They Call Me Junebug

A little more than 2 years ago I wrote the previous entry in my Junebug blog. That was a scary time for me and my family, awaiting to here the outcome of my father's diagnosis with a brain tumor, and it was Christmas, and about 2 weeks later I found out I was pregnant with our first Bug Baby spawn. I never did make it back to this blog, and though I often thought about it, and the Smasherians I had come to know, it just all took a back seat to the fun experience of morning sickness.

Anyway, 2 years later, my father has had successful brain surgery, the BugBaby was born in typical Junebug fashion (i.e. the hard way) and after 5 days in NICU we all went home, some of us looking like a fish who'd been gutted (that would be me). Bug Baby just enjoyed his 2 Christmas spent outside the womb, and we've rung in the new year, with desperate hopes that it will be better than the last.

While my funny bone was thrown into hibernation 2 years ago at Christmas and was mainly responsible for my absence in the blog world, did recover nicely, is has once again been ripped from me most unwillingly.

10 days before Christmas I lost my dear sweet precious baby that was to be born in July 2009. It was by far the most devestating experience of my young(ish) life, and something that I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. While the physical ramifications seem to have resolved themselves, the mental and emotional scars I bear feel raw and open as if they will never heal. Of course I know they will begin to heal, as evidenced by the large outpouring of empathy I received from many women in my life who've gone through a miscarriage, but when you're laying awake at night drowning in your misery and tears, healing seems a long way off. I don't think that there's any way for a person to understand the feelings of losing a child in this way, unless you've personally experienced it. Prior to this experience, I've known women who've been through this, and while I certainly felt sympathy for them, I never really truly understood what they were going through. It's just not possible to comprehend the horror and helplessness you feel when you realize that your own body has destroyed something that you love more than life itself. Never mind that you have never met this person, or laid eyes on them, they have suddenly become the heart and soul of your body, everything your heart, mind and body does has come to revolve around that tiny fluttering heart buried deep inside of you. Doctors and well meaning friends and family can try to make you feel better by spouting the statistics that this occurs in over 30% of pregnancies, and that it will likely never happen to you again, and that its for the best considering that something was probably wrong. While all of those arguments make logical sense, logic ceases to exist once you realize that tiny heart is no longer beating. I don't know when that logic or understanding or acceptance will return, but in the meantime I can only be thankful for the blessing I have in the BugBaby, without his presence in my life, I would be completely lost, adrift in the pain and loss and self-condemnation. Mr. Junebug has been a wonderful helpmate, but I don't think his presence alone would be sufficient to pull me from the dark, its knowing that BugBaby needs me, loves me and wants me is all that stands between me and the crushingly overwhelming loss and pain.

So here's to my precious children, the one I lost, the one I live for, both of whom I'll always love. May 2009 be a better year than 2008.