moving on

Boo

It is Saturday night and it should be a cozy time with the family. Instead I am sitting here crying behind my computer. I feel so disconnected from everything and everybody. And the slightest little setback sets me off in tears.

I was planning a nice quite afternoon without Norman and Imani (they went to a birthday party) and I had planned to turn on the TV and do a marathon of ironing. Yes... I find that to be calming and fun. Especially with Oprah on. But we had a long power outage because of the stormy weather. I could have picked up a pile of magazines and read in total silence and with candle light (storm makes your house dark in the middle of the day). Instead I cried. I cried! The horror, I didn't even understand myself, but I did anyway.

Tomorrow is Imani's kids party. I have tried everything to get transportation arranged for 8 girls, but I can only fit decently 7 kids in two cars. Norman keeps saying "it will work out" but I cried some more.

Last Thursday, when I was trying to get off the island to meet the doctor in Boston, I waited in standby since 8.00 am. I NEEDED to get on the 10.45 boat, or I would not make my appointment in time. One boat came and went, but I was still in standby. The next boat: I didn't get on it. Than the 10.45 boat lots of cars made it. BUT... the car in front of me was the last one. They closed the boat. One of the workers comes up to me and says "sorry ma'm, next boat!". And I broke down. Lost it. Started crying so uncontrolably, that the poor guy didn't understand a word. "Calm down ma'm, calm down!". But I didn't. He must have felt so bad for me, that he whistled to the guys that were closing up the ferry. The door went back open. Some cars had to move up a few more inches. And yes.... I could squeeze my little Audi in. I was still crying and tried to say 'thank you' but I don't think they understood!

What's wrong with me these days?

Then just now Norman says "would you mind if I go out for a drink with the guys"? You mean, now? On Saturday night, while I have hardly spent time with you these last few days since I'm back from Holland? I felt so sorry for myself. Of course he should go and have some fun. He deserves a little break from a long work week. But deep in my heart, I want him to WANT TO STAY WITH ME. Do I make sense? I felt rejected. I need to talk, be held, get some TLC. I can't understand how my husband is not more sensitive to my needs for just laying in his arm, stroking my hair, crying some more together. Men grief differently. I've read it in all the books. I've mentioned it before. But boy, is it hard for me to swallow that I am in a different space than him.

Of course he didn't go. He apologized for even bringing it up. But the moment is already gone. I am moping around the house being sarcastic about how male company is OF COURSE much more fun then your wife who wants to talk about the 30% chance (and God forbid, cry some more).

So, now he is home. And I feel like a second-choice. And a second-choice who is no fun. I am such an instable mess these days. This is not like me. I like to be in control, on top of things, always looking on the bright side and always in for some fun. Say 'boo' to me now, and I'll cry. I don't like this girl. I want the old Jessica back. No wonder I feel disconnected from the world. Why would they understand me? I don't even understand myself...

Than again, it could also just be that I am getting my period.

Let's talk about sex baby

Two weeks ago - while in Holland - my sister suggested not sharing too many emotions with the internet. She is concerned that it might have the wrong impact on my parents. It is too intense for them. I can see how it is very hard for parents to not be able to comfort their daughter, 3490 miles away. Especially when you don't see the whole picture. This site only shows slices of my life and mostly the sad ones. The ones related to grief, mourning and "moving on"! Hence the title.

As the rawness wears off a little these past few weeks, I've been tempted to also write on this site about more fluffy stuff, as I do on my dutch site. But it seems inappropriate here. After all, I have dedicated this site to one subject only. My dutch readers - being able to read both languages - probably get a more complete picture. They see me smile again, laughing at myself and sharing the other odds and ends of my life.

Anyway... when I shared my sister's concern with my husband, he eagerly jumped on the opportunity to express his dislike of me sharing ALL with the world (and believe me: I am holding back, this isn't ALL yet). He feels that our private life is turning into a soap.

"Hmmm... I hear you sweety. Thanks for sharing, I appreciate your honesty and respect your feelings". (But I won't stop).

SO HE WILL DEFENITELY NOT BE AMUSED NOW.

Norman and I were dating 8 (!) months when we found out - by complete surprise - that we were expecting a baby. Who wants a baby when you're still courting and discovering each other? We were happy nonetheless, but it did put our "getting to know each other" on hold.

Imani's birth was relatively easy and smooth and perfect. Needless to say, we were all over each other again within a month. Freshly in love still.

Of course 6 years later we are not fresly in love anymore. Still in love, but we've been through quite a few rough patches in our life's together. Sex lately has become a second (third, fourth, tenth?) priority in our relationship. After all, I've been on and off bedrest and too concerned about the bleedings since to even THINK about physical intimacy. Besides, my father in law (a retired obstetrician) had specifically told us NOT to do 'nooky nooky' (how I wish I never heard him say these words... can you imagine your doctor refering to intercourse with those words?). We gladly obeyed. I didn't feel at my sexiest anyway, being on bedrest and laying in sweatpants day in and day out and a my face in a permanent frown from worrying. Absolutely not attractive.

Than the worst day of our lives came. And went. Neither one of us even thought about sex the last 7 weeks. I would even reject his hugs in the very beginning. My milk-filled boobs were too painful to the touch. Yes, well, "big boobs" sound sexy. But let me tell you, grief is a total mood-killer. Ironically.

It has been 7 (or so... I stopped counting) weeks ago that I gave birth. I am all healed physically. Even mentally I don't feel so bad anymore. At least: not all the time. Technically speaking there are no reasons why we shouldn't eh.... well... re-introduce the sex.

But I am affraid! There were no stitches, nothing like that. I know my husband is wonderful, and it will surely be a pleasant experience (I told you he wouldn't like this post). Nono.... I am affraid of getting pregnant at the first time being intimate again. REALLY. I have read so much online in the past weeks, that I would abstain from any further intimacy for the rest of my life. And I mean: forever. I read about the 50% chance of reoccurance once you had a premature birth, the higher risk of prematurity over age 35, the higher risk of returning placenta problems. Not to mention all the other things that can go wrong during pregnancy and delivery. I am totally terrified.
How big are the chances of 2 dead babies in one family? Well, my sister and I both went through it. Her situation was even worse! I kinda lost my faith.... And since we still don't really know how Imani got conceived while taking all the precaution, I am overly concerned about having another "surprise". No sex for me until the doctor assures me that a possible next pregnancy will not necessarily mean another high risk. Because I couldn't go through this pain again.

Poor Norman.

So, today is an important day. We're seeing a perinatologist at Tufts Medical Center. Not only do I hope she can bring answers to all my medical questions (the main one: could his death have been prevented if I had stayed on bedrest? This thought has been haunting me). But also: it would be nice to get green light for bringing back the intimacy in our lifes. Especially now that winter is coming. I am tired of knitting!

Wish me luck!

Tomorrow I am having my highly anticipated appointment with the perinatologist who my friend Carlene had referred me to. Actually, she insisted that I'd see her DURING my pregnancy, when I was starting to bleed, but I had stubbornly passed on this sweet offer (one day she had actually already made the appointment and suggested to drive me there, while LAYING on the backseat of her car.... but I wanted to trust the doctor's here on the island. Now I wish I had at least listened to Carlene earlier. God knows what difference it would have made...).

So. A little late, but now I am meeting this miracle doctor after all. The ob/gyn in the hospital here on the island doesn't think it is necessary for me to see a high-risk doctor. Than again... - with all respect - he also didn't think I needed bed rest, never once questioned my mentioning of still "leaking" (which - now that I've "studied" my own case on the internet extensively - might very well have been an indicator for premature birth) and kept insisting that my placenta bleeding was only marginal (even though in Boston the doctor's said there was nothing marginal about the blood clot they could see on the ultrasound).

I don't know WHAT to expect. I guess I want her to say all the things I need to hear: that this was an incidental situation. That I am at no risk for reoccurance. And may be that all this could have been prevented. I don't know WHY I want to prove that the doctor's here weren't "on top of things". May be because it's easier to blame them than it is to blame God? Either way, it will not change anything. Whatever she will say tomorrow, it will not bring Nolan back. Nolan. Nolan. I haven't said his name out loud in days. Nolan.

So today I went to the hospital to pick up my medical records. Now... I drive this road (called "the hospital road") many times a week. After all, it is only a small island with a few roads. I've passed the hospital plenty of times since Nolan's death. I always think about the trauma that took place there, but that's all: it run's through my mind for a few minutes but I can change my thoughts.
But today I drove that same road, and I FELT ALL FEELINGS of that early Monday morning. How I drove there by myself, how my emotions were blank. I didn't even think about what would happen next. I wasn't thinking that they could give me a magic pill to stop the contractions. But I also wasn't thinking my boy was in danger. I didn't think at all. My mind was static. I didn't even think of praying. I just rushed to the hospital to be comforted. Once I'm there somebody will have a solution. But by the end of that hospital road, I could barely drive anymore. Contractions were coming every minute and I was fully dialated...

The road isn't all that long. But this morning, driving there, I re-lived every minute of that drive. My heart was stonecold again. But by the end of the road, this time, I was crying. Sobbing! I parked the car, whiped off the tears, collected myself and went in to request my medical file.

The nurses were trying to make small talk.
"You look so good, so skinny we hardly recognized you!".
Whatever.
"How are you feeling?"
Like shit of course, walking in the waiting room with all those pregnant women. Give me the papers and stop being so damn friendly.
"See you soon!" they said when I left. And I thought "I don't think so!". Even if I will ever be pregnant again, I will be so neurotic for 9 months that I will probably permanently move in to the BIG Mass General Hospital in Boston.

The rest of the day was happy. But I had to swallow another few tears when I went to the parent-teacher meeting at Imani's school. Yes, dear internet, they have those even in PRE-school. We talked about the progress of our precious girl. Of course she was a delight in class. Her teachers love her and we love them. We talked about her drawings and social skills and then the inevitable: the loss of her baby brother. She had mentioned it in class. The teacher felt that Imani does have the desire to talk about Nolan with her friends. My heart broke all over again for my little girl. I KNOW she wants a sibling more than anything in the world. Even more than a pony or an American Girl Doll. But the pony and a thousand American Girl dolls seem more feasible than one sibling. I feel like I let her down. Don't tell me I shouldn't think like that. I KNOW I shouldn't. But my heart has a mind of it's own.

So may be tomorrow the doctor can bring back some hope to our family. I am quite anxious even though I know she can't give me answers right away. She will probably advice me to do tests some other time. Plus, we didn't want to do an autopsy on Nolan, so we will never know for SURE what has happened. But at least she can give us some direction for the future. If she would say - after tests - that the chance of premature birth is defenitely there, than I am quite sure we will not try again. But of course we are hoping for a more positive outcome. A total guarantee.

Wish me luck!

Not to be hip or anything...

... but lately I am thinking about adoption! And that has nothing to do with the new Hollywood trend. My interest is not ignited by Madonna's cute new little boy either. It has always lingered in the back of my mind and Norman and I have talked about it before. But now I seriously think I might Google it today to find out more.

Feeling good makes me feel weird

Had a great day. All the leaves on the trees are turning bright red and it helps accepting this island (will I ever?) and all it's beauty. I was actually really enjoying my morning, running errands in a carefree state of mind. I didn't think about Nolan, nor feel sorry for myself. Which is new. And the best part was: I didn't even notice that I wasn't thinking about "it". You know... the moment you think "hey, I didn't think about my disaster all morning!" it is actually already too late because, well... you just did! No, this morning I was truly feeling lighthearted. The automatic pilot had turned into a nice "go-with-the-flow" feeling.

Until I went to the post office.

For weeks, something as simple as getting my mail was a hard thing for me to do. I remember sitting in the car, in front of the local , for ten minutes and then turning around without ever setting foot inside. Affraid to see anybody. But today I went in the post office without thinking twice. That's progress! Of course I didn't realize I was actually enjoying "being normal again" until I ran into somebody who sincerely asked me how I am now. I answered honest but matter of factly. Damn, that's right! I have just lost a baby. Thanks for reminding me. But it went well. She was sweet and we only talked briefly. After the mail, I went next door for some lunch. And ran into another acquaintance. She too was very sweet. She sat down with me outside of the post office and tears welled up in her eyes. I had not seen her since the summer, when my belly was still full and I was still glowing. Even though my eyes filled up also, I didn't cry. It wasn't uncomfortable. It was nice. Does that sound weird? It is nice to be acknowledged in my loss.

But it did bring an end to my carefree morning. This post office/ lunch intermezzo didn't bring me down, but now I was thinking about "it" again. We sat for a while, talked and changed subjects rather quickly (what else is there to say?), when a 3rd women came up to me. I had not been at the post office for 20 minutes yet. What a small place this island is. This women is actually a friend of my inlaws and an ob/gyn. I called her panicking the first time I was bleeding and - even though it was Sunday morning 6.00 am - she came to the ER that time. I had not seen her since. She glanced at my belly, obviously empty (although far from flat :-) but was discrete enough to not ask. Or affraid may be. She did look concerned though.
"How are you doing?"
"Good!" I said in all honesty.
This was an awkward moment. Again. She noticed that I wasn't looking like a women in her 3rd trimester by now. But was she supposed to say? You would think that by now everybody on the island knows what has happened. It totally catches me off guard when somebody thinks I am still pregnant. We looked at each other and then I had to help her out. So I asked. "You heard what happened, right?". Well, obviously she didn't. And in my most understated way I filled her in on the blanks: "I had the baby at 23 weeks and he died during the delivery". And I took another bite of my pizza. I didn't feel a single emotion.

Isn't it weird? Sometimes I think I don't even know myself anymore....

Bittersweet feelings

Today is our daughter's 5th birthday. She is so excited, it moves me to tears. How beautiful children are, living in the moment and happy with something so simple as balloons and cake!

I have been very emotional these last few days. Sentimental over the fact that Imani is now officially no longer a toddler, but an independent girl who doesn't really 'need' me every 5 minutes anymore. I also feel extremely disappointed that - 5 years later - she still doesn't have a sibling  and it might never happen for her. Well, she has Evan, her half-brother. But he is 13 and only at our house half of the time. I want to think positive, but I almost think it's not "worth it" anymore. Even if I get pregnant soon (which is a very scary thought, I am far from emotionally ready), she will still be at least 6 years old. That is not what I had dreamed of my whole life. That is not what I had "planned". I wanted them to grow up together. I wanted her to have a baby brother or sister of her own. At least one.

I also just REALLY miss Nolan in my belly. I miss him. I know this is a very hard concept for those who never experienced a dead baby. "How can you miss somebody you never really knew?" (Believe me, I heard the comment). But I just do. I DID know him.

The last 6-7 weeks went by so fast. I tried to convince everybody that I was fine, that I would survive this and would surely come out even stronger. Now most people are back to 'normal' life - which I wanted ("please all move on, the show is over, let me be, let's go back to normal - whatever that may be") - but now I have such a strong desire to TALK about him all the time. Or at least mention him every day. I am affraid the rest of the world will forget him.

But I won't let all these sentiments rain on Imani's parade. Today is her day! And that's a little harder for me than I thought. Not only would I much rather curl up on the sofa with a good book, under a blanket, be alone and sip hot tea. I don't feel like I am in the smiling-host-mood. It is hard to feel connected to the rest of the world, show interest in the ongoing life of friends. "Right, what was happening with YOU again?". I am still spaced out. Not to mention the jetlag... I came back late Wednesday night, had Thursday and Friday to unpack, re-group, get organized and clean the house for visitors. And then yesterday, tired as I was, we went off island all day (on a 7.00 am boat) to get provisions and a birthday present. We came home around 8.00 pm. While Norman was doing Imani's bedtime ritual, I was putting the groceries away, wrapping gifts, hanging balloons, and baking a cake. All on automatic pilot, with an unexpected tear rolling down my cheeck every now and then. All these bittersweet feelings. I am so grateful for my husband. But consequently I have to miss my parents and sister on days like Imani's birthday. And then my confused feelings... sad tears for Nolan, happy tears for Imani.

So, she's five today! Our beautiful, wonderful girl. I want her to feel very special all day long. She deserves it. She has been very patient all summer when I was on bedrest, had to deal with lots of tears from her mamma and being confronted with death for the first time. Now it is time to be happy again. We are keeping it as small and simple as possible. Really. I just can't "do" a big birthday 7 weeks after her brother died in the ER. But she won't notice. Because we are overcompensating with love, kisses and hugs these days! And that will make her shine too...

My ugly side

Norman is here in Holland. I didn't know he was coming. He called with the "good news" over the weekend. He needed to meet some people here for business. I wasn't sure how I felt about it. I wanted to see him, hug him, have him close to me. But at the same time I was anxious and I didn't really understand why.

Imani and I picked him up from the airport. It started out nice. She was all excited to see him. And so was I. But within half an hour - still in the car on our way home - we were fighting. Yes... fighting. Yes... within half an hour. About nothing at first. He mentioned how full his schedule was, while being in Holland. And I exploded! STILL NO TIME FOR ME. Even overseas, he is busy. Soon we were accusing each other of the same things we've been stuck on for weeks now: he is moving on too fast, forcing me to "be strong" and asking me to be uplifted; he in his turn finds me insensetive to his stress at work and the major responsibilities that he is carrying now. We both are right. We both are struggling. We both need comfort. Instead, we fight. It got so ugly that - before we had arrived at my parents house - I had turned the car around to drop him at a train station. Any station would do. Just GO! If you have no time for me, than GO! We were both crying. Imani was so upset, having to witness her hysterical mom and her upset father. She was defending him. And she should. I was aweful. All my anger came out. And I mean ALL.

All "this" is was fault! He was the one who had wanted to wait so long with the conception of our second child. He didn't take me serious when I had begged him to cancel the week long visit of his family, when I felt physically exhausted the week before Nolan was born. Bedrest could have saved my baby! I was angry at him for falling asleep on me every night for the past few weeks, while I needed to talk! Even losing my freakin' suitcase was his fault. He should have just brought me to the airport instead of having me travel alone. After all, I am still recovering, even though you don't SEE a baby in my arms!

Norman got out of the car, crying. I knew I had gone too far. There we were, standing in front of the busy train station. I knew I could save the situation by apologizing. But I couldn't. Sorry is a very hard word. So instead I yelled out of the car window that it was unfair of him to make ME wait with MY grief until HE had time for me. "What am I supposed to do? Wait with my tears for 6 months?".... I don't think he heard me though. He had disappeared in the crowd.

I sat there, in the car. I don't know how long. I cried. Lots of people passed my car. They all seemed pregnant or pushing a stroller. Imani cried. It was probably a few minutes. And then he tapped on my window: Norman. Thank God he was back. Thank God he is the bigger person in our relationship. And thank God I had not left yet.

We drove home. We didn't say much. We apologized to Imani. Not to each other.

While Norman took a nap for the rest f the afternoon, I went to see one of my best friends who just had a baby a week ago. I stayed cheerful all through the visit. A little too forced may be. I rocked her baby, listened to her stories about the hard delivery. I didn't feel any jealousy. Honestly. I was just disappointed that I couldn't really tell MY story. I tried to slip some of MY details in the converstation here and there. But understandibly she wasn't all that keen on sharing my sadness. This is HER pink clowd. Who wants that have that overshadowed by a black one?

On the way back home, on the bike, I felt frustration welling up. Not jealousy. Plain frustration. I feel so useless. I have very little purpose to get up in the morning, other than my beautiful daughter. But she's in school during the day.

When I got home, I took it out on Norman a little more. Poor thing. Only... this time my parents were sitting there with us. Totally confused and uncomfortable at their own diner table. What do you advise two people who are so hurt that they don't know how to help each other heal? I must have said some pretty ignorent things. Even though we did kiss and make up, at some point, my parents musts believe we're getting a divorce. At least. WE went to bed both feeling much better, THEY probably stayed behind all concerned.

Today my mom called. My dad was in the hospital. Heart problems again. She was crying. He was crying. We were all crying. Dangit, now I have to *pray* again. This time for my father's health. I don't even think they work, my prayers. Clearly God didn't hear me with Nolan.

The whole drive to the hospital I kept thinking "God, do NOT also take my father away". I love him so much, I can't even bare the thought of being without him.... or my mom.
At the end of the day, my father could come home again. Thank you God, thank you! The doctor's don't know what had caused it. Of couse I can't help but thinking it must have been ME. Last night was just too much for him. He's a Libra, libra's don't like fights. My father doesn't like to see his daughters in pain. My sister is having lots of struggles, I am obviously not having the best year of my life. I think his heart is literally aching for us.

Once my dad was home, I told him I am still madly in love with my husband. For many obvious reasons, but most of all: because he let's me take my frustration out on him and still loves me back.

Automatic pilot

So, I've been "home" for 5 days now. The first day I did nothing but sleep and be upset about the suitcase that I had forgotten. The next day I left with a group of girlfriends for an outing that we have every year. It started out 8 years ago as a pampering weekend. We would rent a house with a sauna, a jaccuzi, a steam, sun bed. You know that kind of girly girl weekend. But over the years more girlfriends tagged along and it gradually turned into a fun weekend with lots of wine, shopping, cooking and staying up all night talking, gossipping and singing too loud, rather than a healthy weekend with massages and scrubbing each others back.

I've always enjoyed these annual weekends, either way. I just love hanging with friends that I've known for 10-15 years. I fly back to Holland especially for this, every year. We don't see each other that often anymore and we might have grown apart a little (and in some cases a lot). But we always reconnect instantly. This year though, I didn't know what to expect. It was exactly a month after I had lost my son. I wasn't even sure if I WANTED to go. I knew my friends in Holland had all been very supportive. But none of them had actually SEEN me pregnant! I stay in touch with them over the e-mail and with pictures. Nobody had 'experienced' my pregnancy. It was so odd for me. Coming to Holland - with an empty belly, just as I had left the last time I was here in February - was almost as if nothing had ever happened in those months in between. Those months that were so traumatic, in which I have been terrified with every bleeding, the finding of genetic spots on the ultrasound and the premature delivery and death of Nolan. All this happened away from "home". Even though I share every thought and emotion on my website, it still isn't the same as seeing each other. Holding each other. Crying together.

Weird. I have "dutch" friends who I have known for ever and I have "new" friends on the island, who I am just starting to get really close with. They all want to be here for me in a supportive and loving way. The thing is: it has been 5 weeks ago! I arrive here in a post-pregnancy state that is very different from a month ago. I don't sob anymore. I don't need to heavily lean on my friends anymore for help, like I did in the beginning. The hardest weeks of my life, I was comforted by "new" friends. Now I share my story without tears, very matter-of-factly. After all, I have started my "moving on" process. I try to start the day with a spark of hope. Hope for better days. Hope for another pregnancy one day. May be. Hope that the heaviness will wear of. But my friends here... they haven't seen the growth over the last 5 weeks. They learned about that black day over the internet. Some of them I spoke to over the phone, if I answered. That was it. To them it has happened recently. And now I am here. And I don't cry. I don't show much emotion at all. On the contrary... I laugh, I drink and it looks like nothing has ever happened. This must be confusing. It is to me. I don't understand why I don't want to touch that raw place of grief with my old friends. I try to avoid the topic by saying "I'm fine". Because I really want to believe that. I can't go back to where I was emotionally a month ago.

So yes, I went on that weekend trip. And it was fun. It really was. I didn't feel guilty for laughing out loud.I didn't feel guilty to my friends for not wanting to share too much. I DID feel sorry for myself. Joking that "at least I can drink wine again" while I would much much much rather have been drinking water and rubbing my pregnant belly still. Of couse my friends here also encourage me to let every emotion come out, to just cry when I feel like it, to "take my time" with the healing process. But I just can't. I am not in tune with my feelings. I tell my story without tears. I laugh. I joke. But for the most part I can't feel ANYTHING. I see pregnant women and babies everywhere around me. I don't collapse. I am indifferent. I live on the automatic pilot.

Indifferent is good. And so is wine.

May be it's the change of scenery, the change of language, the change of friends, the change of clothes even. Everything is so completely different from the last months. Nothing here I associate with Nolan. I don't drive by the hospital daily. I don't see the women that I was pregnant "with" at the coffee shop. I can be anomymous here on the streets of the big city. So different from being on a small island.
I can be just ME again. Even though I have changed for ever. In the back of my mind is now that ever nagging heaviness. I am just better at ignoring it. So I can enjoy biking around in Holland. And all I can think is "I can't believe it has only been 5 weeks ago!".

THE ULTIMATE BREAKDOWN

The last few days have been so stressful. Now I realize how much I personally appreciate writing here ... so I can record ALL emotions. There were so many details I tried to remember, but I had no chance to jot them down so I forgot. I don't WANT to loose any tiny detail, even if I might feel completely different an hour later. I don't want to look back on this period a year from now and all being a big emotional blur. I like to see the process of the healing develop...

Oh well, so I've lost 4 days of writing. Interesting days too. I picked up Nolan's pictures for example. But it might come back to me. I might still write about it on one of my jetlagged nights. Because now I am Holland, living at night and sleeping during the day. Jetlags are hard to get over when you have a 4 year old that doesn't want to adjust to local time.

My trip went fine, eventually. But the start was terrible. I left yesterday, on October 4th. EXACTLY ONE MONTH AFTER HE HAD DIED on September 4th. I didn't think much of it, but the fact that Norman didn't happen to mention this "anniversary" got me al upset. I was -again- blaming HIM for moving on too fast, for not being half as sad about it as me ("...and how could you, YOU didn't want him as much, YOU didn't carry him, YOU are too busy with that damn business of yours" and on and on I went again, feeling so sorry for myself). Mind you: we were in the car, on our way to the boat. Great moment to ventilate.

That's another reason I was upset: I wanted Norman to bring us to the airport in Boston. But he had no time (he never does lately, and I DO understand but I also DO feel very lonely for that reason), so instead I had to take the boat and bus myself. Totally overstressed and emotionally instable. Isn't that a nice starting point for a long trip overseas? Nervous and hiding my tears behind my sunglasses, I was trying to stay uplifted for my daughter, making sure I was still holding on to my passports, my 3 suitcases, 2 hand luggage, the tickets and her most of all. It's a long long journey with a 4 year old. Entertaining her on the boat for an hour, on the bus for 2 hours and than hanging at the airport for 5 (the bus connection made it so that I had way too much time to kill at the airport). And THAN the 8 hour flight. How creative you must be to keep her entertained, while all you want to do is CRY and feel sorry for yourself. And what is with all the traveling babies?

I just felt exhausted, worn out from the whole last month. All of a sudden I felt it. In every fiber in my body. I was tired and all I wanted was Norman's arm around me. His undivided attention. But instead I had to stay strong. Again. At least untill I am in Holland. And let my mother take over the caring for my daughter for 2 weeks.

And then the inevitable happened: we got of the bus in Boston. I grabbed Imani. Made sure I still had the purse with valuables. Collected all my bags from the bus chauffeur. The bus drove of. And I stood there. And noticed: one bag short! One suitcase is missing! The BIG SUITCASE FULL OF CLOTHES. Where the f### is my suitcase (yes,I curse a lot lately)? Imani, holding on to her little hand luggagge, remarks "Mom, this is all we got of the boat, remember?". And she was right! I had left one suitcase on the luggage cart of the boat. The boat that went back to Martha's Vineyard. With my suitcase on it. And I am in Boston now.... with no clothes to check in for Holland. No clothes at all.

Now. All this might sound funny to you. I would definetely be the first one to normally laugh at myself for this and have a plan B ready. But today, of all days, I stood there in the middle of the very crowded check-in hall and started to cry. Not just a few tears, but you know that cry... the one that you can't snap out of, where you're only stopping a few seconds to catch your breath and loudly continue? That one!

Imani doesn't even notice anymore when I cry. Poor thing. It was perfectly normal to her that mommy would uncontrollably sob in the middle of the check in hall, between all stressed other passangers. She just sat on her little suitcase, waiting for my to be done with feeling sorry for myself. Even though it lasted for quite a while. She just sang her songs and patiently waited. No questions asked. That, my friends, is unconditional love! She didn't try to tell me to be different, or be strong, or collect myself, or tell me it's all part of grief or that "it sucks". She just let me be. The other people? They just looked at me with sympathy. And walked on.

I stood there for almost half an hour. Sobbing. Can you picture how ridiculous I must have looked. Both Norman and my mother tried to calm me down over the phone, but only made it worse. Why is it that your loved ones tell you "to be strong" when you feel at your most vulnerable? I am tired of being strong, of being positive. I do that all day, to not make others feel uncomfortable. I have walked around with a poker face for a month now. It's starting to itch! It's my perogative to break down a month after my baby died. And I chose to do it NOW, in the middle of the airport. Until my eyes were completely red and swollen and my nose totally clogged. "If I don't stop crying now, they might not even recognize me on my passport picture".

I finally collected myself, checked in the 2 suitcases that I did have with me (one with some toys for Imani to play with in Holland and the other one with knitting wool for my sister and other things I can't wear!). And now I am in Holland. In my moms sweatpants and my sisters sweatshirt. Borrowing more from them is not an option, because neither one of them is my size. Not even close.

Somehow I am supposed to leave for a weekend outing with a bunch of my girlfriends from here, within 2 hours. I need a pair of jeans, some underwear, a shirt. I'll manage. I promised myself, back then in the hospital, to NEVER sweat the small stuff again. Now look at me, going crazy over the fact that I have nothing to wear. And literally, this time. I don't even have to be fashionable anymore, I just want something comfortable, that fits! And goes nice with my poker face. After all, I don't want to ruin this annual outing for everybody.... gotta stay strong.

Dad misses his boy. And me.

Yes, that would have brought tears to my eyes too. When Norman later told me this little highlight of his day, the tears again rolled over his cheek. God, how I feel for him right now! I have friends around me. Women cry easily amongst each other and tears are accepted. Women are sensitive and intuitive. Just a quick hand on you shoulder that says "I care about you". Just a look of sympathy to let you know they understand your feelings at that moment. On top of that: I have this online diary, which is a nice way to release some thoughts, that otherwise would spin around in my head all day long. But Norman? He needs to stay strong, efficient and provide for the family. He has this new business that takes up all his focus and energy. He must be so tired. Everybody asks him "how is Jessica doing?", but very few check in on him. His feelings.

It is so hard to see other people sad. If my daughter cries, I want to fix it with a bandage or a hug. Or both. Same for Norman. If I see him upset, I want to make his pain disappear. But I can’t. I can’t fix this one. Looking at his tears last night, I realized how hard it must have been for him to see ME walking around the house, crying non-stop for days and days on end. And he wasn't able to fix it for me. Nothing that he could do would cheer me up. No chocolate, no foot massage, no promise of a shopping spree. Nothing! He must have felt so helpless, on top of all his other pain.

He told me a few days ago that he was in desperate need of some TLC. My first reaction was "YOU? How about me?". But now I understand. Imani has been sleeping in our bed since the day her little brother died. We all had the need to be close as a family, so we all snuggled up together. But the most physical contact I had with my husband the last three weeks, is our toes touching. While both of us need a strong arm around us now.

Wednesday Imani and I are leaving for Holland for 2 weeks. So not even our toes touching anymore. We've been apart from each other often and for longer periods. But these coming two weeks will be the longest 2 weeks ever. We really need each other now...

I was so moved yesterday. My husband told me about the lovely walk that he had with our 4 year-old daughter and the dog, earlier that morning. Imani brought her new kite... her first time flying a kite and she was so excited! The drizzling rain didn't bother her. While she was walking towards the open field, one hand holding her big daddy and the other hand holding her brand new kite, she looked up at him with eyes of wonder and said: "I hope the kite will go all the way up to Nolan!”