Tuesday, April 19, 2011

A little bit sad...

This weekend  kicked off my spring break from school. It is a much needed break, although I really need to be at school getting ready for the art show too. My youngest niece's birthday was this weekend as well as one of my bestie's daughter's. I ended up going to my sister's house for birthday #1, then followed my parents back to my home town for birthday #2 and came home yesterday. Hubby had to be available for work-related conference calls so I made the trek by myself. This meant lots of time in the car alone with lots of music played from my ipod. It is amazing how many songs, or parts of songs, speak to you in your grief. More than once I found myself in tears but only once was it so bad I considered pulling over. It started with the chorus of the song Is There Nothing We Can Do? by Badly Drawn Boy. I have no idea where I got this song but you can hear it in this YouTube video.

Ooooh I am sorry, 
Ooooh I am sorry this page in your story won't turn
Who am I to ask you why
You feel the way you do
If you feel the way you do
Is there nothing we could do?

The haunting melodies and chorus got to me...specifically the "I am sorry this page in your story won't turn." Pretty much sums up how I feel about dealing infertility and what feels like a never-ending grief. I want to move forward, but have so much more grief to sift through. The only thing I can try to do is get pregnant again and hope that will coax the page to turn.

This song was followed by You're Missing by Bruce Springsteen. I love Bruce...and one of my favorite parts of living in NJ is that it is where Bruce hails from born, raised and still lives here. (I am a New Yorker transplanted in NJ. I live here but I am not from here...that is a whole other thing.)  Back to his song...it was written after 9/11 and it touched my soul then, having lived in NYC and being there on that terrible day. It is a song about grief and it makes my cry every single time I hear it...but now it is personal on a whole other level.

Shirts in the closet, shoes in the hall
Mama's in the kitchen, baby and all
Everything is everything
Everything is everything
But you're missing

Coffee cups on the counter, jackets on the chair
Papers on the doorstep, you're not there
Everything is everything
Everything is everything
But you're missing

Pictures on the nightstand, TV's on in the den
Your house is waiting, your house is waiting
For you to walk in, for you to walk in
But you're missing, you're missing
You're missing when I shut out the lights
You're missing when I close my eyes
You're missing when I see the sun rise
You're missing

Children are asking if it's alright
Will you be in our arms tonight?

Morning is morning, the evening falls I have
Too much room in my bed, too many phone calls
How's everything, everything?
Everything, everything
You're missing, you're missing

God's drifting in heaven, devil's in the mailbox
I got dust on my shoes, nothing but teardrops

Going to my hometown was harder than I expected. My water broke at my parent's house, they were born in the closest city...it is where William and Ethan are buried. I haven't had a chance to visit their grave since January and I think I may have been avoiding it on a certain level. Not that I didn't want to be near them, although honestly I don't think of them as being there...I don't know where they are but their bodies are not "them." My Buddha belly and their spirit...the idea of them...that is who they really are to me. Their bodies were small vessels for all of that love, hope and dreams and I only got to see the vessels for a short time so I don't feel as connected to their grave because the love/hope/dreams were built here in my home.

This is not to say that I do not have a connection to the place where there bodies are...I do. And when I got to that place I dropped to my knees and sobbed. I cried like I haven't cried in weeks. And then through my tears I talked to my babies. I don't do that much at home so maybe the connection is stronger than I thought. I told them about how we want to try again...to maybe give them a brother or a sister...but that doesn't mean we don't miss them or want to replace them. I told them how much I missed them. Most of all I just sat there, remembering the snow covered ground the day we buried my babies. 

My boys get visitors, which touches my heart since I can't go often. My Mom put one of her garden angels there to keep them company and my Dad made paper hearts with their names on them at Valentine's day. Little stones have been left for them on the brick that holds the hearts in place. I arranged them in a heart shape after adding two pebbles of my own. 

My boys are buried on my grandparent's plot and I asked Gram and Grampa if it was ok to sit on their head stone since the ground was wet. I didn't think they would mind. As I sat and the sun started to set I realized my shadow stretched across the place where William and Ethan are buried so that they were in the shadow of my belly...the last place they were safe. I wish I could have kept them safer. 

I miss you William and Ethan. I love you more than I thought possible.


  1. The songs are lovely and this whole post makes my heart ache. I, too, still marvel at how much I love Eliza. More than I thought possible, for sure.

  2. Those are beautiful songs and I can understand why they led to a good cry. Part of the new normal is feeling strong because you were not crying to hard to drive; at least I think this is quite an accomplishment.

    "You're missing when I shut out the lights
    You're missing when I close my eyes
    You're missing when I see the sun rise"

    Those line really stand out to me because so many things/feelings can be solved just by the beginning of a new day. But this grief doesn't let up and it becomes so exhausting to greet everyday with a heart that is still so heavy.

    I'm sorry your trip included so many tears. (((hugs)))