Morgan's Day

Today is the one year anniversary of my Morgan's death.  I don't know how to refer to this day.  "Birthday" isn't really right.  She died before she was born.  And besides, birthday is always preceded by "happy".  "Anniversary" is an option, bit also doesn't sing for me.  Some use the term "angelversary", but that doesn't work for me, either.  I've just been calling it Morgan's day.

Whatever it's called, it's not the day is should be.  I've been thinking for months of how to mark this day, and I'm still empty handed.  I abandoned the idea of releasing one of those Chinese paper lanterns with a candle, but I would hate to set the state of Tennessee on fire honoring our daughter's memory.  And after participating in several balloon releases, it's like letting her go all over again.  Every. Single. Time.  What I've been thinking are the unrealistic things: what kind of cake would she like?  Would she a sweets eater like her parents, and dive in to her cake headfirst? Or be one of those timid babies who just sticks a single finger into the frosting?  Would she have learned to stick up one finger to tell people she was one?  I know exactly what this day is: sad, painful, and full of pretend memories.  I also know what it should be: a bright, happy, sunny day with balloons, cake, and sticky, frosting flavored kisses from the birthday girl.

A few weeks ago, to add Morgan's presence to our home, I got the idea to buy a child size rocking chair.  It turned into a small wooden rocking horse that I'm going to sand down and stain.  I also am making a small quilt to drape over the seat.  In my head, I think of these projects as Morgan's birthday presents, but they won't be finished for today.  As of 7am, there is no plan.  I guess we'll continue to play it by ear.

Random

No theme, just random grief related thoughts...

A (hair) blogger that I follow shared that she had just had a miscarriage.  I'm sorry that she had to experience that, but I'm glad she chose to share with her mainstream audience.  I was especially glad when she wrapped up her post with "I entirely understand how statistically common it all is. But that doesn't make me feel any better.  Not right now."  I was especially glad because she's a licensed therapist.  It seems everyone's telling you to go to a therapist so you can get over it.  HAving a therapist validate  the pain is interesting.

I was driving to work today, and got stopped at a light behind a mini van.  As usual, per mini van law, they had those stick figure family decals.  They had two baby/child angel decals.  Since I was headed into the downtown government area, I kind of hoped they were going to the same parking lot as me so I could ask where they got them.  Stalkerish, I know.  I usually think these are cheesy! This wasn't it, but something similar.

Image from stickfamilyfiguresdecals.com

Yesterday was my birthday.  Yet another day I'd been dreading because it's just 4 days before Morgan's day.  It seems my own mother "forgot" why I wouldn't be looking forward to it.  Last week she asked if I was excited or looking forward to my birthday.  When I said, "Not really, it's just another marker of non-happy things," all she could say was "Oh, I guess it is."  The icing on the cake was when I got home from work yesterday, there was an envelope from the hospital where Morgan was delivered.  It was a sympathy card inviting us to a memorial service.  The rational me would say, "That's nice of them."  The angry me who got no kind of sympathy from them at all when Morgan died says it's too little, too late.  And isn't it just great that it arrives on my birthday, in time for Morgan's day.  Don't they have good timing.  (The day wasn't a total wash.  We went out for a nice dinner.)

365 days of Unhappy

Today, July 22, marks the one year anniversary of the last day I was happy.  On this day last year, I was completely and deliriously happy; so blind and oblivious to my body's betrayal.  On this day last year, I was looking forward to our 20 week ultrasound the next day. Finding out our baby's gender was to be the best birthday and Christmas present ever, all rolled into one.  I got my gift (It's a girl!) and had it snatched away less than five minutes later (...but she's going to die).

If you asked most people when was the last time they were happy, they would probably tell you some story about how happy they were when the good barista was on duty at the coffee shop. And they'd probably have some little thing that made them happy each and every day.  This past year, I've thrived on "the little things."  If I hadn't been finding joy where or when I could, I'd be beyond certifiably crazy right now.

Perspective is a beast.  This new perspective makes you appreciate those little things so much more, even while realizing they are so absolutely unimportant.  This weekend I went fabric shopping for the first time since March or April, and had a good time chatting with the ladies at the quilt shop and buying fabric.  I bought some fabric for a "birthday" quilt for Morgan, and for work clothes for me.  Most would find fabric shopping lame, but I survived the fall months by sewing.  Today, I was laying out some fabric and realized I got more than I needed, and it was enough for the pants I intended plus a bonus skirt.  A little perk!  An extra bonus that the pants and skirt will total $15!  Those are the little things that make me happy these days.

Ricochet

I feel like I've been thrown back in time. Ricocheting between today's reality and various points in time over the past year.  One year ago, I was counting down the days until our 20 week anatomy scan, eager to see if our Little Tater Pop was a boy or girl.  Today, I'm thinking of how to mark the first anniversary of her death, not her first birthday.

For whatever reason, it seems like the one year mark is held up as the finish line for surviving the loss of a child.  Survive the first year, and you're good.  Maybe so.  But the weeks leading up to it are crap.

To Raise a Son?

I tend to keep my political opinions to myself.  But today, I must speak.

Since losing Morgan, I've thought on more than one occasion that Baby #2 should be a boy.  I'm sure Baby #2 will have more than his/her share of issues being raised by paranoid parents who know how easily loss can come.  I also want to prevent any projections of the hopes or dreams we had for Morgan onto another baby girl.  She deserves her own hopes and dreams.  We actually just talked about why Baby #2 should be a boy yesterday afternoon.

But, today, I wonder if that's the best decision.  By now, we've all heard the "not guilty" verdict in the George Zimmerman/Trayvon Martin case.  I was not a witness to the events that night in Florida, so I'm not commenting on the verdict itself.  My comment here is on the society in which we live that allows issues such as these to come to light.

Do I want to raise a son who can be legally followed down the street because his skin is brown?  A son who can't legally follow a suspicious White man down the street? A son who is perceived as a threat because, in winter, he had his hood pulled over his ears?  It's unfortunate that we live in a "post-racial America" where justice is a one way street.  It's scary to think that despite my and my husband's best efforts, our straight A, well mannered, clean cut son will have to observe a different protocol than his White peers when pulled over by the police to avoid getting shot for pulling a gun, which is really just his license and registration.  I'm not even close to being a petite woman, and my husband is a tall, husky guy.  Any son of ours will certainly cast an imposting shadow in the dark.  Are these unwritten protocols the things we want to teach him?  It's our hope that one day, we'll be home owners.  Maybe even in a gated community with a neighborhood watch patrol.  Will our son be able to feel "at home" when at home?