I'm not Fixed

I have this fear that this pregnancy will make people think that everything is all better.   That I am "fixed."   I have this fear that people are thinking to themselves, "Well, now that she is pregnant again, she can stop being sad." "Thank goodness she can stop thinking about her loss and focus on the future."   I don't know if it is a valid fear or not.   I really don't know what is going on in other people's heads.  Heck, I rarely even know what's going on in mine.   But, just to clarify, nothing is fixed.  Nothing is suddenly better because I am pregnant.   I don't miss her any less.  I don't think about her any less.  

 I actually think about her more now.   Pregnancy is really all I have to connect with Kenley.  The nausea, the exhaustion, the poking out of the belly, the pops and wiggles that will soon become full-blown jabs and jolts. A little over a year ago, I was experiencing these physical changes with Kenley.   And now, I am starting again with Bean.  Every moment, I worry about Bean in there - and I think back to last year when I was carrying my little ninja, which makes me feel empty and full at the same time.   I am happy I have this second chance with Bean, while also being angry I have to even have a second chance.   Why didn't I get to keep my first chance?   I love, love, love both of my children, so it is so difficult to rejoice in one at the expense of the other.   To be happy for Bean reminds me of why I am pregnant now, and why I don't have a baby in my arms.  To wish I had Kenley seems like a slap in the face to Bean.  I still don't know how to reconcile this.   How do you handle loving your children equally when the life of one is the direct result of the death of the other?    

That conflict aside, Kenley is my first born.  She will always be a part of me.  I will always love and miss her.  Being pregnant again does not take away the hurt of her loss.   I can have a hundred more children, and I will always ache for her.  I will always choke back tears when I think of never holding her again.  I will always have to catch my breath when I look at the few pictures I have of her beautiful face.  Those things will never be "fixed."   Not by another pregnancy.  Not with time.  Nothing will ever make this better.  

I just wanted to put that out there.   I love Kenley.  I love Bean.  I am happy for my second child.  I still miss my first.  I am not fixed, and I won't really ever be.   I am learning to navigate around the holes in my heart, but those holes will always be there.  When Bean comes, my heart will swell in the places where Bean fits, but they won't close the gaps where Kenley is not. The thing with rainbows is you can't have them without the rain.  

The Tightrope

The wind is cold and biting so high above the earth.  The tightrope walker steadies herself against the chilly rush.   She bends and flexes her toes inside her leather shoes, curling her aching feet around the bundle of wires.   As her hands begin to sweat, she grips the pole a little tighter, it's heaviness spread out on either side of her weary body.  She is exhausted, having to balance for this long.  The canyon below her sprawls out from a dark and jagged crevice in dusty orange fingers, and the other side is so far away she can't even see it.   As she steps forward, her balance shifts too far to one side.  She pitches and wobbles, her heart jumping into her throat in a panic before she centers herself.  Careful.  Steady.  She takes a deep breath in, her knuckles white and her knees screaming for rest.  But there will be no rest.   There is no stopping and there is no going back.   She can only go forward.  One foot in front of the other.  One step at a time, she will cross this canyon, balancing everything she is with everything she has.   That's the key - balance.   She has to keep herself in line.  From her own posture to the position of her feet on the wire to the steadiness of the pole in her hands - it all contributes to keeping her from plummeting into the darkness below.  And it requires her complete and utter attention at all times.  The average bystander does not realize the amount of concentration it takes to stay balanced - or the amount of balance it takes to stay upright.  To her credit, she makes it look so easy.   She is graceful and poised, keeping the chaos of her racing thoughts hidden beneath her collected demeanor.  But underneath, she is terrified.  Not necessarily of falling, but of tipping.  Of giving too much attention to one side and not the other.  It is in that moment of tipping - that moment before the fall - that the terror is real.  It's not the fall itself, but the reason for it that is so upsetting.   The knowledge that she allowed herself to lean too far to one side.  That she allowed the other side to be neglected.  If she falls, it will be because she was unable to maintain equality.  If she falls, she is a failure.   She braces against the wind as it bites through the thin material of her leotard.  She takes a step.  And another.  And another.   Forward and balanced, she continues her journey across the canyon.  Head high.  Heart steady.  

Try Not to Stress

Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaahahahahahahahahahahahahahaahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!  (deep breath!)  Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha! 

"Try not to stress" is a well-meaning phrase used by well-meaning people.  I understand the sentiment and the point of the advice, I really do.  It's just not going to happen.    

Don't get me wrong, I try.   I use meditation apps to help myself relax.   I take deep breaths and time-outs when I recognize I am winding myself up. I think about positive things as much as possible - like the next time I'll see the Bean on an ultrasound, happy and healthy, or picturing myself holding a crying baby in the delivery room in April.  Every day, I make the effort to keep myself centered and calm.   I am managing my stress - but I am still stressing.     

There is no way not to.  That's just plain and simple reality.  Pregnancy after loss is stressful, chock full of worry every step of the way.   Kenley was a healthy, normal pregnancy until the very end.  Everything was fine, and then suddenly nothing was.  She was there one minute and then gone the next.  My brain has now been conditioned to this experience.  36 weeks is a long time to wait, especially when doing something as complicated as making a baby.  Anything can happen between now and the time I can bring this one home.

I know people just want to help.  They want to be positive and supportive.  They tell me things like, "Don't worry, everything will be fine."   Or, "I know things will work out."   I can't fault them for trying - and I truly am very glad to have such caring people around me.   

But, I am still going to stress.   I am still going to worry.   It is going to be a constant struggle every day.   A struggle where half of my brain ticks off a list of all the things I should be worrying about while the other half counteracts those reasons with soothing thoughts of peace and hope.   I worry.  I hope.  I worry.  I hope.   It's exhausting.   I'm working with my grief counselor on ways to work through this anxiety in a healthy manner, but that's really all I can do...work through it.   I can't make it go away.  I can't make it less than what it is.  I can just deal with it as it comes and do my best to keep my head above the water.  

So, if you're talking to me about my pregnancy, and you happen to let slip "Try not to stress", you'll see me take a deep breath and close my eyes.   I know you mean well - and I'll try - but the only thing that will truly keep me from being stressed is buckling my baby into their car seat to make that first drive home.   And even then, I'm sure I'll find something to worry about.