Never give up on hope.

Posts tagged ‘infant loss’

March 15, 2015 (Mothering Sunday)

Dear Carter,

In our country, we don’t celebrate mothers until May 10 this year. But you know what? I don’t care. In most countries they celebrate it on the 2nd Sunday of March. In America (because we just HAVE to be different) it’s the 2nd Sunday of May. Well guess what? From now on, I’m going to celebrate twice a year. One where I get to mourn and be angry and tell people to fuck off (today, because I am just in that mood) and one where I get flowers and presents, and smile for the three children I still have here. So…that is how I feel about it. And today is NOT the day to get in my way. I’m ANGRY and I’m PISSED OFF and I doubt that I can be stopped today.

You LIVED. You were not a miscarriage. You were not a stillborn. You were born with your heart beating, trying to breathe. YOU LIVED. You MATTERED, even if only to me. You are MY SON, and you WERE BORN and you DIED. And I am taking today from England and marking it as my own. And I challenge every woman in a country where today is Mothering Sunday to do the same. If you have other children that are still alive, take my Mother’s Day (2nd Sunday in MAY) and use it for yourself to grieve. That way, you still have the Mothering Sunday to celebrate with your living children, and you have Mother’s Day to grieve for your children who are no longer here.

I love you more than all the stars,


Reasons I Am Pissed Off

I am so angry. I’m pissed off. I feel like if my HUSBAND had done things differently, my son would still be here.

  • Before my water broke, my HUSBAND refused to do ANY housework. I was left to do all of the heavy lifting, cleaning, and taking care of the children.
  • After my water broke, when my HUSBAND would bring our daughter to the hospital, he would hand her off to me, letting her crawl all over me, all over my stomach.
  • One night at the hospital, when they got snowed in, he pretty much threw Cayce at me and made me calm her down and get her to sleep. And every time she would almost get to sleep, he would get up and storm around the room yelling that he was just going to drive her home, which would wake her back up.
  • After I was discharged from the hospital and saw the actual state of my home, I was still expected to do the housework. He still wouldn’t help. He STILL sat on his LAZY ASS and watched ME (who was supposed to be on BEDREST) clean the house.
  • When he got admitted to the hospital, he had absolutely ZERO consideration for me. It was expected that, with my water broken, I was to tend the house, take care of the children, and drive an hour one-way every single day to tend to HIS needs as well. While I was supposed to be on BEDREST.
  • The night that I went into labor (March 2, 2015) I begged him to let me stay home. But he just HAD to have his non-hospital food. So I drove for over an hour, and on the drive, started contracting. Then, when I called him to tell him that I was in Wilmington, and that I was having regular contractions, he didn’t care. So, I got him his fucking food and then had to haul Cayce and the diaper bag and the food all the way up to the fifth floor.
  • Sitting in his hospital room, I told him that the contractions were getting worse. His response? “What do you want ME to do?”
  • Then when I told him that I needed to go to Labor & Delivery, he got pissed off because he had to keep Cayce in the room with him.
  • My mom came to get Cayce, but before she went to his room to get her, she came to me. She saw how hard I was laboring already and called him to ask if he was going to fucking show up. He threw a fit about her coming to get Cayce and she told him to have a nurse bring him down. So he did. He dropped Cayce off with my mom, and then waited about an hour before leaving because he “had to get his medicine.”
  • He left me alone for EIGHT HOURS. In which time, my mom came back after work. She was there with me when Carter was born, and when he died. Jeremy was not present for either event. Because his nurses “wouldn’t let him.” He left me alone the whole fucking time that my body was killing our son. I was unmedicated and I needed him. And he wasn’t there for me when I needed him the most. I didn’t WANT my mom. I wanted MY HUSBAND. And my HUSBAND failed me and our son. And I resent him for it. I sort of hate him for it.
  • Since Carter died, Jeremy has gone about his normal life as if Carter never even happened. I can barely function around the grief. And he just continues about his life as if our son never happened.
  • He doesn’t treat me any differently. I am still expected to perform household tasks, and he has been pressuring me to go back to work. And I sort of hate him for it. He wants me to just return to “normal life” and I am NOT READY.
  • He dumps all of the work associated with our other children on me. He doesn’t notice that my body is breaking down. My calves constantly ache, the left side of my head constantly aches, and he berates me for “not doing enough.”
  • He has not, even once, just looked at me and asked, “How are you doing? Is there something that I can do for you?”
  • Now, when Cayce throws a temper tantrum (Hello, Terrible Twos) Jeremy just walks away to let ME deal with it. He thinks nothing of the emotional turmoil that I am going through.
  • Or when Jeremy CAUSES a temper tantrum, Jeremy just leaves the room to let ME deal with it. And, as a real “fuck you,” calls me a CUNT on his way out of the room.
  • And I am PISSED at my mother. She has NO RIGHT to be angry with MY HUSBAND. FUCK YOU, MOM. Nobody that I have EVER been with has been “GOOD ENOUGH” and you feel like you have a say in MY LIFE and MY CHOICE OF SPOUSE. YOU DON’T GET TO TELL ME HOW TO LIVE MY FUCKING LIFE!!!!! But because YOU FEEL ENTITLED to take over my life, you performed the ULTIMATE BETRAYAL. And I FUCKING HATE YOU FOR IT. And I will NEVER FORGIVE YOU FOR IT. No matter how many nice things you do for me, for the rest of my entire life, I will NEVER FUCKING FORGIVE YOU.
  • I can’t let go of my HUSBAND. He is the only other person that had any connection to Carter. He helped me make my son. I can’t let go of my SON. Even if that piece of him is making me more miserable than almost any other thing in my life.
  • It has been almost two weeks since my son died. And my dad has YET to call me, even just to say he loves me. So much for family, right?
  • The only other thing in my life that hurts me as bad as MY HUSBAND is the loss of MY SON. And I hate him for that. I should be able to take refuge in him. But I can’t. I should be able to go to him for comfort. But I can’t. I should be able to use this as an opportunity to feel closer to him. But I can’t. He has hurt me more than almost any other one person in the world in the past couple of weeks (besides my “MOTHER.”. And I hate him for that. And I can’t even tell him how I feel.
  • Edit: You can’t even say you are sorry. And in fact you just continue the bullshit. You want to pretend like last night didn’t happen. Well…guess what? I remember.
  • Edit:: Some sorry ass piece of shit that is on my “friends list” on Facebook reported the picture of my son (the one with his teddy bear). Please believe that, if I find them, someone will be posting a picture of them in a fucking casket.

That is how I am really feeling. I have been moderating myself in the past few weeks because I didn’t want to hurt people that I love, even though they have stabbed me in the back, the front, and my heart. But now the gloves are off. I hate you Mom. I hate you Jeremy. I love you, Jeremy, but I sort of hate you too. I sort of love you, Mom, but I really fucking hate you. You’re supposed to be my mom, and you have hurt me more than any one person in the world. You KNEW your ex-husband was molesting me, and still you stayed with him. I don’t care what OUR PASTOR told you to do. YOU WERE MY MOTHER, AND AS SUCH, IT WAS YOUR DUTY TO PROTECT ME. And THEN, when my back was turned, you stole custody of my oldest child from me. Even though I have never harmed her. I have NEVER let her be harmed. i have NEVER stayed with someone that I knew was harming her. You deserve to rot in fucking Hell for all eternity. And I would enjoy a nice glass of wine while you did. I FUCKING HATE YOU. When what I need most is my children, you deny one of them from me, right after my son dies. I hate you. And I will FOREVER hate you. You are officially WORSE than your mother could ever have been (according to you). Congratulations. You have hurt me more than the sexual abuse at the hands of your ex-husband ever could. You have always gone behind my back and talked shit about me to Genesis’ biological paternal family. You have even talked shit about me to my husband. But that is what this “family” does. They are nice to your face, but the moment you turn your back, they stab you right in it. I will never trust you again, “Mom.” I will never be able to forgive you, “Mom.” I fucking hate your fucking guts, “MOM.” Know that, even when I am talking to you on the phone, and I am not spewing rage, I fucking wish you would just die. I wish that you weren’t my mom. I wish that I had a mom that was normal. That didn’t try to steal my children. I wish I had a BETTER MOM. But I am stuck with you, so the most I can wish for is your death. And yes, I am that angry. Yes, I am really that bitter. That is how I REALLY, TRUTHFULLY feel. You took my oldest child and told me that if I leave Jeremy, I can have her back. But what you are really doing is asking me to choose between my son and my firstborn. I love them equally. How can anyone that has had children ask that of a mother? Oh…that’s right…you didn’t raise any of your four children. You just came back into their lives after someone ELSE raised them. You’re not really a mother. I forgot that part.

A Very Pissed Off
Evelyn Jean Brook Shields-Cowley

PS: Another reason that I am pissed off–Here it is, 2am and Cayce is still screaming. And you are STILL on the couch. Knowing that I have not slept well in the past few weeks (save for the last couple of days) and you are in the living room, on the couch, leaving me alone to tend to her. Just like you have been since 11pm. Fuck you, fucknugget.

PPS: Also, you shattered my phone. I can’t even swipe on it without getting shards of glass in my fingers. My phone had pictures of CARTER on it. I kind of fucking hate you. Asshat.

March 14, 2015

Dear Carter,

Your Daddy took me out last night. And it was just as horrible as I though it might be. His friends from school met up with us, and they both hugged me and asked how I was doing. I could feel the pity in their hugs, see the discomfort in their eyes. What do you say to a woman that just lost a child? Not a whole lot. They asked how I was doing and even though I know that they meant well, that made it so much worse. Like they don’t see ME anymore. They just see a woman whose child died before he ever got the chance to live. I knew the night was going to be bad before we ever even got to the bar–when we stopped for gas on the way to the bar, I saw a woman that was about 6 or 7 months pregnant. I felt anger and sadness and jealousy and hate and a longing for you so strong that I felt a literal chest crushing pain. Like my heart was literally breaking. Then, at the bar I saw women that had obviously had children. And it depressed me. To look around and see all of those women who (most likely) had never suffered the death of their child. I hated them all.

At any rate, today, I cleaned some. Beau had gotten into the trash, and since your Daddy couldn’t be torn away from the TV at all today, except to go to the bathroom and forage something for himself to drink or eat, I was on my own for things like changing your big sister and cleaning the house. I can’t help but think that if your Daddy hadn’t been so lazy and I hadn’t had to clean so hard when I was pregnant for you if you wouldn’t still have a heartbeat. I resent him. I love him so, so much, but I am ANGRY at him. I started in the kitchen, cleaning up the trash that Beau had gotten into, skipped the dishes (which are going to be a literal all-day affair) and moved to the living room. I put up six new pictures. I am still waiting on my other frames to come in. And your Grandma is buying me a frame that says, “Your life was a blessing, Your memory a treasure. You are missed beyond words, And loved beyond measure.” I ordered prints of your pictures that everyone took, and I have to pick them up. They will be going into the 4×6 frames that I have. I have 4 frames that size that came in my package, I’m waiting on two more frames–one that has only one opening (the one with the saying that your Grandma is buying) and one that say “Life isn’t about the the breaths you take, it’s about the moments that take your breath away.” That one has (if I remember correctly) 11 openings? I will never forget you Carter. I want to be able to see your precious face every single day for the rest of my life. I miss you so much. Little Baby. I love you.

I love you more than all the stars,

March 13, 2015

Dear Carter,

Today your Daddy wants to take me out. That involves effort. I have to take a shower and get dressed presentably, not just in my nightgown. I have to put my hair up. I have to put makeup on. I’m going to do it for him. Even if I can’t stop feeling like the entire world is over for me, I can at least let him think that he is helping. He has invited his friends from school, and even though I like them, I’m not sure that I can face them. I don’t know if I can stand their sympathetic looks and shallow words of condolence. I just don’t know. I’m trying to keep up appearances for the rest of the world–like I’m normal and sane and not batshit crazy. On the inside, I am totally batshit crazy. Seeing pregnant women causes me literal pain–not like it hurts my feelings, but literal, chest-crushing pain. I am jealous of them–they are still in that naive place where they don’t believe that their pregnancy can go South in the blink of an eye. They are still pregnant with their baby. And I hate them for that. I just want you back, and they don’t know how LUCKY they are. I know that I’m not supposed to be bitter and angry, but I AM. I am angry and sad and depressed and dejected. Why did God take you away from me?!

I love you more than all the stars,

March 12, 2015

I know that is has been a few days since I updated my blog. I haven’t forgotten about Carter I still write to him every single day. I just haven’t been online in a few days. The last few days have been pretty rough.

Dear Carter,

Today, Daddy started bitching about money. And I know it’s a valid problem. I know that we have bills to pay. And I know that I have to go back to work. But I’m just not ready. I’m not ready for the world to keep spinning. I’m not ready to put on a smile and pretend that I’m fine when, on the inside, I am breaking. I’m not ready to let go of you yet. I’m not ready to pretend that you never happened. I am not ready to let you really die, Carter. I can’t. I sleep with your teddy bear every night, and I carry it around all day every day. I can’t let you go yet. I’m not ready.New moms get six weeks of maternity leave. But what is there for moms whose child died in childbirth? Who, physically, are ready to rejoin the workforce? But emotionally can’t even do the damn dishes without crying over bottles and pacifiers? I miss you with every cell in my body. I miss you down to my soul. I’m not ready to see my coworkers having great days when every single moment of every single day is painted gray for me. I just want you back, Carter. People tell me that I can try again. And they are right. And I’ll have another baby, assuming that the worst doesn’t happen again. But it won’t be YOU, Carter. I can never have YOU back. I regret the way things happened every single day. I hate those doctors with a passion deeper than the deepest ocean. Yes, I can have another baby. But I can never have another CARTER.

I love you more than all the stars,

March 11, 2015

Dear Carter,

It has been eight days (technically, since it is after midnight) since your birth and death. I have taken to holding your teddy bear everywhere I go. When I am doing the dishes or picking up, I set your teddy bear where he can see me. I wonder how awful it was for you. I wonder if you felt any pain. I know you had to be confused. Going from being safe and warm to slowly dying. I keep replaying it all in my head. I wish that I could turn back time and do things differently. I’ll never smoke another cigarette as long as I live. To do so would be a disgrace to your memory. How can I purposely inhale something that damages my lungs when all you wanted was to breathe? Just the sight of cigarettes breaks my heart. I still have friends that smoke, and I have to look away when they light up now. My mom still smokes. I don’t understand how she can. You died slowly because you couldn’t breathe. She should value her lungs more. Everyone should. But I can’t turn back time. I can’t change anything. Somehow, I have to figure out how to keep moving forward, because I’ll never move on. I miss you so much, Carter. I wish I could hold you again.

I love you more than all the stars.

Dear Genesis and Cayce,

I know that I haven’t been “normal” lately, and for that, I am sorry. You are both too young to really fully grasp everything that has happened.

Genesis: You are the most wonderful, warm hearted little girl in the whole wide world. I live for your smile. You are so beautiful and sweet and talented. You would have been an awesome big sister to Carter, just like you are with Cameron and Cayce. I haven’t really explained anything to you yet, but I will. I just need time to heal and be able to wear a strong face for you. You deserve to believe that Mommy is bulletproof. I don’t want you to see Mommy breaking because you need to believe that you can always depend on me. Because you can. No matter how badly I am breaking on the inside, I’ll always be there to catch you if you fall. I love you so much, Genesis. It has been a privilege watching you grow up and it continues to be a privilege to be your Mommy.

Cayce: You are a stinker sometimes. You definitely have more attitude than your brother and sister. But lately you have noticed that something is wrong. You’re too young to really understand, and you’re around more often than Genesis is, so you see me break down more often than Genesis does. You have been super clingy, wanting to be held all the time. And when I am holding you, you are patting my back. You shouldn’t be comforting me, and for that, I feel guilty. But it is so therapeutic to just hold you. I could hold you forever and never let you go. I look at you and I wonder how much your brother would have looked like you. I wonder if he would have had the same big blue eyes and the same golden hair. You don’t understand. You just go on about your little life. I love watching you grow every single day.

Cameron: I don’t get to see you very often because you live with your mommy. But I know that you would have loved your little brother just like you did when Cayce was born. I remember how eager you were to hold her bottle. And I regret that Carter didn’t get a chance to do brother stuff with you. I know I’m not your mommy, but I include you because you are one of my children too. I didn’t give birth to you, but you are just as important to me as Genesis and Cayce.

So forgive me, my little lovelies if I squeeze just a little too tight the next time that I hug you. I’m just so grateful to be a part of your lives. You guys are my reason for living. You guys are the only thing that is keeping me going right now. You guys are the reason that I wake up in the morning, get up, and move around. Without you I would have already given in to the crushing weight of grief. I would have already given up. So next time you see me staring off into the distance, come give me an extra hug or kiss. Those are what I am living for right now.


March 10, 2015

Dear Carter,

They say that it is supposed to get easier every day. They lie. Today is a day that I am drowning in pain. I didn’t sleep last night (again). When your Daddy left the house this morning, I broke down crying again. I wanted to scream and beg and plead with him, “Don’t leave me! Please don’t leave me!” I don’t want to be alone. I’m so alone. i want to hold you again, to kiss your face, to count your tiny fingers and toes. Did I tell you that you have your Daddy’s feet? But I can’t. You’re really gone now. When I walked away from you yesterday, that was it. You’re gone and I will never get you back. I never thought that I could feel pain this deep, this all-encompassing. I’m consumed by the pain. I don’t eat, I don’t sleep, I walk around like a zombie–except this zombie cries all the time. I don’t think regular zombies do that. My boobs hurt all the time because you’re not here to nurse. I have perfected the art of the silent scream. When the pain is so unbearable that I can’t contain it any longer, but when I open my mouth to scream, nothing comes out. A hundred thousand prayers won’t bring you back. I know because I’ve tried. A hundred billion tears won’t either. I know because I’ve cried. I feel like I have finally broken. All of the years of abuse that I survived at the hands of my stepfather, I survived. All of the years of self-destruction that followed that, I survived those too. Heartaches, breakups, divorce, betrayal, my family–I survived all of that. But now I’m really broken, Carter. I don’t know how to go on. We did so good. We lasted so long. I really thought that we were going to make it. I wanted to look back at all of this one day with you. But now I can’t. Because you’re gone and you’re never coming back. How do I put one foot in front of the other when I’ve been cut off at the knees?

I love you more than all the stars.