Thursday, February 25, 2010

Goddammit - he's really not coming back

Kira doesn't understand that dead is dead and you don't get to wear clothes, or play, or drink when you are dead. And you won't come back. You won't ever come back. No matter how hard your mommy and daddy and big sister cry for you, you won't ever come back.

I was putting Kira to bed and she asked why my boobs were hanging down. I laughed and told her I didn't have my bra on (I can knock someone unconscious with my boobs - they don't even have to be standing close). She then said "I was a baby and drank those." I said yes, you were. Then she said that baby Aiden would drink those.

When my milk came in I was angry. It was another damned reminder of what I didn't have. But perversely, when it was gone, I was sad. It was like my body forgot. Just like everyone around me, even my husband at times, has forgotten. There is no physical sign on me that he was ever here. No stretch marks, no milk, not even any new skin tags.

I can't keep doing this. I can't keep saying over and over, he's not coming back.

I fucking know he's not coming back! Please, please stop reminding me. And stop making me say it.

5 comments:

  1. Oh, Jen :( She doesn't understand and she's testing the boundaries, I guess, but it sounds horrendous for you.

    Is there anyone you can ask about how to guide a child through grief? Or anything online? It must be exhausting being confronted with your grief by her all the time.

    I was relieved that I leaked a little milk. I was sad when it went, too. It was like that made it really real, that the baby was gone.

    I wish I could give you a hug too. I wish we could go for coffee. Maybe one day.....

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  2. I do know she doesn't understand. I just fell apart last night. I don't think it was really even her, she was just the trigger. Most of the time I love it when she brings up Aiden. I don't want her to forget that she had a baby brother, even if she never got to see him. It's just when she talks like he is coming back at some point that it gets hard. Part of me still hopes that's true, even though I know it's not. As far as guiding her through grief goes, everyone says I am doing all the right things for her. It just takes time and is very hard on me.

    And I wasn't angry with her. I realized this morning that it sounded that way. I was just angry that I have to keep telling her and myself that Aiden will never, never come back. You're a great support B, thank you.

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  3. Oh, it's obvious it's fate and life and the unfairness you're angry with, so don't worry about that. I'm glad you have support saying that you're doing the right things for her. It must be so, so hard.

    I wish there was something I could do to make it easier.

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  4. I'm sorry you have to do this and I'm sorry for your loss.
    My surviving twin is 4 and we have these conversations too. I want her to remember her brother, but it is pretty painful to talk about.

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  5. The Children's Social Worker told us the day Maddy died to be very straightforward with Bella: no euphemisms, only literal very direct language. We follwed this with the book "When Dinosaurs Die" which was (and still is in parts) a bit old for her, but it's a very gentle yet straightforward without mincing things explanation of death (how people die, what death is, how we might feel about it, what we can do to help ourselves and help remember). She still requests it now and again, and now that she's older I edit a bit less out than I did then.

    I think the important thing (even though it just fucking kills you) is to (re)iterate when she says things like this, that he is dead, he can't drink, feel, touch, smell, taste, and that it will be like that forever. At first saying this over and over hurt like hell, but in a bizarro way it helped me too, I think.

    I'm so sorry.

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