It's been said that waiting is the hardest part of any worthwhile feat, and while I don't know if that will be true with Quinn, it is starting to feel a little torturous. It's not even necessarily the waiting part that is bothering me; it's the unknown part of it all. I'm not talking about not knowing how big she will be, what color her hair will be, or whether I'll be in labor for a long time. The unknown parts that bother me are whether she will be healthy, whether she will be born alive, or whether she will survive every day. To be honest, I think that every day of her life will be a milestone for her and for us. Will I ever feel a sense of permanence with her? Will I always see her (and everyone around me, really) as the child who could die at any moment? I want to be able to enjoy her, and I know that I will. I guess I just worry that underneath it all will always be this nervousness that some sort of tragedy is right around the corner. I don't think that this is an unnatural way for me to be feeling, but that doesn't make it any easier to live with. Sometimes I just wish that I had that naivety that many parents do about the fragility of their children's lives. I feel like that sounds snobby, but I don't mean it that way. I mean that before Max died, I of course knew that horrible things could happen. I worried about them happening. But horrible things happened to other people. My fears always felt so irrational and unfounded. Now, horrible things have happened to me. My fears don't feel the least bit irrational or unfounded. Lori and I discussed this the other day. It's like we expect something bad to happen. We wondered if this is our new "normal" way of thinking and living. If you think about it, how could it not be? Our babies died of absolutely nothing. How could the world not be a scarier place after that? How could we not feel more vulnerable and less in control? How could we not question whether the gifts we've been given will suddenly be ripped away from us?
The past two weeks have been difficult for me emotionally. I feel constantly worried if Quinn isn't moving around. I even went to the doctor to have her heartbeat checked because I had convinced myself that something wasn't right. I try to tell myself that she's fine and that everything will be okay, but it's a much more difficult task to make myself actually believe it. I've had quite a few evenings filled with painful contractions that brought me, oddly enough, hope and joy. I thought that I would surely wake up in the middle of the night to find that the contractions were regular and closer together. Then we could go to the hospital, deliver Quinn, and everything would be fine. Obviously, this hasn't happened yet. I wake up the following morning and discover that the contractions have stopped. I really don't want to induce for several reasons, but I'm not going to list them here. I truly want Quinn to just come on her own. I can deal with the physical discomforts of being 40+ weeks pregnant, but the emotional ones are becoming a little bit troublesome. Even Scott is feeling scared now, which is a big change from how he has been feeling. If I don't go into labor by my next appointment on Monday, then we will schedule an induction date. Preferably for five minutes after my doctor's appointment. :) Without going into too many details, my body has prepared itself and is hopefully still making progress. Unfortunately, nothing has happened in the way of labor progressing. Going much past 40 weeks scares me because there are too many risk factors...what if the placenta deteriorates too quickly? I haven't gained any weight in almost 7 weeks, so what if she has already stopped growing and needs to come out? I've done enough questioning and what-iffing over the past year. I would like a little break now.
There is a title given to babies, like Quinn, who come after the loss of a child: "rainbow babies." The whole idea behind the title is that the rainbow baby comes after a "storm" has ravaged a family. The appearance of the rainbow baby doesn't mean that the storm never happened or that we aren't still dealing with its aftermath; it just brings something beautiful and hopeful to the mix. This makes perfect sense to me because I feel a lot of conflicting emotions when I think about what life with Quinn will be like. I imagine holding her right after she's born, and I think about how happy I will feel to have been given such a beautiful gift. I mean, no matter how you think about it, the fact that two people can form a new life is simply amazing. I also wonder if I'll feel sad to remember all that I lost when Max died. I imagine feeding her, changing her diaper, pushing her around in the stroller, and playing with her, and I wonder the same thing. What I do know is that since June 10, 2011, my arms have felt painfully empty, and I can't wait for Quinn to be placed in them. So, is waiting the hardest part? Maybe it is. Maybe all of my fears will go away when Quinn finally makes her appearance in this world. Maybe meeting her is the only thing that will quell the anxiety that I feel now. Until then, I would certainly appreciate any positive thoughts and prayers that you can give to us.
Friday, June 29, 2012
Guestbook Entries from maxmcfall.com
So many people, both friends and strangers, left such encouraging and kind words at my old site, and I couldn't stand the thought of letting them "expire" along with the domain name. Looking back through them was both difficult and uplifting. They reminded me why it is so important that I continue to not only share my story, but to be open and honest while doing so. There are so many more entries than I remember there being, and there are many from people who I don't even know. These words are what inspired me early on to keep sharing my feelings. Thank you for sharing your thoughts with me; I hope you will keep doing so! Here they are:
Tuesday, June 19, 2012
The Anniversary
It has been a little over a year now since Max died. It's no secret that he died in our house, so the thought of being in our house on that "anniversary" was not a desirable one. Most of the time, I don't mind being here. I associate our house more with the "happy" times spent with Max. I don't know that I'll ever be able to really leave this house because this was his home. This is where he spent his entire life, and for some reason those are the times that I remember more than anything. I'm glad for that. I think with counseling, writing, and really working on my grief, I've been able to find ways to refocus my thoughts when they find themselves wandering to the early morning hours of June 10, 2011. Still, I think it would have been next to impossible to avoid reliving that day when June 10 came this year. I can't imagine that being in the place where it all happened would have helped at all. So, we went on vacation. Both sets of parents and our siblings and their families came along with us. We rented a big house on Table Rock Lake and spent the week doing whatever we wanted to do. While I was somewhat limited considering that I'm due to give birth any day now, I found plenty to do. Spending the week with our families was exactly what we needed, and we plan on taking a vacation with our families every year for the week of June 10. I know it sounds cheesy, but I have taken such comfort in the outdoors and nature since Max's death. I clearly remember feeling repulsed at the thought of sitting inside in the days and weeks after Max died. I can't explain why, and most people who know me were probably a little surprised by my sudden rejection of air conditioning, television, and all of the comforts of modern technology. There was just something about all of these things that felt so suffocating. While I have renewed my love of air conditioning and television, there is still something about being in nature that is still very therapeutic and appealing to me. Table Rock Lake was the perfect setting then for this vacation. We rented a house that was on the lake, but still very secluded. We were surrounded by trees and silence. It was beautiful and peaceful and helped me to do a lot of thinking and reflecting. I had quite a few breakdowns, some of them expected (on the 10th) and some of them surprising (after taking a family picture at Old Time Photos). But I'm not naive; I know that I needed to feel these emotions and to let the tears come. I owe that to Max, and I owe it to myself.
I know that I've said it before, but last week really made me believe even more that we wouldn't be where we are in our grief process without the love and support of our family and friends. We are so lucky to be surrounded by so many selfless, thoughtful, and genuinely compassionate people. From little trinkets and notes to planning elaborate family vacations, the gifts that they have given us have absolutely changed our lives. Grief is lonely. I've never felt so alone in my life. My friends and family make it less lonely, though. I know they feel helpless and struggle to find the "right" words and actions, but I have to say that they're doing a pretty damn good job. It really took the combined efforts of counselors, friends, and family to get us to a place where we feel like Max's death is something that we can live with. It's not "okay", and I still feel very angry at times, but I know now that it's okay to keep living and feeling happiness. I can honestly say that there was a time when I felt that I would never be happy again. I'm glad that my friends and family proved me wrong on that one.
As far as June 10 goes, it is a day that I will always dread. It is also my best friend's birthday. I hate that her birthday will always be associated with something so horrible, but maybe it will get easier with time. For me, June 9 was almost harder than June 10. June 9 was Max's last day alive, and it is probably that day that is most clear as far as my memories of him go. I remember nearly everything I did that day. This year, we were driving to Table Rock on June 9. Every time I looked at the clock, I was taken back one year to my last day with Max. Part of what was so painful about thinking about June 9 was that I had no idea that it was my last day with Max. What would I have done differently had I known? For one, I wouldn't have napped with Max. I would have watched him sleep and memorized every part of him. Maybe I would have talked to him more. I'll be honest...I talked to him a lot, and sometimes I felt crazy for doing so. I would have told him everything though, had I known that I wouldn't have that opportunity later. I would have taken a thousand pictures. I would have held him every second of the day. I wouldn't have gone to the grand opening of Live Strong stadium to see KC Sporting. I would have stayed home and stayed awake and took in all of him. But then what? The outcome is still the same, no matter how I would have spent that day. And really, June 9 was a very good day. I saw the brotherly love between Ethan and Max, I shared Max with close friends, and I told him how much I loved him. I told him every day. Thinking about how I would have done things differently isn't about regretting how I actually spent my time that day; it's about imagining what could have been, and we all do a little bit too much of that after someone we love dies. Ultimately, I am satisfied with how I spent Max's last day alive. I think he probably feels the same way. Even me leaving for the evening had a greater purpose--Scott got to spend the entire evening with Max. What if he didn't have that?
So, we've made it through the first year. It doesn't seem possible that it's been a year since I last saw Max, held him, brushed my fingers through his beautiful hair, or told him that I loved him. I have a feeling that I will feel that way with every year that passes. Yes, the last year has been hard. It's been the worst year of my life, and I wouldn't wish it on anyone. But the last year has also brought many good things. I feel like my marriage has been strengthened, my friendships have gained more meaning, my perspective on life is a little more meaningful, my priorities have changed for the better, and we're about to welcome a new life to the world. I don't know if it was Max's purpose in life to make these things happen, but I do know that I am so grateful to him for letting me discover these things. I used to say without hesitation that I would give up everything to go back to my old life before Max died. Now, I don't know that I have the right to bargain like that. Of course, I would give anything to have Max here today, running around the house and trying to form words. The difference, I guess, is that when I said this before, it was because I hated my life and couldn't stand the thought of living without Max. Now, I don't hate my life, and while I still don't like the thought of living without Max, I do accept that it is my reality. I've found ways to live with that reality, and I've found that I actually do have a lot to look forward to in life. I have Max to thank for a lot of wonderful things in my life. I think that we are just beginning to discover the gifts and legacies that Max left behind, and in this way (and many others) I know that he will continue to be a part of our lives forever.
I know that I've said it before, but last week really made me believe even more that we wouldn't be where we are in our grief process without the love and support of our family and friends. We are so lucky to be surrounded by so many selfless, thoughtful, and genuinely compassionate people. From little trinkets and notes to planning elaborate family vacations, the gifts that they have given us have absolutely changed our lives. Grief is lonely. I've never felt so alone in my life. My friends and family make it less lonely, though. I know they feel helpless and struggle to find the "right" words and actions, but I have to say that they're doing a pretty damn good job. It really took the combined efforts of counselors, friends, and family to get us to a place where we feel like Max's death is something that we can live with. It's not "okay", and I still feel very angry at times, but I know now that it's okay to keep living and feeling happiness. I can honestly say that there was a time when I felt that I would never be happy again. I'm glad that my friends and family proved me wrong on that one.
As far as June 10 goes, it is a day that I will always dread. It is also my best friend's birthday. I hate that her birthday will always be associated with something so horrible, but maybe it will get easier with time. For me, June 9 was almost harder than June 10. June 9 was Max's last day alive, and it is probably that day that is most clear as far as my memories of him go. I remember nearly everything I did that day. This year, we were driving to Table Rock on June 9. Every time I looked at the clock, I was taken back one year to my last day with Max. Part of what was so painful about thinking about June 9 was that I had no idea that it was my last day with Max. What would I have done differently had I known? For one, I wouldn't have napped with Max. I would have watched him sleep and memorized every part of him. Maybe I would have talked to him more. I'll be honest...I talked to him a lot, and sometimes I felt crazy for doing so. I would have told him everything though, had I known that I wouldn't have that opportunity later. I would have taken a thousand pictures. I would have held him every second of the day. I wouldn't have gone to the grand opening of Live Strong stadium to see KC Sporting. I would have stayed home and stayed awake and took in all of him. But then what? The outcome is still the same, no matter how I would have spent that day. And really, June 9 was a very good day. I saw the brotherly love between Ethan and Max, I shared Max with close friends, and I told him how much I loved him. I told him every day. Thinking about how I would have done things differently isn't about regretting how I actually spent my time that day; it's about imagining what could have been, and we all do a little bit too much of that after someone we love dies. Ultimately, I am satisfied with how I spent Max's last day alive. I think he probably feels the same way. Even me leaving for the evening had a greater purpose--Scott got to spend the entire evening with Max. What if he didn't have that?
So, we've made it through the first year. It doesn't seem possible that it's been a year since I last saw Max, held him, brushed my fingers through his beautiful hair, or told him that I loved him. I have a feeling that I will feel that way with every year that passes. Yes, the last year has been hard. It's been the worst year of my life, and I wouldn't wish it on anyone. But the last year has also brought many good things. I feel like my marriage has been strengthened, my friendships have gained more meaning, my perspective on life is a little more meaningful, my priorities have changed for the better, and we're about to welcome a new life to the world. I don't know if it was Max's purpose in life to make these things happen, but I do know that I am so grateful to him for letting me discover these things. I used to say without hesitation that I would give up everything to go back to my old life before Max died. Now, I don't know that I have the right to bargain like that. Of course, I would give anything to have Max here today, running around the house and trying to form words. The difference, I guess, is that when I said this before, it was because I hated my life and couldn't stand the thought of living without Max. Now, I don't hate my life, and while I still don't like the thought of living without Max, I do accept that it is my reality. I've found ways to live with that reality, and I've found that I actually do have a lot to look forward to in life. I have Max to thank for a lot of wonderful things in my life. I think that we are just beginning to discover the gifts and legacies that Max left behind, and in this way (and many others) I know that he will continue to be a part of our lives forever.
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