the bad news and, when the grief became too much to hold back, crying in the arms of my husband, mourning my Raisin.

On the one hand, the grief is still there - only it's faded to a kind of wistfulness now. Seeing babies - especially cute ones - sets it off. Seeing small children sets it off - but it's not the all-encompassing pain that it was for the first few months after the miscarriage.

On the other hand, it kind of feels like it happened to someone else, some other Christina. It feels far away now, but at the same time, it's still there.

I'm not sure that I buy the "time heals all wounds" line, but time makes the wounds fade until they're in some kind of unreality.
bouldersandbrews: (Agrias - Quiet Determination)
Yes, I'm still alive. Nothing has been going on.

Well, there's this crow that has this bizarre mutated caw that's driving me nuts.

Also, I've been cooking a lot lately.

Also, I should have a one-year-old baby today. But I don't.

Also, I'm reading the Dark Tower books again.

Also, I'm playing Chrono Cross again. And Final Fantasy II for the first time evar.

Also, I'm growing out my fingernails. They look cool, but they're rather unwieldy. Especially when typing.

That is all.
bouldersandbrews: (Agrias - Quiet Determination)
So far I've seen two babies that are around how old the Raisin would be. The pain by now has faded enough to where I just feel a little wistfulness. Does this make me a horrible person? Or does this just mean that I'm healing? I'd like to think the latter... so that's what I'm going with. This is clearly something that's going to stick with me for the rest of my life, though. I had a dream last night that I had another miscarriage. Only, it was weird, because it wasn't quite a miscarriage, but more like a stillbirth... or something. All I know was that there was a dead baby involved and that it was mine. Is this my subconscious informing me that I'm an evil freak for not mourning the Raisin day in, day out? I don't really think that... not really. I think more likely, the idea of babies was stuck in my head since I saw a cute little one yesterday, and since my main experience with babies was the miscarriage, that was the avenue my mind took to process that. Or something. I don't know how my brain works. Why do you think I'm so messed up?

When we were attending with the Lake Elsinore group, one of our friends there informed Dave that he was "the last of the old guard". I think this was in the context of Dave's stubborn refusal to wear jeans to church. However, I think it applies in other ways, and not just to Dave, either.

I grew up in a church that was stately, elegant, and formal. Everything was nice and organized, but not in some weird OCD type way. I liked the elegance, the class. Now, this no longer exists, and it vexes me to no end. Before, when hymns were sung, they were sung. Now, there are people waving their hands, clapping along, the songleader is shouting out. Before, when there was special music, it was performed, there was a respectful silence, fa la la you're done. Now, there's more clapping, hand raising, shouting, and now if you don't clap at the end you're a freak. Oh, that I were exaggerating. Somehow, somewhere along the line, the theoretical churches of God turned Protestant/Pentecostal, and no one told me.

Oh how I could rant. People are wearing jeans to church now. Wearing Befany-type makeup. There's no respect. There's no class. There's no elegance. Church is now a social club, not a religious gathering. I have to fight the temptation to do something like yell out "HALLELUJAH" during the sermon, or start rolling in the aisles. It seems like it'd fit in with the new, relevant-to-the-new-generation church of God. And, of course, it would have the added benefit of amusing me. Oh, don't look at me like that, we all know I wouldn't... but it's kind of funny to think about. At least it helps me get through services without exploding...
bouldersandbrews: (Agrias - Quiet Determination)
Dear Raisin,

Happy birthday :-) Today would have been the day I held you in my arms for the first time. Today would have been the day you met Mommy and Daddy, these odd people you'd been listening to for nine months. You would have seen the woman who was singing to you and talking to you all the time, the man who spoke to you and told you all sorts of wonderful interesting things. Today would have been the day you received a name - Catherine or James, depending on which suited you better. Today would have been the day you would have joined our little family.

But that ended up not being the case. Today is a sad day for Mommy, instead. Today is a day that she remembers seeing you far too soon. Today is a day where I can only think of you and mourn you. I can't see you today. I can't see my son or daughter today, a day which was supposed to be a happy occasion - the happiest of occasions.

I don't know what went wrong, sweetie. I don't know what happened, what caused you to leave me so soon. I don't know. But I know that I miss you. I know that I still think about you, still talk about you. I know that with every baby I see, I wonder what you would have been like. Would you have had green eyes like me, or blue ones like your daddy? Would you have liked video games or basketball better? Would you have wanted Hayden to teach you parkour? Would you have liked shopping with Lindsay?

Sadly, we don't get to meet each other anytime soon. But maybe someday we will, and I'll finally get to see my baby, my little Raisin child.

Happy birthday, sweetheart.

Love,
Mommy
bouldersandbrews: (Basch - Lonely Soul)
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;-)

Just kidding.

The last time I stayed up all night was January 10th-11th. I was spending that night miscarrying my baby.

[livejournal.com profile] argh4itchytasty asked me the other day how I've been feeling since the miscarriage. It's hard to explain. Because on the one hand I think I'm doing better - I don't think about the Raisin every hour of every day now, and there are times when an entire day will pass without me thinking about it.

But is this me recovering from the miscarriage? Or is this some sort of defense mechanism that I've initiated so I don't go nuts from grief?

Maybe both. Maybe instead of me recovering from the pain, I've just mentally distanced myself from it. I don't freaking know, it's too late to properly analyze this... but let me just say that I'm not all better, but far better than I ever thought I'd be.

After it happened, I thought the pain would just go on and on. I honestly wondered if it would ever stop, if the gaping hole in my heart would ever heal.

Now, most of the time it just feels unreal, like something that happened to some other Christina. I remember the pain, I remember being pregnant, it's just... farther away, now.
bouldersandbrews: (Sailor Pluto - Dead Scream)
My head hurts. Bet you couldn't tell that from my subject line, though. :P

It has been a busy month.

Wow, I don't even know where to begin. Here are my major talking (typing?) points, though, and maybe I'll get through them:

New car.
New place.
Greg.
Balboa Park.
Passover etc.
Diet.
TMI type stuff.
Jess.
That might be all, we'll see.

So new car. The HMS was making funny noises, so Dave took it in to the mechanic, and it died a block before it got there. The engine was terminal, so we decided that, rather than get the HMS a new engine, it was time to buy a new car. Long story short, we're now driving a thus-far-unnamed Buick Century. Which runs. Nicely. And it's comfortable. And it looks cool.

Next... new place. So after the HMS died, we decided we needed to cut expenses (since either way, whether we fixed the HMS or bought a new car, it would be about the same amount, which was more than we could afford), and our place, while wonderful, is more than we can afford, so we started place-hunting again... long story short, Larry the Landlord knocked the rent back a bit, I'm going to get a part-time job, so we're staying here.

So Dave's brother Greg was arrested last month on a twenty-year-old DUI charge, he was extradited to California, so we've been going up on Friday nights, staying at Dave's mom's, and Dave and Cathy have been visiting Greg in the morning. Not a bad thing at all, just tiring, because it's almost a two-hour drive up and back. Apparently Greg's doing well, by the way, and we're hoping the judge will throw this out, since after the DUI Greg stopped breaking the law completely and it was twenty years ago.

Balboa Park. Hayden's been doing this parkour thing in the park every other Sunday, so since Sundays are our day with the kids, we've been going and hanging out in the park till Hayden's done parkouring. It ends up being a long day, but Balboa Park's nice. Linz and I are kind of getting a little tired of it, though, so we're trying to think up something fun to do tomorrow while Hayden's parkouring.

So Tuesday night we go up to Harold's for the Passover service (or, if you're us, it's the Lord's Supper and we just refer to it as Passover because we're... lazy? Less syllables. I dunno). Dave's excited because he's been asked to speak, and does a great job (I'm really proud of him). Drive back that night, get around the next day to have the Beatties over for Night To Be Much Observed or, The Old Testament Passover. Okay, this entire paragraph so far has been a bow in David Beattie's direction :-) Anyways, we have them over, I fail at the yams, Dave fails at the fire, but we all have fun anyway, and end up staying up way too late. Andrew stays the night with us, and the next morning we chat before he goes back home to LA.

What's next? Oh, the freaking diet of doom. So I've stopped with the garlic and the pills, and I've started with pau d'arco tea, coconut oil, and undecenoic acid. Since I have the worst memory evar, I can't say whether it's working or not, since sometimes I don't remember to take it. If I were to remember to do so, though, it might work, who knows? I really need to remember to do this, though. Honestly, how can I seriously expect to beat this thing if I don't remember to do the treatments? Blar.

The TMI is LJ-cut, I'm a merciful crazy person :P )

So my sister. I really don't even know what to say about this, but I'm obsessing. I just can't stop thinking about her. I'm sure this fact will piss her off, because she seems ultra-volatile lately, but she's my sister, and I love her, and I'm seriously worried about her. I think that's all I'm going to say about it, for now anyway.

So that might actually be everything now. I'm hungry. I know that. Yeah, so, food. Right on it.
bouldersandbrews: (Agrias - Quiet Determination)
MckMama is making me think. I've been thinking about her and her baby all day.

I couldn't do it.

Be as strong as she's being. I know my limitations, I know my faults and weaknesses and strengths, and I know perfectly well that I just could not do what she's doing.

Her faith astounds me. That someone could believe in God that much...

Don't get me wrong. I believe in God, I always have. Ask my kindergarten teacher. I have different ideas about God and religion than most people, and my relationship with my father has influenced my perception of Him, but I certainly believe in Him.

But to keep such strong faith in Him throughout a huge trial such as this... it boggles my mind.

God is merciful. God is merciful in ways we often can't comprehend.

It's like those math word puzzles we got in fifth grade. "Jimmy and Susie go to the candy store with a dollar apiece. Licorice sticks are fifteen cents, gummy bears are ten cents, lollipops are twenty five cents, and chocolate bars are thirty five cents. How much change would Jimmy get back if he bought ten jawbreakers?" And one of the choices would be "Not enough information". (Those were always my favorite word problems, by the way.)

I don't have all the information to understand why God does and/or allows different things in my life.

I'm thinking about the Raisin. I don't know why I miscarried. I don't understand why it happened, what benefit it serves (because God works all things together for good)... all I know is that it happened.

I know that God isn't cruel. I know that He knows what He's doing, even if I don't.

I don't know exactly what I'm trying to say, using a million words to say what ten might say, if I only knew them. This of course causes me to fumble through every word in the English language and make sense of none of them, when what I really should do is go find something to eat after deleting this entire entry.

But I won't.

Well, I might go get something to eat.

...

Mar. 24th, 2009 04:10 pm
bouldersandbrews: (Agrias - Quiet Determination)
So Jen had her baby. I'm happy for her, honestly.

It bothers me though, because it's been two months since I lost my Raisin, and in four months I should have a baby.

Okay, this is why I haven't posted anything lately. Angst, angst, angst. If I'm not feeling sorry for myself because I feel like crap, I'm feeling sorry for myself because - what? I have an incompetent body?

Well, that would explain everything, wouldn't it?

sigh.

Mar. 12th, 2009 10:38 am
bouldersandbrews: (Agrias - Quiet Determination)
Two months as of yesterday. We had a really busy day yesterday, which made me not think about it till today... which makes me feel like crap. Sorry, Raisin, I forgot. I didn't forget you, though.

In all three games, some of the wives/girlfriends of the players came to watch, and in every single game, at least one of them had a baby. (In the last game, there was a chick - with a baby - that seriously looked like Aubrey from S*P.)

I would like to think that seeing a woman with a healthy baby will eventually stop feeling like a slap in the face, a "neener" of sorts.

I would like to think that this will stop hurting, some day, that I can see a baby and think "Aw, how cute" rather than "I wonder if the Raisin would have looked like her?"

I would like to think that maybe someday I'll quit being such a cheeseball.

I would also like to think that every single period from here on out won't feel like I'm trying to have an alien explode out of my uterus, like it does right now.
bouldersandbrews: (Agrias - Quiet Determination)
I cannot wait to use a language-modified version of this on someone.

So, getting over stuff. I was thinking about it today, and I'm not done thinking about it, as my idea is still half formed in my mind... but I'm not sure why we put ourselves under so much pressure to get over things that have happened.

I think it's probably societal pressure. Somehow, somewhere along the line, we - women mostly, if not entirely - have felt a need to be tougher, stronger, less emotional, and have tried to respond to it, with most detrimental results.

I think I'll blame women's lib.

I know that in my case, I've felt a need to present myself as strong, tough, capable, competent. "Need" isn't the right word. Pressure isn't, either. "Drive" is closer, but even that doesn't being to describe the desperation behind it. And in order to present myself as strong et cetera, I actually needed to be strong et cetera... which meant getting over things way fast.

Being raped is not something you get over quickly. A rape victim cannot expect herself to just "get over" what happened.

Having a horrifying childhood is not something you get over quickly. The effects from it are long-lasting, if not permanent.

Losing your baby is not something you get over quickly. No parent should outlive their child.

But I feel like I need to "get over" all of these things. I mean, hell, I lost the Raisin almost two months ago, what's my damage? My childhood, what happened with my father, that was twenty-one years ago. What's my freaking deal?

Why am I not over this yet?

I can definitely attest to one thing: not allowing myself to grieve my innocence and my childhood has done me nothing but harm. This is why I'm not over it yet. This is why it still affects me so drastically. I have not allowed myself to grieve. In my efforts to "get over it already", I've instead unwittingly protracted my grieving time.

What time is it? You can always tell it's late when I start using words people will have to go look up.

The Raisin was two months ago. Not quite, but close. Am I crying about it every day? No. In that, I suppose I'm "getting over it". Do I still feel inexplicably sad and lonely at times? Do I still tear up when thinking about or looking at a baby for too long? Do I sometimes wish and wonder? In that, I suppose I'm not over it at all... that I'll never be "over it".

I know a man who lost his teenage son, I dunno, twenty years ago or so. Do you think he's over it? Do you think he hasn't allowed himself to take his time grieving?

Do you think it's silly, or stupid, for him to allow himself to grieve his son?

Why is it silly and stupid for us to do so? Why do we have to be stronger in our pain than men? Why are they allowed to grieve and we aren't?

Why are we forced to present ourselves as strong? Women are the weaker sex. Oh, the women's libbers are going to kick my ass for that one. Well, it's true, they're deluded, and I'm intellectually honest enough to admit that this is true. Women are softer, more emotional. We feel things more intensely, I think. But in our current society, we've created the idea that women need to be stronger, tougher, to be equal with men.

Admitting that women are weaker in some ways is not an admission of inequality.

Striving to be stronger than men is causing so much damage to our minds and spirits. Even if that's not our motivation. It's not mine, not at all. I always thought that this was how it was supposed to be - that women just had to be stronger than they were.

I might be too tired to squeeze anything more coherent out of my brain tonight.
bouldersandbrews: (Agrias - Quiet Determination)
Christina: Honey, they want me to be a member of Triple A. I don't have a car.
Dave: *chuckles*
Christina: *reading the letter* "We feel that you are most like the rest of our auto club members." What, they don't have cars either?

I'm doing better today. I still cry whenever I think about the Raisin for very long. It's a serious adjustment in my thinking. The Raisin was such a big part of my life.

I was making some split pea soup, and my stomach started growling. As has been my custom for the past few months, I started to say, "All right, Raisin, I'm getting us some food", but I stopped and whispered, "...oh."

I started crying when a midwife called me today and I had to inform her that I no longer needed a midwife. I started crying when we were watching Hotel Rwanda and they got reunited at the end.

I knew that the emotional aspects of a miscarriage were hard, but, much as a lot of other things, I never realized how hard until I find myself going through it.

hehe

Dec. 27th, 2008 11:02 am
bouldersandbrews: (Harle Leaping)
Little Amara: The poor Raisin is destined to be a geek. His mommy's into video games and geeky things, and his daddy's into math and stuff. His path is determined.
Little Amara: haha
Das Savva: aww
Das Savva: That means Raisin's going to be awesome.
Little Amara: Exactly. Coolest kid ever. hehe
bouldersandbrews: (Agrias - Quiet Determination)
Dude, I'm ten weeks along already. Has it really been a month and a half since I found out about the Raisin? Unbelievable. Pretty soon I'll be in labor and be all like "Dude! Didn't I just find out I was pregnant like a week ago?" lol. I imagine that when (if?) I start showing, it won't be so surreal to me.

Not much has been going on, other than my sciatic nerve causing me a great deal of pain, depending on what I choose to do. Other than relatively minor TMI-type things, this is the only problem that pregnancy has caused me so far. I'm seriously hoping that my labor goes like Deb's and Melanie's (a couple of hours), as opposed to my mother (twenty plus hours).

I'm trying to get my sister to send me the SNES, I'm undergoing a craving... for my old video games. lol

Gameage... I've been indulging my desire to play Age of Mythology while Dave's refereeing basketball. I'm already almost done with the campaign. After this... I dunno, I might go through FF8 again. Abuse Squall as much as possible. Well, we'll see if I like him better this time around - maybe if I play through it ten times I'll end up liking him, which is what happened after my fifth or sixth playthrough of FF7, when I decided that I liked Aeris, after all.

Finally, it's been raining for about three days now. I'm not complaining, because maybe the crazed arsonists won't have such an easy time lighting California on fire this year. Well, that's not the only reason I'm not complaining. It's the first one that made it though my fingers though.

Whatever. I need more coffee.

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