Friday, April 30, 2010

You probably don't want to read....

Confining yourself to bedrest, though worthy, leaves you with a lot of think time.

That's never been a good thing for me. Too much think time, that is...

So, to combat the thinking time, I've been reading, reading, reading. (Surprise, I know.)

And honestly, as I face a really, really, really big decision today (and am sick to my stomach about it), I've realized why I'm so anxious (well, one of the reasons) about it.

I'm tired.

(Still wondering about the big decision? Well, you probably already know, and if you don't will in about a week or so. See, I don't always put everything out there...though I really get aggravated when people ask me why I'm so "Out There" with information. If you don't like how out there I am with it, stop reading it. I will not be one bit offended if you de-friend me. I'm out there because the internet and blogging and Facebook allow me to actually remain a part of the world, even when I don't necessarily feel like it. I can engage if I want, respond to an email or message if I'm up to it, be encouraged constantly, and not be any more drained than I already am. I am open about information because I figure that the more people I have praying for me and supporting me, the better. Besides...I feel alone. Even when I am not and know I am not, I feel the more pieces of me that I share, the less, I hope, I feel alone.)

See....I'm tired just from writing that whole long paragraph.

But in this, I've found, I am NOT alone.

It's said all over the internet, and I've said it myself.

To mother a dead child is exhausting.

And I'm going to go out there and say it's the hardest job I've ever had. I realize that I may be offending many, many moms who are obviously hardworking and tired, and that's not my point. My point is that when your child is dead, you are no less a hard-working mother, but you don't get any of the credit for it. Because no one really sees it as a job, seeing as the job description is so, so drastically different.

A mother of a living child is up at all hours of the night feeding her little one.
I'm up all hours of the night because I can't believe this is my life...I keep hoping that THIS time...THIS time, I'll wake up and it won't be true.

A mother of a living child has to change clothes out each season and go through the hassle of having to shop for more because their little one is just growing like a weed.
I go into Matthew's nursery, pick up all the sweet little outfits he had....put them on my shoulder as if he was in them and rack my brain trying to imagine what it would feel like to have him in that outfit.

A mother of a living child constantly wipes the tears off her little one when he or she is unhappy.
I either am exhausted because I try not to cry or because I've been crying all day. I run out of tissue.

A mother of a living child engages in fun conversations about the best diapers or what coupons are out for Babies R Us or homemade recipes for Playdough.
I have conversations with billing specialists, doctors, cemetery directors, God...none of them very fun ...or dear, sweet friends who do their best to walk that fine line of not forgetting Matthew but having 'normal' conversation every now and about tiring--for me AND for anyone who talks with me.

A mother of a living child gets tired of all the running around.
I get tired trying to escape the memory conjured every where I go.

A mother of a living child has nightmares of what may happen.
I have nightmares about what has happened already and inevitably, will happen again.

A mother of a living child may be exhausted at the end of every day, but she can walk into her child's room and know it's all worth it.

I am exhausted at the end of the day, and every day....the crib is empty. My heart is still broken.
And it never changes.

So, when you look at me and think, "Wow, she looks tired," you are right. (Of course, I'd rather not have the guy in the A&W Rootbeer workshirt standing behind the counter at the gas station actually TELL me that I look tired, but...he's only going by what he is seeing.)

It may seem like a "no-brainer, just suck-it up, it'll be good for you, you'll be glad you did it and so will they" decision, but it's not.

It's work. And I'm tired.


  1. I hear ya girl, and SO can relate to this. I'm exhausted. =( I just had a mini break down last night, and it was not pretty. Each day I think I am getting better...and then something happens and I am right back where I started. Praying for you and your hubby, praying that everything works out for you this month. Keep your chin up, you've got God on your side!

  2. Grief is very exhausting. At times I have described it as swimming through thick mud all day.

  3. I have to agree to your post! I don't think you will offend anyone with this. What you are going through right now is physically, emotionally and spiritually more exhausting then I could ever imagine. I wish I could remove some of your pain. I am praying for you today and everyday. Love you!!!

  4. Oh Lori, I sit here with agony in my heart and tears pouring down my face...because I am both of those...mother to a living twin son, and mother to a lost twin son. How you explained between both...that is me. I am doubly tired. But because people think I am just tired due to the busy life with Evan...I am exhausted because I fight every pain you outlined as a mother to a child who has passed away (you will notice I will never used the words "died", "dead"...I just can't).
    My heart aches for you because I know all too well the tiredness you feel mothering a child who has passed away, and how no one recognizes your efforts in that. That is me.
    Because Evan lives, it's assumed that I don't have the same nightmares and agony of loss with Zac.
    Just last night as I settled Evan in to bed, I was jolted back to the morning we were told the devastating news of Zac nad being faced with the most horrid evil decision of our lives...and remembering as my first born son looked at me with his precious, tired eyes...and I kept asking him over and over "what should mommy do? How do I say goodbye to you?"

    I too, am tired. I am exhausted. Because I live with the day to day moments that zap energy with a living child (which I will forever be grateful for and in no means am complaining one iota)...and a child who I will never again see on this earth.

    My heart is with you dear friend!
    Thank you for describing what my heart has been trying to say!

    I am praying for you in these next few weeks especially!!

  5. Lori - Dear, sweet, Lori -- what to say? I could have written that fifth paragraph about being "out there" myself. I relate to every single word of it.

    As for parenting Matthew, I am so sorry this is your life right now. I hope you do get some rest soon -- real, as well as emotional -- and have good news in your life right around the corner. Love, J

  6. Lori, congratulations on a great transfer. When will your beta be?

    I'm so sorry you are so worn out. I can only imagine. I know how much my eyes hurt and how tired I am after just one good cry...but for you going through this daily..I'm just so sorry.

    I can't pretend to know how you feel but can only pray that it won't always be this way for you.

    Love your names. Our twins were simply "Bob & Sally" for the first 16 weeks. Not symbolic, special or anything other than just my husbands incredibly dry sense of humor. We looked at the pics the embryologist gave us and he simply said..."There they are, Bob & Sally". We called them that until 16 weeks. (We found out very early what the genders were due to going to the Peri's office weekly anyway). Funny thing is...Bob was in fact a "Bob" we named him Chance. Sally was in fact a "Sally" we named her Luci. You are right to be cautious about twins...but if that is how the Lord decides to bless will just love it.

    Praying your Eeny and Meeny make it to blast to freeze.


  7. Oh Lori, I am exhausted right there with you. I have had people tell me I look tired too and it was an eye opener for me just how much Jenna's death had drained me... but it didn't help to hear it. Thinking of you and your precious son. XO

  8. I completely understand. I was scared that what I was feeling was not normal. Hearing you say it and reading all of the comments makes me feel more "normal" for our situation. If there is such a thing. God bless you. Praying!

  9. wow. I am in a puddle of tears over mom and I both are. You put words to the way I've been feeling as well. Praying for you!!!

  10. Oh Lori, my heart aches for you. There are no words. All I can simply say I am here for you in thoughts, prayers and anything else.

  11. You are SO right, it is work and it is tiring. No one understand how tiring grief is mentally and physically unless they have gone through it. People tell me all the time that I look tired and they are right. I am tired. As you said, being a babyloss mom is a hard job. Thinking of you!! xx

  12. Just wanted you to know that I always like to read what you write. Right there with you on this...
    love, love, love

  13. Yes....I'm so there with you. Tired, exhausted, drained. Sitting with you and thinking of our sweet boys who we'd giving anything to be holding, kissing, dressing, changing,feeding, chasing, anything....just to have them with us.

  14. I never thought of it quite in that way. But, I have to say that you are absolutely right. You've certainly not offended me. I am praying for you, John, Matthew,Miney & Moe. I pray for you to have all of the peaceful, joyful, and happiness that motherhood has to offer as well.

  15. You put the words to what I couldn't put my finger on. My brain, heart, and yes, even, my body hurts most of the time. I feel like my brain goes ninety to nothing right now and I am exhausted. Thinking about doing a something in her memory this week has nearly sent me into a catatonic state.But, praise God, His grace is sufficient (even though sometimes I only recognize it in hindsight) and His mercies are new every morning.

    I have been praying for you...I love the names John picked out. He is a keeper! (and quick on his feet=)...I am praying at this moment that you will get a good night sleep tonight...
    Blessings and gobs of hugs!

  16. Oh sweet Lori, you are such a dear person, so sweet and supportive to others in the midst of your grief! The truth is painful, it's ugly, & it's hard to hear, but what people don't seem to take into account is how much harder, how very much harder, how impossibly hard it is to feel that every day!!! Sending you love honey, lots of love!!!

  17. Lori, I am so sorry you are going through this. Thank you for writing this post. It has been an eye opener for me. Though I grieve that fact I am not able to get pregnant, my heart breaks for what you are going through. I have never experienced what you are going through and pray that I never will. But what you write has touched me so deeply. Thank you for writing so honestly and from your heart. It helps even those of us that have not gone through it understand it a little better.

  18. This was so heart-wrenching, honest...and describes what many are feeling...many mamas with aching arms and exhausted grieving hearts.

    Love and prayers for you...