Unscathed

(nobody gets through it ^^^^)

The Christmas after Sophie and Aiden died was unforgivably sad. I was in the throes of legit, horrible panic attacks, doing EMDR in therapy to try to stop them, but if you’ve ever gone through that, you know it’s the definition of, “It has to get worse before it gets better.”

I see the memes that say,” Could someone tell my nervous system I’m not being hunted, it’s only an email?” and they make me laugh, of course, but only because things are usually only funny if they are at least partly true.

I was pregnant again (with Avery) and convinced my every move would cause her to die, too, and the stress felt, honestly, insurmountable at times. Every night at bed, I’d put on headphones and pull up an mp3 track on my old iPod that was called “Baby, Stay In.” Hypnosis. I told myself it would work, each night chanting, “My cervix is long and closed.”

The Christmas prior, we’d just found out we were having twins. On hormone overload, I’d worn seasickness bands and sucked on ginger candies all while attempting to make Christmas dinner for my mother-in-law and her mom. There is a scar on my finger where I accidentally pulled off a flap of skin with the potato peeler — caused by rage peeling after my husband’s grandma said something about someone having triplets and they were full term and so fat!

The Christmas before that, we’d just found out that my father-in-law had been spitting up blood – we’d find out in January that he had Stage IV lung cancer. We’d been seeing an infertility doctor for a few months at that point, nervous about what our next steps should be.

The thing is, this is just … life. I used to naively think that I’d been dealt a bad hand or that I’d done something wrong to deserve that pain. But then, when you look around, you see it. Sure, some people might be luckier than others when it comes to aging without illness or whatever else, but this life? You’re not getting through it unscathed.

And yet, my whole body both loves and loathes the holidays. Christmas, when I was a kid, was always lovely thanks to my mom, but also fraught with fiery emotions, tiptoeing around so as to not disrupt. I think that’s buried in there somewhere, the nerves that someone will be unhappy with how things go, the memories of yelling and arguing, and the cost of gifts and all the rest.

So much of the season is thrust upon us. One day, twinkly lights are everywhere. Emails about gifts flood your inbox. Christmas music is everywhere, whether you want to hear it or not.

And although music is a great love in my life, it can also wedge itself into a tiny crack, a fissure, really, and make a wedge.

***

Back to the Christmas when I was pregnant with Avery. I watched a lot of TV, my PTSD making it impossible for me to focus on reading a book, my fears of driving or tripping or eating something with bacteria, or doing anything that could hurt the baby, keeping me at home.

But there was this commercial.

Pampers. And the song Silent Night.The whole commercial is just scenes of babies sleeping peacefully, with the song playing in the background.

It haunted me.

It became a thing – I’d scream/throw the remote/mute the TV/curse pampers and commercials and the nerve that they couldn’t just play something different. (Reminder = grief can equal anger!)

I wrote about it back then – how it wrecked me that I’d never been able to see Sophie and Aiden open their eyes while they were alive, and seeing newborn babies sleeping was just too much for me. I remember distinctly making a blog post where so many of my baby loss mom friends commented how they, too, despised that commercial.

Now, all these years later, so much of that trauma has dissipated. Sleeping babies make me smile. Christmas has become more joy than loss and sadness.

And yet, that song – Silent Night – I cannot listen to it. We are not churchgoers, but each year we go to Christmas Eve service to be with my best friend and her family, and that song is, of course, a staple. And so, each year, when they inevitably sing it, I weep. Carolyn doesn’t question it, she just reaches over and takes my hand.

But this year, Evan noticed me crying and brought it up. I’ve tried so hard to keep Sophie and Aiden part of our family, but also not try to trauma dump on my own children. For the record, I find that balance to be impossible, and in this case, I just couldn’t find the words to explain. It didn’t seem fair to say, “It makes me miss the brother and sister you had that died that none of us even really knew.”

Time moves forward, somehow. Where I used to think I got dealt a bad hand, and spent time wondering why I “deserved” this, I now look around me at hurricanes and floods and genocide and ICE and drug abuse and poverty have come to accept that life is full of sadness, but so full of unrivaled joy as well, and if we really want to compare, I’d say my life is pretty amazing.

And each year, when I hear Silent Night, I’m okay with it making me weep. What a reminder of a past hurt that has tenderly healed — not all the way — but most of the way. A reminder of the pain that has shaped me into who I am today, even if that means I weep more than the next guy.

Those reading this, I hope you are having an easy and peaceful winter season. And if this is a difficult time of year for you, please know you’re not alone. It’s okay that it’s still hard. And you can tell me all about it, if you’d like.

XXOO