Under Lock And Key

He died on the thirteenth, but I never remember much of that day. I remember the next day, though. I remember waking up to a nurse setting a tray before me with heart shaped napkins and little candies. I remember seeing a picture of a lily posted on the door to my room, which I equated with Valentine's Day, but it had nothing to do with that. I found out later they put it on there to notify the other hospital staff to tread lightly: this mother lost her baby. Now the thought of flowers and candies sometimes sickens me. And tomorrow is Valentine's Day.

Today is almost over, but it hasn't hit me at all. It's almost like a void today. Or maybe I am blocking it. I have gotten very good at doing that. It's strange, because I feel every other emotion whole-heartedly. I am not good at hiding how I feel. Except with Logan. With him, I don't show anything. I can't speak about him much. I know what I want to say, but I cannot physically get the words out of my mouth. It's almost like screaming but nothing comes out. Not a sound.

Kade used to ask me questions all the time, but it always resulted in me staring at him until he stopped asking. Eventually, he gave up. I can't answer his questions. They're my questions, too and they've gone unanswered. It feels strange to write about this. I certainly can't speak any of it. This is going to absolutely kill me, but I feel the need to get some of it out.

No one ever really talks about stillborn babies. People might sadly mention that they've had miscarriages (for that I truly sympathize), but it's not the same. I feel terrible for other parents who've lost children after they've been born. But it's not the same. I've had countless medical staff tell me how often it occurs, but no one talks about it up close and personal. It's the big fat elephant in the room.

Imagine expecting something for awhile, but never getting it. Imagine changing your life to prepare for something that will never happen. Imagine wanting something so deeply, but knowing you will never get it. Now imagine that something had a name. Imagine that something had a face. Imagine that he never got a chance to look at you, or smile ... or laugh, even though every feature was fully formed. Even though he had a face of an angel. Even though he was perfect in every way. Even though they could never find a reason. That's the best I can describe the situation. Stillbirth robs you of everything, after pregnancy promised the world.

It's been six years. On most days, I am fine. Of course, on most days, I am blocking any thought that would lead me to think of it. Some days, it will sneak in and I lose myself in it. I watch family members have new babies, coworkers are getting pregnant (one is on her sixth child), but not me. And it's all with a certain detachment. Even if I did get pregnant again, it won't be HIM. I don't want another baby. I want MY baby.

I asked for a hope chest for Christmas. I used the excuse that Kade was growing to old to have his baby things in his room, which is true. But the real reason is that I wanted a place for all Logan's things. I can't look at them anymore. I changed the nursery to my computer room a few years ago, which definitely helped. Although, taking down the crib was not the best day of my life. But his clothes still hang in the closet. His blankets still lie on the shelf. I have to put them away now, only because I can't bear to see them anymore. I can't name one person who has hung on as long as I have.

After the funeral, I remember getting angry, because time had stopped for me, but everyone else kept moving on. Why?! Didn't they know they were supposed to stop, too? I held him within me. I felt his movement and kicks. I sang to him. I rubbed my belly. Please stop for me, because it's hard to not feel any of that again. And I've barely moved on. So, it kills me to put all his things away. It kills me to move on. He was mine. And I don't want to. But the pain is still as sharp as Valentine's six years ago. And it's getting harder for me to block it. No one understands a mother who sobs six years later. "Isn't she over it by now?" Nope. I can't let go.

There will be a piece of me always reserved for him. The part of me that no one else will ever get. That no one else will ever see. I will never let him go.

The Mini Ones

I can throw a temper tantrum like no one's business. Oh yeah, I can bring the goods. The chin quivering, the stomp, the rage, the pout... I've got them all in my arsenal. Those are all on reserve, however. And my arsenal has its fair share of dust collecting on it. I don't use it much. Logic goes a lot farther than any temper tantrum would. But that is not to say that I don't have many multiple mini-tantrums throughout the day.

I had one this morning. My Chris woke me up with kisses. I like waking up that way. He then gave me a backrub. I like waking up this way, too. So I mumble politely about the third way of waking me up, which is a footrub, but he wouldn't do that one. I'm pretty sure there were some muffled retorts in my pillow, none of which he heard. Or at least, he pretended not to hear. So I fell back asleep on purpose just so he'd have to wake me again.

And so he came back with kisses. No backrub, no footrub. So I kicked the bed, but then realized he already left the room. My little display went unnoticed. After stomping down the stairs, getting ready for work, pausing at the door to wait for him to notice that I was leaving, so that I could ignore him, I realized he wasn't noticing I was leaving.

I gave up. He'll never know I had a mini-tantrum and I'll just have to wait for that footrub. One could call it a draw. He's getting better at this. I should revamp my arsenal.

Reality Love, Pfffft!

I'm over it. These stupid reality love shows... ugh. I was flipping through channels last night and caught a young woman doing the splits. Not a big deal, except that she was trying to show off a trick to grab the attention of the lead (some guy named Ray J, I don't know who he is or care) where she proceeded to then hump the ground while in the splits.

Um, okay. That's where we've found ourselves in this society? Oh yeah, real impressive trick there hon. In about the thirty seconds she'd managed to do that "trick", she'd just managed to debase and degrade herself on national television. Will her next trick be how to love herself? I'd like to see that one. I really would, because she seemed to have no clue and was actually proud of her little exhibition.

It's sick. Disgustingly sick. What I find the most horrifying is that these women go on these shows for some exposure to launch their careers (because let's face it, no one goes on a reality love show to find love. NO ONE.) only to find themselves being used as sex symbols, being toyed with, being exploited. What a career that must be.

What annoys me the most are the men. I love men. I'm not a man-hating woman, I'm not. But I cannot tolerate men that stand by or are a part of the degradation of women. Bret Michaels really really really makes me angry. Sure, there have been plenty of men that have done these shows. I'm not necessarily letting them off the hook, but Bret Michaels friggin' takes the cake. I've watched his show. He stands there, pushing his lips out in between token phrases like "She'd better step it up." Step what up?!

Brett... What do you expect a girl to do? They're already there exploiting themselves for your 'love', which we all know is false, because you aren't there to find love. You're there to try and stay relevant in a society that really couldn't give a shit about you. And for a good reason. Dude, in case you haven't noticed... You're a douche. No amount of bandanas are going to hide that. You can purse your lips as much as you want, you look like a tool while doing it!

I have a new proposal for a show. It's called "Bret's Last Attempt at Fame". And it goes a little something like this: You debase and degrade yourself for all the world to see in various obstacles, (One of which will be to throw all your bandanas away. Show your bald head. Do it.) where people scream "Step it up at you" and you'll win a little respect and the right to keep your johnson. If you fail, you lose the right to keep your penis, but that's okay because it will go up in the hall of fame under a little glass dome so you will always be famous. Or at least, a part of you will be. I think that's a great show. Or maybe I'm just being a little evil today. Either way, it'll never get made.

I'm going to go back to watching the Discovery Channel and the History Channel. I never get disgusted with their programming. I've fallen in love with a new show called "MonsterQuest". Hey, at least Nessie doesn't jump out of the loch and start humping the ground.