Another day…

Josh here again:

Don’t worry, though, everything’s the same as yesterday for the most part.  The neighbor’s wireless is not acting the way it’s supposed to allow S. to post from the bedroom.  Her doctor called yesterday evening, and told her to take regular dosages of Nifedipine.  That seems to be controlling the contractions for the most part.  It’s causing a little dizziness, but nothing to be too concerned about yet.  This bed rest is really taking a toll on her hips, though.

I put together a hospital bag with pajamas, Puffins (the cereal, not the endangered relative of the penguin), two cans of Amy’s chunky tomato soup (so she doesn’t have to eat the horribly bland Campbell’s low-sodium tomato soup that they provide at the hospital), slippers, a brush, and, perhaps the most hopeful of items, a digital camera.

It’s really difficult to talk to people on the phone right now.  I don’t want to sound defeated, but at the same time, I want to convey how stressed out and anxious we both are right now.  I completely blew off my father’s attempts to call with a brief email that we’ve been in and out of the hospital over the past week, and I don’t feel like talking about how I’m trying to put together job applications at the same time.  Both he and my grandfather asked me when I’ll be applying for jobs roughly a week after Natan died, offering advise, which was completely ignorant of not only of our grief, but also of the job search itself.  In April, he asked why I sounded so sad on the phone, and I said something to the fact that, well, our son died not so long ago.  And instead of hearing “Natan,” he heard “Tom” (i.e., Tom the cat).  He was like, “Oh no, Tom died?”  No, Natan.  That’s going to be hard until you have another baby.  Another well-meaning friend of S.’s offered much the same consolation on the phone yesterday, referencing a friend that had a stillbirth baby, but who now has the opportunity to completely forget her grief due to the arrival of a live and healthy baby.  Obviously, I don’t need to criticize these two too much.  As I suggested, they don’t mean to sound so cold, and only wish to console.  Nor do I need to explain why I don’t think they are correct.  S. has written about this in the past.  But maybe it does explain why talking on the phone is difficult, especially, strangely enough, to people closest to me.  Everything they say can contain so much meaning, all of which is impossible to forget.

I cried so hard after reading S.’s last post, mainly because of the reference to “Brown.”  I don’t really think of Natan as “Brown,” ever.  But I cried because it reminded me of a time when I could feel so easy about the whole experience, when I could talk about becoming a father to random people, without launching into the large caveat when confronted with the standard upbeat statement, “You must be getting really excited.”

Anyway, I don’t need to make this my blog.  I was mainly trying to convey what I think S. was attempting to do when her computer erased it.  You’ll hear from her soon, I imagine.

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9 responses to “Another day…

  1. glad S is safely upstairs, and really…couldn’t those neighbour’s stop hogging their own damn wireless?

    i hear you, Josh, on the phone. i was never a great phone person in the first place, but in the aftermath of my firstborn’s death i found it, quite literally, a blunt instrument that both forced me to compose/expose myself in ways that were never comfortable, and that in turn exposed me to people’s awkward and painful and senseless attempts to make me (or themselves?) feel better immediately. i still avoid it where i can, even now, long after.

    and Brown…our pet name was Runt, never intended to be so prescient. i found that in the end i needed to grieve twice, both for Finn and for Runt, and all the hope and innocence attached to that name.

    i hope yesterday brought you & S a little closeness to Natan, a little touch of him in the air around you.

  2. It is deeply touching for me to read your words, Josh. To hear the other side of this family story. I can tell that S. has an amazing support and companion in you. Words can’t express how sorry I am for the loss of Natan, and that there is continued fear over the well being of your second son. I wish so much it could be easy and stress-free for all of you.

    I still struggle with face to face, or verbal, interactions with people when it comes to our twin’s death. Even when they mean well, the words always seem to land on my heart in a way that doesn’t feel right. I guess that is why I have resorted to the written word to communicate my ongoing experience of life, loss and grief.

    Tell S. I am thinking of her and keep checking regularly for news.

    My thoughts and prayers are with all of you.

  3. Oh how my heart goes out to you two … Keep on taking care, and know we’re thinking of you. I’m keeping a candle lit, if that’s not too odd of a thing to do (internet-y stranger that I am).

  4. Josh, now I’m crying.

    I’m sorry for the insensitivity of your family. Somehow, I always believed that our own flesh and blood should know better…that they should be the ones to protect us. It shouldn’t be this way. We are dealing with it now too.

    Tell Beruriah that I am thinking of you all and sending lots of love.

  5. Damn neighbours! 😉

    Tell her to just relax and take care. Maybe rotating the pillows will help with the hips? And I know she is supposed to lie down…but can she lie in a bath of warm water? Or take a quick shower to help get her muscles a little water massage relief?

    I’m sorry your family is acting so lame…mine has been quite lousy, I know they feel helpless, but I still don’t know why their feet go in their mouths quite so quickly!

  6. It really does hurt worse when it’s family who say the stupid things. I am sorry yours is making the hard times harder.
    Loosing that ability to participate in the “normal” world is another, almost separate loss. It places us outside forever, making simplest conversations into minefields, tangling us in caveats.

    I need to hold on to the thought of that camera in your hospital bag. Although may you not get to use it for a few weeks yet.

  7. I’m so sorry your friends and family are inadvertently adding to your stress. And I’m thinking of all of you.

  8. I’m sorry that you have to deal with insensitive relatives. I think they mean well, but they want so badly to see you happy that they say inappropriate things in an effort to change the subject or try to get you excited about the “replacement” baby. I can say that having another child is wonderful, but it won’t replace Natan. I’m not sure why people don’t understand that. My thoughts are with S. and you. I know it is hard to have faith in times like this, but a whole lot of people are thinking about you and sending you positive energy. Maybe you should pack some puffins too. It couldn’t hurt.

  9. Thanks all. Aurelia, I’m doing lots of pillow shifting, trying to work out a succession of positions. My hips have been achy, actually, since my long bout in a labor bed in December/January. I’m thinking once we get this baby here alive and healthy, I might need to see about them.

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