Bits and Pieces

M. and I have to grieve in bits and pieces.

As much as I hate time right now, I want time. Nothing is more comforting to me right now than being in his arms. There is no one else who can possibly come close to understanding this pain, and my whole body relaxes the moment he touches me. For four days, we were cocooned together in our grief, and I had no idea how painful it would be alone.

He went back to work yesterday, and I think it was the longest day of my life. I forgot how to do things. I stood in the kitchen at the sink, staring at my filthy floor, looking at the dishes there, and forgot how to do them. I literally couldn't remember. The kids went outside to play in the snow (snow! in April!) and came in soaking wet, saying, "Mom, put my stuff in the dryer, can we have hot chocolate?" and I thought, "Dryer? Huh?" What was that? And faced with wet snow pants and a dryer, I just stood there, blinking at it, trying to remember, how does this work again?

My midwife came and it was just more pain. I sat on the couch where I'd found out my baby was dead - the place where I laid for all my prenatals, anticipating the strong, steady beat of his little heart, and this time, just not finding it - and we talked about the weather (snow!) and her latest birth (a beautiful waterbirth... yeah... wish I'd had one of those...) I sat there and wondered what she was thinking. Did she blame herself? Did she wonder, like I did, what if she'd come over when I called her two days before about my strange out-of-pattern prodromal labor? Would we have heard his heartbeat then?

I wondered... did I blame her? Was I looking for someone to blame? I certainly blamed myself. I was in prodromal labor for five days. Did that exhaust him? I was certainly exhausted, and it was totally out of my pattern, like my body was persistently trying to tell me, "something's wrong, something's wrong."

I played mind games, trying to tell myself he was okay - they slow down at the end. He's tired from all the labor. I'm so tired, I'm not noticing him moving as much. He's changed position and I can't feel him as much. He's getting bigger (ha - little 5lb peanut) and not able to kick as hard. I didn't follow my intuition. I didn't go get a NST. I didn't rent a doppler. I thought of these things. I did call my midwife. On a day I know he was alive. But I decided to wait until we had our appointment on Wednesday. I mean... it was only a few days... and labor seemed to be coming...

And I had a flurry of activity I remember, too. I was so reassured by it. THERE you are, William. Thank god, where have you been, baby? Whew, you scared Mommy. And then it was over, and for a while, everything was fine in my head. But the movement didn't come again that way. Not like that. Contractions did. Things I thought were movements. Phantom kicks, maybe. But not like that. I think they were the last moments he was alive, and I didn't know.

And now I wonder if he suffered, am haunted by that thought. Was he in pain? Please, god, let it have been quick and painless. Please let him have just gone to sleep. Please don't let those last few moments have been a struggle for my sweet little baby boy. Was I rejoicing in it, in that movement, at the moment of his death?

If I let myself think about that too long, I'll go insane. I won't just forget how the dryer works, I'll forget my own name, my very existence.

The only thing that helps is having M. here holding me. This morning - his late day, he doesn't go in until eleven am - he held me while I cried, and I held him while he cried, and we talked and talked about our sweet little boy and how much we missed him and I told him I wanted him to stay home. Not today... but tomorrow. And Friday, for the weekend. I just... I needed time. I needed time with him, I needed that space to mourn, to be held not looking at a clock, knowing the alarm was going to go off, and he was going to have to leave for work. I need more than just bits and pieces.

He agreed. I think he needs it, too.

Of course, getting his employer to agree was another story. I don't understand sometimes how people can be so callous, so removed. M. is a psychologist, and he works primarily with addicts. He's incredibly gifted and good at what he does. Everywhere he has been or goes, people remember and ask for him. He still has people coming to the place he works now asking to work with him. The place he's in now is run like a sales department, and he hates that part of it, but he still remains in the top three "sellers." (I know... it's health and human services and the powers that be treat it like they're selling used cars... it's surreal...)

When he asked for the time off, they wanted to deny him. This is after yesterday, when they said, "You let us know, whatever you need..." Apparently, EXCEPT for time off to be with his family? I think I'm entering the Kubler-Ross "anger" phase of grief today, because if his boss had been in front of me in that moment, there wouldn't have been much left of him when I was done.