Brighter days

I know my recent posts have been pretty depressing.  I've been in a very bad place.  But I'm getting some help, and things are beginning to look up.  I think I'm going to be okay.  I still miss Finlay every day.  I still cry.  But talking to a doctor about post-partum depression was a really good idea.  I think the medicine they put me on is helping.  I am working on the Finlay's Friends project with renewed vigor.  And every day seems to be just a little easier than the one before.  I know I have a long road ahead, and that I will never stop loving or missing my angel, but for the first time in weeks, I think that I'm going to be okay.  Just thought I'd let you all know.  Thanks for the continued support.

And the Nightmare Continues

Last month I began my attempt to share the story of Finlay's loss.  Writing has always been my manner of choice for working through and expressing my feelings.  I've journaled for most of my life.  I began sharing some of that back in 2005.  A lot of times it can be very cathartic.  Anyway, I started this story in a post called The Nightmare Begins, and got as far as I could at the time.  I meant to finish the story later, but just haven't felt up to it.  I guess now's as good a time as any.

When I left off, I'd just found out that my precious baby no longer had a heartbeat, and that they would be inducing labor so that I could deliver her.  This seemed so surreal to me.  I guess I'd never considered how they would get a baby out under such circumstances, and this answer just didn't seem fair.  Delivery was one part of the whole pregnancy thing that really scared me.  And I hadn't even gotten to that chapter of the books yet.  I was about to get a crash course.

I had planned to have my mother, my sister, my aunt Shannon, and my 'other little sister' Branch in the delivery room with me, when I finally got to meet my Finlay in July.  I was quite certain that my wimpy self would absolutely want an epidural, and that I'd want Branch (an amazing professional photographer) taking pictures, but really hadn't thought much more about it than that.  I'd worried a little about all of the yucky and embarrassing things I'd heard could happen during labor, and never quite believed the women who told me that all traces of my dignity and modesty would be quickly forgotten when the big day came.  My naivete is almost laughable now.

They began my induction at 2 am Monday, March 7th, with something similar to Cervadil.  It was my understanding that this would cause me to begin dilating and having contractions.  I was half right.  It brought on contractions.  Just increasingly uncomfortable cramping at first.  They inserted more of this medicine every few hours.  And every few hours, the pain became more intense.  Time became a bit of a blur.  I know by Monday evening, the pain was still SOMEwhat manageable because I remember Christan bringing dinner for everyone, and I remember taking a walk outside with Mary and Shannon.  It was sometime late on Monday that I started REALLY getting interested in the epidural they had promised me.  But they had changed their minds.

My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song...

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.


The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.




Excerpted from "Funeral Blues" by W.H. Auden

No Light, No End, Just Tunnel

I’ve been struggling for weeks to find that ‘will to live’ that I hear people talk about. It’s been an exercise in futility. If it weren’t for the people who love me, who I know would be hurt by my loss, I think I would have given up already. I’ve been telling myself that it’s not that I ‘want to die’, but that I just ‘can’t want to live any longer.’ Semantics, really. And it all ends up the same, doesn’t it?


I love my family. I love my friends. I would never intentionally hurt any single one of them. But I am hurting so bad. People don’t understand my not wanting to stick around. They say things will get better. But they are not getting better. Every day is just another day without her. And it’s not like I’m depressed over a break-up, reeling from the rejection and all that. That kind of loss is remediable. New loves come along. But my baby can never come back. She can never be replaced. There is no light to be found at the end of this tunnel. She’s gone. And I wish I’d gone with her.

I’m sorry that my feeling this way hurts the people who care about me. It makes

Failing

I'm hearing a lot lately about what I NEED to do, what I'm SUPPOSED to be feeling.  I know that all of these statements come from well-meaning people who care about me, and that they are not all without their merit.  But I'm not there yet.  And I don't know how to get there. 

I'm told that I need to get back out there, be around people, do things.  And I've tried, to some extent, to do that.  But it's hard.  I tried going out to dinner a couple of weeks ago.  I knew it was going to be hard to see people, but I decided it was time to try.  I made it to the restaurant, even into the lobby where the large group I was meeting waited for a table.  And it seemed like every where I turned, there was some happy person holding a beautiful, healthy baby.  And it just brought my own loss rushing to the forefront of my mind, and my eyes filled with tears.  I knew I was going to lose it, and I just had to get out of there.  So I left. 

One day this week,

Miles to Go Before I Sleep...

Things haven't been easy lately, to say the least.  I've had some very, very dark days.  Yesterday was one of them.  I've managed to make it through another night, sleepless though it was, and I now sit on the back porch listening to the world wake up as I try to remember the seemingly endless list of things I need to accomplish.
There is a poem I've always liked by Robert Frost.  Lately it has taken on new meaning for me.  Before I set out to tackle my list, I thought I'd share it with you.

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.


My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.


He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.


The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.


The last verse is very much my favorite, and I find myself lately repeating it often.

About the last minute name change...

So, shortly after I found out that Finlay was going to be a she, I finally decided on a name. And I wrote a blog (The Kid Has a Name!) about how I came to that decision. Some of you may have noticed that once she was here, I changed my mind on her middle name. I thought I'd explain why.

It was around 8 or 9 pm on that Sunday that they confirmed that her heart was no longer beating, and around 2 am on Monday that they induced labor. Needless to say, I got zero sleep that night. My emotional state bounced back and forth from complete hysterical crying to a kind of shock and numbness. At some point early Monday morning,

Remembering Finlay

This is a slideshow of the album I made on Picasaweb.

This is a link to the album online, where you can see the pictures in full size along with captions.