First, I want it understood where I've been emotionally since July 30th, as this is all part of my reasoning. When I got home from the hospital, I got into my pajamas, and I crawled into my bed. I slept for an entire day. The following month (August), I barely left my bedroom. People came over to bring us food and flowers and company, and I would drag myself to the living room, curl up on the couch, and sit there and answer questions about how I was feeling, or sometimes I would just stare into space while everyone around me talked to each other. It was hard for me to make eye contact with people, (not sure why), I tried to engage in conversation, I forced myself to but I wasn't really there. I was absolutely going through the motions. I was just a husk of myself, especially in the days leading up to and right after Aug. 9th, (the day we buried our baby).
The moment people left, I went right back to my bedroom, and I laid in my bed and I would stare at my ceiling, I'd sleep for hours and hours and hours, I'd wake up, I'd sob for hours and hours and hours and would pray for the daylight to go away. There was something protective about night time for me, and I felt most comfortable when I could feel the buzz of life begin to quiet down. I knew most people were in their beds sleeping, not thinking or worrying about me and my family, not wondering "oh my god what happened", not wondering how I would bounce back from this or if I ever would, not having conversations or speculating about my daughter. I could feel that energy. It's a hard thing to navigate through. Night time, I would wake up after sleeping all day, and I'd go sit in the living room with my mom and we'd stay up until sunrise watching movie after movie after movie. I was very thankful for those moments with my mother and my husband. Jason went back to work a lot sooner than I did, so he wasn't always able to stay up with us, but when he did, I felt better...never whole...but better because these were my people. These were the only people I felt comfortable totally falling apart in front of, and I did just that, many times. However, it was when the sun would rise that I would start to get a panicky feeling, and that buzz of life happening would creep up, louder and louder, and I'd go back to my bed, and hide.
There were times I would fall asleep, and in my partially sleeping and partially waking state, my hands would automatically go to my belly to check for Lily and when my hands didn't find a bump anymore, I would wake up startled and have to remind myself what happened. This went on for the first two months after the hospital. Probably one of the most awful things in this aftermath. I would fall asleep and I would forget what happened while I was asleep; so then those first few waking up minutes, were the most brutal few minutes ever because I would be flooded with "oh yeah, that really did happen." Then, my sleeping, sobbing, movie watching cycle would start all over again.
One day, I was laying in my bed, and I was laying on my left side, facing the rest of my bedroom, looking at the 8x11, folded card that my coworkers got and signed for me and Jason (they had a star named after Lillian). Her full name is on the front in huge script-writing, "Lillian Angeline Kerrigan-Leyh", it's hanging on my wall above my desk by a little clip magnet thing. The wall it's on was the wall that her bassinet was set up against before I went to the hospital to have her. The bassinet was long placed into storage before I even got home from the hospital. My family and friends removed all baby things and stored them for me. While I was in the hospital, they asked me if I wanted the stuff gone when I got home of if I wanted to see it to take care of things myself when I got home, my answer was that both options were equally as painful, and to make the choice for me.
I would stare at her name on that card on the wall, a name that I FREAKING love, and I would cry because it's quite literally one of the most perfect names I've ever been smart enough to come up with...and I'd cry because she couldn't use it and then the tears would turn to full on rage and I'd bury my face in my blankets and scream until my throat was raw. The cycles of sobbing and anger and numbness would leave me queasy. So, on this day, I was staring at her name on that card, and I focused on the curves of the letters, I counted the letters in her name (27), I fantasized about if she had grown up to be in the professional world, would she use Lily or Lillian? Probably Lillian. Or, rather, I'd have advised her to use Lillian for professional purposes. I imagined telling her why we gave her my last name and her dad's last name, and I imagined telling her that her parents are very progressive people and that it was a sign of the times. I smiled when I imagined her rolling her pretty (likely blue) eyes at my reasoning for that. I smiled. Omg, I smiled. Wait, why am I not sobbing? OH!! I'm smiling because I'm imagining her life. I'm thinking about living. I'm not focusing on her death. That was the day, (September 3rd), that I got out of bed and took a shower. I realized that by focusing in on my depression and my despair and my anger and my darkness - that kept me closer to Lillian's death, and that choosing to live life for the two of us, was keeping me closer to her life. So that was the day I showered. That was the day I ate something normal. That was the day that I made a choice.
The biggest thing that matters to me, is Lillian's life. Lillian only got 4 hours and 29 actual minutes of life outside of my belly, but to me, her mommy and her life source for the last 10 months that's what I cling to...and now, well...I had to make a decision and maybe it's because I'm in all of the therapy that I was able to get to this so specifically and solidly...whatever it is, I'm not questioning it very much because it's working.
You see, I don't get any of the firsts. I don't get first steps, or first tooth, or first words or first crush, or first prom, or..any of the things you prepare for through the life of your child. I had to accept that I now had to mother her in a very different way. My mothering of my daughter meant that I now had to live life for the both of us and if (by chance) there truly is something else after we die, and my baby girl can somehow look between the worlds and see me? Well, I'd rather die myself than to have her see me broken and sad and angry. I'd want her to look at her mommy between the worlds and see her laughing and putting one foot in front of the other, and living life and participating in its beauty. I'd want her to see me living life for the both of us, loving her father, caring for her family here on earth, saying her beautiful name every chance I can, never being afraid to talk about her and our family; and be a part of the buzz of life again.
So because Lillian's birthday was the same as the day she died, we have a choice. We can either celebrate that my gorgeous, perfect girl was here, by living life in her name, in her honor, for Lily; we can choose to show her happiness over grief when she checks in on us from between the worlds, or we can choose the darkness. Frankly, I want more for my daughter, so I will always choose the light and the fact of the matter is that she was here, she was born, I grew a damn good baby you guys! That's what gets me out of bed in the morning...HER! I don't need to talk about how she passed away, what I need to talk about is how she was here! She was here. I need to talk about how she affected us, (because I know it's not just me). This baby affected way way more people than just the woman typing out these words. It boggles my mind actually. To me, that is how we walk in the light with my Lillian Angeline Kerrigan-Leyh, and to me, that is her birth story.
You are such a gifted writer. Thank you for sharing Lillian with us!
ReplyDeleteThank u for sharing, so well written
ReplyDeleteThank u for sharing, so well written
ReplyDelete