Death Barged In

Today I heard a poem that I just have to share with all of you. This was written by Kathleen Sheeder Bonanno. I heard her read it on NPR during an interview. She recently published a book of poems about the murder of her daughter 6 years ago. Read more about her book here. I think I'll go out and buy it.

Death Barged In

In his Russian greatcoat
slamming open the door
with an unpardonable bang,
and he has been here ever since.
He changes everything,
rearranges the furniture,
his hand hovers
by the phone;
he will answer now, he says;
he will be the answer.
Tonight he sits down to dinner
at the head of the table
as we eat, mute;
later, he climbs into bed
between us.

Even as I sit here,
he stands behind me
clamping two
colossal hands on my shoulders
and bends down
and whispers to my neck,
From now on,
you write about me.

For me this poem spoke to me in the same way that An Exact Replica of a Figment of My Imagination did. All I can think afterwards is yes.

What does a dead baby mama look like?

I go about my life... working, hanging out with friends, and generally doing what I feel has to be done. And it seems to be convincing. Everyone seems to think I'm fine. No one asks how I'm really doing any more and when I bring up Colden or sadness or pain, the subject gets changed pretty darn quick. The list of people who I've decided to remain silent around, at least about the main thoughts that course through my mind, grows steadily.

Do they really think I'm over it? Or, has it gotten that uncomfortable to talk with me? I don't feel like a huge downer. I can carry on conversations about every day subjects and laugh plenty these days. I work hard. I socialize. I'm not looking for someone to talk with all day about my dead baby or future hoped-for pregnancies filled with anxiety and fear, but I resent the total silence from most of my friends and family.

I sometimes think about it when I am out and about. I'm walking down the boardwalk at the Jersey shore dressed in work out clothes, and I'm passing many people who look very similar to me and some with obviously different lives. I wonder if they think about how I got there and what's going on with me. I certainly think about them and what their stories might be. Which person has lost someone they love? Which one is unemployed? Has a sick family member? Lost their baby? They don't really look like it either.

Ugliness

Yesterday I went rock climbing. I used to love to go climbing but recently I haven't felt like I had enough energy to get my pack together, get all the way out there and actually climb something. I think it's generally life apathy combined with the sense that I'm not supposed to be out climbing since I intended to be climbing a lot less after Colden was born.

So anyway, back to yesterday. We get out of the car, grab our packs and head down the trail. It's about a mile to the climb we were heading for. Another party of two is right behind us and talking fairly loudly. They're relating great news: his wife is pregnant. The friend is ecstatic for the happy couple and proceeds to offer advice and congratulations at great length. I try speeding up but can't outpace them. I drop back a bit but don't lose them. They continue on and on, nonstop for the 15 or 20 minutes they're close to us. At one point, the friend says, "the first month will be the worst of your life, but..." I didn't even hear what came after that because the blood was boiling in my ears by then. I wanted to turn around and shout that she had no idea how the worst month of someone's life could turn out.

Don't worry. I didn't say anything at all. This is all about internal angst, not public displays of frustration and anger by an overwrought, thwarted-mother.

I wish that I wasn't made sad by other people's happy news. I don't want their baby, and their happiness doesn't make Colden any more lost to me. And yet I really struggle to be around their happy, confident surety. I desperately miss the days when I blithely assumed that pregnancy = baby. I long for the days when my knowledge of potential negative outcomes consisted of c-sections and mild jaundice.

And some babies are even harder for me to manage. A few nights ago I dreamt that every female in my family was pregnant. Tonight my much younger brother called. His wife is pregnant. Why do people feel that the phone is the best way to convey this kind of news to a babylost mother? I picture the two of them sitting home wondering what to say and how to say it. That must be a painful interuption to their joy and yet trying to make happy noises at them is stinking hard too. I lasted about two minutes and hung up and cried. Email would be easier.

I hate this ugliness that's coming out in me. I hate that I feel that Colden will be replaced in our family by this new grandchild. I hate that I have the urge to rain unhappiness down in strangers. I hate thinking constantly about how chaotic and unfair the world is. I hate that he's not here, growing up, learning new things, smiling at me.