Monday, March 10, 2014

New Meanings

Every song I hear now has a new meaning. There are no more love songs. Almost every song I can listen to the words and hear them from a grieving mother's perspective. Every song is about Vi. Not all the words, but there is always a line of two that make me think of Violet. Right now Michael Buble's "Let me go home" Is playing on my Pandora. 

Let me go home
I'm just too far from where you are
I want to come home

Home is when Violet was still alive. Home is where I want to be. I'm too far from her. Even if she's with me all the time, I'm still too far from her. I want to go home. Why can't I go home? My home will never really be home. Home is where your whole family is, and my family will never be whole again. Even if we buy our dream home, have another baby, grow old, live the picturesque life, I will never be home, because Vi will always be missing. And, I will always be terrified that another tragedy will happen. If it happened once it can happen again. My bubble has officially been popped. I will live in constant fear. We were talking about Violet tonight before Lyvi went to bed, like we do most nights. Lyvi was sad. She said "Lyvi get sick. go to doctor. go bye bye too." Ouch. She wants to see her sister. And in the mind of a 2 year old if she just gets sick and goes to the doctor she can see Vi again. I can't help but think that she is sick and we just don't know it. I may take her in to our amazing pediatrician this week and ask for a full CT scan and blood work. I think that should be allowed when your perfectly healthy baby dies 20 hours after she got sick. I should be allowed to have an array of hopefully unnecessary tests done on my living daughter so that I can maybe sleep a little bit. It's just so unreal that my 2 year old daughter has to try to understand death. Her bubble got popped so early, it's not fair. She will never get to live in the world of "bad things only happen to other people." Because her little sister died. She didn't even get to say goodbye. Violet was perfectly fine, albeit a little bit fussy, the last time Lyvi saw her alive. And, then she was gone. No warning. Her sister was there, everything was great, and then the next thing she knew Violet was gone and her whole family was a wreck. Everyone was crying, and Violet was gone. I cry so often that she doesn't even ask anymore. She just knows mommy is sad and misses Baby Vi. I'll never forget the morning after Vi died, Lyvi woke up and immediately asked where baby Vi was. When we didn't answer her she climbed up on me to look in Violet's bed. She asked again "Where baby Vi???" I can't even remember what we told her. We had both been up all night sobbing. I don't know what we said to her that first time she asked. Probably something along the lines of "she got sick and went bye bye." I think for the first few days we were telling her baby Vi went to sleep, but then I realized I didn't want her to associate sleeping with death so we quickly changed it to bye bye. I don't tell her Violet went to heaven or that she's an angel, you all know my thoughts on that. I don't tell her Violet died, I think that's a little heavy for a 2 year old. So, we will stick with Violet got sick and went bye bye, but now she is in our hearts forever and ever. Well this song just came on, I've heard it a bunch of times but never really listened to the words. The Weepies, World Spins Madly On

Woke up and wished that I was dead
With an aching in my head 
I lay motionless in bed
I thought of you and where you'd gone
and let the world spin madly on

Everything that I said I'd do 
Like make the world brand new
And take the time for you
I just got lost and slept right through the dawn 
And the world spins madly on

I let the day go by 
I always say goodbye
I watch the stars from my window sill 
The whole world is moving and I'm standing still

Woke up and wished that I was dead 
With an aching in my head 
I lay motionless in bed
The night is here and the day is gone
And the world spins madly on

I thought of you and where you'd gone 
And the world spins madly on

Those first few dark weeks I would wake up and want to die. I would lay there, my whole body aching, and just want to die. I didn't want to live. Why would I want to live without Violet. How is it possible I was still alive when she died? The world keeps spinning even after your child dies. It makes no sense. My life is at a stand still, yet everyone else is going on about their days. Yes, I am out of The Chair now. I leave the house. But I am still standing still. The world spins madly on. I want it to stop, It shouldn't still be going. A world without Violet shouldn't be allowed to exist. It makes no sense. Complete nonsense. This is why I couldn't listen to music for awhile. I just started listening to music again when I got back from Washington. I wasn't emotionally ready to deal with every song having a new meaning. I'm still not, but I am making myself be. I miss her constantly, I think of her constantly, so why not listen to music. Make the music do the thinking for me. Give my brain a little break and let the artists think up the words for me. 
Cary Brother, The Glass Parade
This is a glass parade
A fragile state
And I am trying not to break
And the stars are shining
The moon is right
And I would kill to be with you tonight

These are all songs that have just happened to come on while I write this post. Music will never be the happy carefree thing it used to be. I would listen to it to with the girls. I would turn off the TV and we would listen to music. Lyvi would dance, I would sing, Violet loved it. She loved watching Lyvi dance. She loved listening to me sing, even though I have a horrendous voice. She would stare at me, smile, grab my face. I miss singing to her so much. I would sing to her without music being on, on the nights that she was calm. I would run my fingers down her face and sing to her as she drifted off to sleep. It wasn't an every night thing because that baby hated going to sleep and most the time she would have a big cry fest before finally giving into sleep. But, on those rare nights that she would lay down next to me and slowly drift to sleep, I would sing to her. I wish I could sing to her and run my fingers over her sleepy eyes again. I wish I could pace around the front room while she screams and fights sleep. I wish I could hear her grunt herself to sleep. I wish I could hold her through her whole nap just because I couldn't bear the thought of putting her down. Screw all that sleep training crap. Hold your babies. Don't listen to anyone when they tell you to put your baby down for naps. Or to put them in their cribs at night. You hold that baby, kiss that baby while they sleep. Stare at them. Cherish them. If anyone gives you shit, give them the link to this blog. Let them read what I am going through, let them read about my empty aching arms. They will never tell you to put your baby down again. Never. 

I have my first appointment with a therapist tomorrow. I don't know how I feel about that. I am skeptical that the first person I talk to will really help. This person isn't specifically for bereaved parents, and I really think that is the kind of person I need. Someone who specializes in this awful trauma, and ideally someone who has also lost a child. Unless you are part of this club you just don't get it. 

How are you baby girl? Where are you? I hope you are ok. I miss rocking you to sleep and kissing your sweet sleeping eyes. You were such a shit to get to sleep and I loved every second of it. It was frustrating, but I wouldn't change a thing. You were so sweet when you were sleeping. You wouldn't ever sleep for very long if I laid you down, you loved being in my arms. So most of the time I held you, or if I really needed to get things done I would wear you. You always slept so good when I wore you. I miss you so much. I miss everything about you. Your crazy freak outs. You fighting sleep. Your laughs. Your smiles, that you always gave up so easily. Your fat legs. Your big green eyes. Your hair that was finally growing and was so dark. Your eyebrows, that were an exact copy of your daddy's. Your hands. Oh your hands. They were the only thing that still looked like you at your funeral. We have the molds, but I haven't been able to look at them again. I just can't do it yet. I will one day, and I will break down. So, I'm saving them for when I feel like I can break down again. I just wish you could come home, where you belong. You should be here. You should be 7 months old in 9 days. That's going to be a hard day. I hope I will be able to feel you with me that day, because I don't know how I will get through it otherwise. I love you sweetie pie. I hope you are warm. Goodnight my Sweet Violet. 

1 comment:

  1. Michelle,
    You don't know me but you and I have a couple friends in common. I have been reading up on your blog about your sweet Violet and want you to know you are not alone in your grief. I am part of a pregnancy and infancy loss support group called Utah Share. We do support meetings at the hospital and we also have facebook support group pages. It is a safe environment and the only people allowed on our site are people who have been through a loss during pregnancy or infancy. We have all felt some of the things you are feeling and I just want you to know that you are not alone and that we are here for you if you need to talk and have someone understand what you are going through. If you type in Utah Share on facebook and ask to be added then we can also add you to our private page if you ever want to. Sending you hugs and I'm so sorry for what you are going through. Violet is absolutely beautiful.