"Mawage. Mawage is wot bwings us togeder tooday. Mawage, that bwessed awangment, that dweam wifin a dweam... And wuv, tru wuv, will fowow you foweva... So tweasure your wuv."
"Skip to the end."
"Have you the wing? ...And do you,Pwincess Buwwercwup..."
"Man and wife. Say man and wife."
"Man an' wife."
-- From "The Princess Bride
One thing you have to remember to work on is your relationship with the other parent. Sometimes this includes just being civil with your ex-wife/husband. In my case, it means being civil with my wife and making sure we not only work at being good parents, but a good husband and wife team.
I know some couples who make such an effort at being a couple, they become horrible parents. Their kids will grow up knowing mom and dad loved each other, but questioning if mom and dad love them. I know some other couples who work so hard to be great parents, after a few years after the kids are born, they look across their dinner table one night and hardly recognize the person they married.
Striking the perfect balance is hard. Very hard. A relative of mine was talking about their marital problems with me one night a few years ago, and said in complete sincerity, "I guess our marriage isn't as easy as it is for you and Jen." My jaw hit the floor.
At what point did my marriage get easy? I didn't think I'd ever really think our marriage was easy. If marital life were a video game, ours has been on the "Legendary Hardcore All-Madden" setting since day one. Every time we get ahead, things start working against us. We have our fights, we have our disagreements, but the key is to not lord it over one another and we move on.
In the end, no matter what our disagreements may be or be about, my wife knows that I would drop everything to be there for her. I know, when push comes to shove, she has my back. It is never easy, and people who think that it is needs to be smacked in the head with an old Chuck Taylor tennis shoe (There is no worse feeling than having ones grandma do this to you, by the way).
I guess what I'm saying is, make some time to make the relationship with your kids' other parent at least bearable. If you're still married, then make it work. Get back to what made you love him/her to begin with. Save your marriage. If its too late for that, make time to make a friendship that will at least help your kid not hate that parent, too.
Thursday, August 30, 2012
Saturday, August 25, 2012
More on Lunch
I've often mentioned how I take my daughter out to eat for lunch every Friday. Sometimes we'll eat at Taco Bell, others we pig out at a China Buffet. Like most parenting decisions, you have to adapt them to your kid, your circumstances (and by that I mean money), and your own personal needs (and by that I sometimes mean money and/or tacos).
When we first started out, I would sit Evelyn in her car-seat on a table and she'd nap, suck down a bottle, or just stare blankly at me while I ate some food and tried my best to carry on a conversation with her. She wasn't much for talking back than, but I tried anyway. Someone convinced me it is a great idea to have your kids hear your voice, and I practiced at it even though her glares sometimes felt more like looks of "Please stop talking, I'm trying to poop here."
As her tastes improved from milk-filled bottles to little jars of food, I would sometimes go through a drive through and come home, feed her and eat my own food at the same time. Either way, keeping up the tradition of every Friday taking time out of our day to leave the house and grab a bite to eat.
Then she started eating solid foods and we were able to eat together. We've had some adventures, too! Like the time I blogged about where she tried Mountain Dew for the first time and I thought I broke her. Literally, broke her. Made something go cuckoo. If you don't remember it, go back and read all my previous blogs. But believe me, I was scared. We've also had some great experiences where other people's kids try to get a little too cozy with my kid and I tell them that she does not want to try their food, she has her own. They mean well. Then, as you'll have any time you leave the comfort of home, you'll have rude people who tell you you're doing it wrong or stare at you for having the audacity to bring a two year old into their normal place to eat lunch. These people can stuff it. Life happens and if they haven't learned that by the time they're in their sixties, then they don't deserve the senior discount they're getting to glare at me and my crying daughter. I mean come on, you're probably peeing in your pants, too, lady. Get over it!
Sorry. Kind of got off track. Where was I?
Right.
Recently, we've discovered a new Chinese restaurant and I'm loving it. Probably too much, because I think my weight loss plans are starting to work in reverse, but that's a blog for another day. The fact is, this particular restaurant makes the one non-happy meal related item my daughter loves: peppered chicken.
I don't know where that came from. She's not even a big fan of meat. I don't know what it is. She won't touch a turkey sandwich, avoids pieces of pizza with pepperoni on them, and will literally eat every part of a hamburger that isn't the burger. But this peppery chicken is her favorite thing in the world.
One thing to keep in mind is, I don't do Chinese like your average fat guy. No. I use chopsticks. Its a skill I'm actually very proud of. I learned it from a Hawaiian guy at college and I never stopped using them. I'm not saying I eat every meal with chopsticks, that would be ridiculous! But, when the opportunity presents itself, I use them to eat Chinese food.
My daughter finds this fascinating. You'd think I'm turning copper into gold before her very eyes when I eat. So, she started saying, "A bite?" which is code for, "Give me some of that food you're chowing on!" She does not say this often.
Actually, I've only ever heard her say it while I'm eating peppery chicken or candy. So that must give you a pretty good idea of what her views of this food are.
Like Twizzlers on Pixi Sticks!
I've started actually putting the peppery chicken on her plate when we eat. Next to her seldom eaten chicken nuggets (I'll put four on her plate, but I'm lucky if she eats one), french fries, onion rings and garlic bread - at a Chinese restaurant, this is what my daughter will eat.
And she loves it.
As her tastes continue to grow, I look forward to each and every Friday lunch. In a few years, we may have to change them to Saturday lunches because she'll be starting school, but for now I truly cherish each one. Yes, sometimes its frustrating when people are rude or my kid gets fussy, but that's part of it.
Sometimes, when the dust settles, its the best part.
When we first started out, I would sit Evelyn in her car-seat on a table and she'd nap, suck down a bottle, or just stare blankly at me while I ate some food and tried my best to carry on a conversation with her. She wasn't much for talking back than, but I tried anyway. Someone convinced me it is a great idea to have your kids hear your voice, and I practiced at it even though her glares sometimes felt more like looks of "Please stop talking, I'm trying to poop here."
As her tastes improved from milk-filled bottles to little jars of food, I would sometimes go through a drive through and come home, feed her and eat my own food at the same time. Either way, keeping up the tradition of every Friday taking time out of our day to leave the house and grab a bite to eat.
Then she started eating solid foods and we were able to eat together. We've had some adventures, too! Like the time I blogged about where she tried Mountain Dew for the first time and I thought I broke her. Literally, broke her. Made something go cuckoo. If you don't remember it, go back and read all my previous blogs. But believe me, I was scared. We've also had some great experiences where other people's kids try to get a little too cozy with my kid and I tell them that she does not want to try their food, she has her own. They mean well. Then, as you'll have any time you leave the comfort of home, you'll have rude people who tell you you're doing it wrong or stare at you for having the audacity to bring a two year old into their normal place to eat lunch. These people can stuff it. Life happens and if they haven't learned that by the time they're in their sixties, then they don't deserve the senior discount they're getting to glare at me and my crying daughter. I mean come on, you're probably peeing in your pants, too, lady. Get over it!
Sorry. Kind of got off track. Where was I?
Right.
Recently, we've discovered a new Chinese restaurant and I'm loving it. Probably too much, because I think my weight loss plans are starting to work in reverse, but that's a blog for another day. The fact is, this particular restaurant makes the one non-happy meal related item my daughter loves: peppered chicken.
I don't know where that came from. She's not even a big fan of meat. I don't know what it is. She won't touch a turkey sandwich, avoids pieces of pizza with pepperoni on them, and will literally eat every part of a hamburger that isn't the burger. But this peppery chicken is her favorite thing in the world.
One thing to keep in mind is, I don't do Chinese like your average fat guy. No. I use chopsticks. Its a skill I'm actually very proud of. I learned it from a Hawaiian guy at college and I never stopped using them. I'm not saying I eat every meal with chopsticks, that would be ridiculous! But, when the opportunity presents itself, I use them to eat Chinese food.
My daughter finds this fascinating. You'd think I'm turning copper into gold before her very eyes when I eat. So, she started saying, "A bite?" which is code for, "Give me some of that food you're chowing on!" She does not say this often.
Actually, I've only ever heard her say it while I'm eating peppery chicken or candy. So that must give you a pretty good idea of what her views of this food are.
Like Twizzlers on Pixi Sticks!
I've started actually putting the peppery chicken on her plate when we eat. Next to her seldom eaten chicken nuggets (I'll put four on her plate, but I'm lucky if she eats one), french fries, onion rings and garlic bread - at a Chinese restaurant, this is what my daughter will eat.
And she loves it.
As her tastes continue to grow, I look forward to each and every Friday lunch. In a few years, we may have to change them to Saturday lunches because she'll be starting school, but for now I truly cherish each one. Yes, sometimes its frustrating when people are rude or my kid gets fussy, but that's part of it.
Sometimes, when the dust settles, its the best part.
Thursday, August 23, 2012
Tuesday, August 21, 2012
Comparing Kids and Writer's Block
I'm going to just put this out there: I have a hard time lately knowing what to write about. I want to blog about my wife's obsession with Pinterest, being an incredibly geeky dad who plays World of Warcraft, or the fact that my daughter used the big potty today, but I'm just having a hard time getting motivated to write anything.
Putting this stuff into words is pretty difficult sometimes, which is probably why my postings have been somewhat inconsistent as of late. Sometimes I just want to write about the fact I can't think of anything to write about, just so I can tell myself I did write something and thus, have not completely failed.
I think its important to keep writing, even when you don't feel like it. Its not my job, its a hobby, so I don't get paid or anything, but I think keeping up with this blog is one of the few things in my life that helps me keep my sanity some days. Just having that outlet is nice.
I've noticed since I started this blog that other people feel more comfortable writing/talking/posting about their kids. Especially my friends who are dads and uncles. Now, I freely admit that this probably doesn't have something to do with my blog.
Its like when I played football and my jersey number was "65." I started noticing that number everywhere. Why? Because God wanted me to know that He wanted me to play football and I was destined to be in the NFL someday?
Not even "High School Freshman Me" believed that. It was just something that had new meaning to me, and now I noticed it more often.
Since I'm blogging about my kid, I notice other parents talking about their kids more often. I won't lie, sometimes I hear their stories and size up my kid verses theirs. No, not in a juvenile "my dad/kid can beat up your dad/kid" way. I don't have that "My kid can beat up your honor student" bumper sticker because that isn't only stupid, its pretty lame (And my bumper sticker would probably say "your kid only makes better grades because they're a kiss up" but I digress). The reason I "size up my kid" verses yours isn't out of competitiveness. I know parents like that and I think its silly. Your kid won his soccer game and my kid can barely walk? Incredible. Archie Manning's kids have won 3 Super Bowls. Now what?
No. The reason I compare my kid is to see, in my own head, if she's on pace with where she should be. If your two year old is potty training, and doing great, and another friend has a kid who is four and just getting into pull-ups, I feel a little better about my kid being just behind your potty trained two year old. If your three year old knows the alphabet by sound, but can't recognize the letter H, and my daughter is able to note which is A and which is V, I'm a little proud, yeah, but not out of competitiveness. Just satisfied that my kid is at least average.
See, this is what I told our physical therapist when things started with that, "I don't care if my kid is going to be the greatest soccer player in the world, I just want her to be normal." By normal, I mean on pace with other kids.
No kid of mine will ever be normal. I came to terms with that long before she was born. I'm a huge geek, after all, with a wife who likes to make mouse shaped cupcakes.
Putting this stuff into words is pretty difficult sometimes, which is probably why my postings have been somewhat inconsistent as of late. Sometimes I just want to write about the fact I can't think of anything to write about, just so I can tell myself I did write something and thus, have not completely failed.
I think its important to keep writing, even when you don't feel like it. Its not my job, its a hobby, so I don't get paid or anything, but I think keeping up with this blog is one of the few things in my life that helps me keep my sanity some days. Just having that outlet is nice.
I've noticed since I started this blog that other people feel more comfortable writing/talking/posting about their kids. Especially my friends who are dads and uncles. Now, I freely admit that this probably doesn't have something to do with my blog.
Its like when I played football and my jersey number was "65." I started noticing that number everywhere. Why? Because God wanted me to know that He wanted me to play football and I was destined to be in the NFL someday?
Not even "High School Freshman Me" believed that. It was just something that had new meaning to me, and now I noticed it more often.
Since I'm blogging about my kid, I notice other parents talking about their kids more often. I won't lie, sometimes I hear their stories and size up my kid verses theirs. No, not in a juvenile "my dad/kid can beat up your dad/kid" way. I don't have that "My kid can beat up your honor student" bumper sticker because that isn't only stupid, its pretty lame (And my bumper sticker would probably say "your kid only makes better grades because they're a kiss up" but I digress). The reason I "size up my kid" verses yours isn't out of competitiveness. I know parents like that and I think its silly. Your kid won his soccer game and my kid can barely walk? Incredible. Archie Manning's kids have won 3 Super Bowls. Now what?
No. The reason I compare my kid is to see, in my own head, if she's on pace with where she should be. If your two year old is potty training, and doing great, and another friend has a kid who is four and just getting into pull-ups, I feel a little better about my kid being just behind your potty trained two year old. If your three year old knows the alphabet by sound, but can't recognize the letter H, and my daughter is able to note which is A and which is V, I'm a little proud, yeah, but not out of competitiveness. Just satisfied that my kid is at least average.
See, this is what I told our physical therapist when things started with that, "I don't care if my kid is going to be the greatest soccer player in the world, I just want her to be normal." By normal, I mean on pace with other kids.
No kid of mine will ever be normal. I came to terms with that long before she was born. I'm a huge geek, after all, with a wife who likes to make mouse shaped cupcakes.
Tuesday, August 14, 2012
Mark that Off The List
Earlier this year I blogged about how I wanted to get in shape.
I'm not there yet. Well, I have a shape, its just not the desired shape I strive for.
But in regards to that goal, I recently ran in the Warrior Dash in Crawfordsville, IN. I didn't set out to finish first, I would rather not have finished last (I got my results and didn't, by the way) but my ultimate goal was to simply finish.
It was an adventure.
For those of you unfamiliar with the concept, Warrior Dash is similar to Tuff Mudder, Mud Man, etc. Its a 5k obstacle course that truly tests your body. The first obstacles were mostly climbing muddy hills and falling... I mean, running down them. Some of the hills were so steep you could almost grab a hold of a rope and repel down like it was the side of a mountain. Mostly I would just run down as fast as I could until I fell down and slid the rest of the way. That part was actually kind of fun.
Other obstacles included a bunch of hay bails with boats between them - we had to run and climb and jump through all of that mess. Crawling under barbed wire, once was just a normal crawl and another time it was through several mud pits. My favorite part was the fire I had to jump through. Mostly because that sounds a lot more impressive than it really is.
But yeah, I jumped through fire.
What did you do on your Saturday? Oh, I jumped through fire. You? Oh... uhm... I learned to cross-stitch.
What does this have to do with being a dad? Well, part of it goes with the whole concept of wanting to be in shape for my kid. The other part is, even as a parent, you have to make time for your own adventures. Parenting is its own adventure, this is true, but you have to also get out now and then and do something that makes you feel alive.
I don't know what that adventure would be for you. Maybe you want to go sky diving. What gets your blood pumping? Searching for Sasquatch? Take a Judo class and imagine yourself as Batman? Whatever you need to do, but make time for your own adventure. For yourself.
Just make sure its not something you're going to look back on in a few days and say, "That was stupid" because even though my body is screaming "LET'S NOT DO THAT AGAIN!!!" my heart and my mind are saying, "Shut it, muscles, we finished!"
So now, I can mark that off my list and look for my next adventure.
I'm not there yet. Well, I have a shape, its just not the desired shape I strive for.
But in regards to that goal, I recently ran in the Warrior Dash in Crawfordsville, IN. I didn't set out to finish first, I would rather not have finished last (I got my results and didn't, by the way) but my ultimate goal was to simply finish.
It was an adventure.
For those of you unfamiliar with the concept, Warrior Dash is similar to Tuff Mudder, Mud Man, etc. Its a 5k obstacle course that truly tests your body. The first obstacles were mostly climbing muddy hills and falling... I mean, running down them. Some of the hills were so steep you could almost grab a hold of a rope and repel down like it was the side of a mountain. Mostly I would just run down as fast as I could until I fell down and slid the rest of the way. That part was actually kind of fun.
Other obstacles included a bunch of hay bails with boats between them - we had to run and climb and jump through all of that mess. Crawling under barbed wire, once was just a normal crawl and another time it was through several mud pits. My favorite part was the fire I had to jump through. Mostly because that sounds a lot more impressive than it really is.
But yeah, I jumped through fire.
What did you do on your Saturday? Oh, I jumped through fire. You? Oh... uhm... I learned to cross-stitch.
What does this have to do with being a dad? Well, part of it goes with the whole concept of wanting to be in shape for my kid. The other part is, even as a parent, you have to make time for your own adventures. Parenting is its own adventure, this is true, but you have to also get out now and then and do something that makes you feel alive.
I don't know what that adventure would be for you. Maybe you want to go sky diving. What gets your blood pumping? Searching for Sasquatch? Take a Judo class and imagine yourself as Batman? Whatever you need to do, but make time for your own adventure. For yourself.
Just make sure its not something you're going to look back on in a few days and say, "That was stupid" because even though my body is screaming "LET'S NOT DO THAT AGAIN!!!" my heart and my mind are saying, "Shut it, muscles, we finished!"
So now, I can mark that off my list and look for my next adventure.
Wednesday, August 8, 2012
How I Met Your Mother
I did a guest post for a friend about how I met my wife. I thought you may enjoy it so I didn't really post anything here.
Click here to go read it!
Click here to go read it!
Tuesday, August 7, 2012
Over Analyzing Kids Shows
Okay, so this is what I've become. I'm that parent. The one who has become so cynical, so judgmental of the shows his child watches, he can not sit down and enjoy them with her.
It all started with Elmo. I watched way too much of the red furred muppet with that squealing voice that I am now convinced that is what made me snap. He gets advice from babies, for crying out loud!
And what's with Yo Gabba Gabba? I used to not mind my kid watching that, but the people who make that show actually feel there is enough cause to create a whole show based on the concept that biting your friends isn't a good thing to do. Who are these people hanging out with?
SpongeBob gives kids A.D.H.D. If it doesn't, I'm pretty sure it gave it to me, because I can't sit through an entire episode without becoming annoyed.
I don't know, I guess I just miss Mr. Rogers and the days when Oscar and Big Bird took up most of the time on Sesame Street.
Bitter old parent, signing off for the day.
It all started with Elmo. I watched way too much of the red furred muppet with that squealing voice that I am now convinced that is what made me snap. He gets advice from babies, for crying out loud!
And what's with Yo Gabba Gabba? I used to not mind my kid watching that, but the people who make that show actually feel there is enough cause to create a whole show based on the concept that biting your friends isn't a good thing to do. Who are these people hanging out with?
SpongeBob gives kids A.D.H.D. If it doesn't, I'm pretty sure it gave it to me, because I can't sit through an entire episode without becoming annoyed.
I don't know, I guess I just miss Mr. Rogers and the days when Oscar and Big Bird took up most of the time on Sesame Street.
Bitter old parent, signing off for the day.
Friday, August 3, 2012
That moment you don't know what to do...
I've been putting off writing this. The truth is, I have had a little bit of writer's block lately, but only because writing this and getting it out of my system has stood in the way.
A couple of weeks ago I blogged about how we're no longer pregnant and even though I've tried to keep the conversation about it light, have tried to avoid it and just deal with it privately, I'm finding it incredibly hard to actually do this.
Two weeks ago, Jennifer and I sat in our bedroom and we cried. We wept, we talked things through. In short, we grieved.
I haven't been able to stop grieving. Its hard to put into words, actually. Coming from me maybe that says plenty more than it would coming from someone else. For me to struggle putting something into words... well, it doesn't happen often.
To be honest, I don't know how to grieve. Growing up, my dad was always kind of distant at a funeral, and if he was around he was cracking jokes with his dad or his father-in-law. The only way we grieve, it would seem, is by laughing about things.
But I don't feel like laughing.
I spoke to my Grandpa Withrow the weekend after everything happened - the same weekend he lost his brother - and he basically expressed the same feelings. "I always tell jokes at funerals," he told me. I knew that. Everyone knows that about him. My dad's dad was the same way.
Mourning his uncomfortable so we laugh at it until we either forget it or figure out a different way to move past it, I guess? I don't know.
At one point, I remember praying, "Just tell me what to do, God. I don't know how to react to this, I don't know what to say to my wife, I don't know how I'm supposed to act and that hurts almost as bad as the loss itself."
No answer.
No magical parting of clouds, no voice through the static that is my brain, no magical neon lights telling me what I'm supposed to do.
But I can't really write a blog at all without going way out of my way, mentally, to avoid writing this particular blog. So maybe this is me dealing with loss. Writing it out. Ripping out my own bleeding heart and exposing it for all my friends and family to glare at. Metaphorically speaking, of course.
Maybe this will help, maybe it won't. Friends have been very helpful and encouraging, and family has been great.
And maybe its not something I'm going to be able to get over any time soon. Maybe I'm not supposed to. Maybe this is just one step in getting back to feeling right. Hopefully, it will be the last blog I write about it so you don't have to wallow in my self-pity with me - if that's what this is.
All I do know is this: There are times I feel like punching things, times I feel like crying, and times I push it so completely out of my mind its as if nothing has happened. I feel guilty for the last one. Am I supposed to continually remember?
I don't know.
Before I wrap this up I have one more thing to say.
You've the old saying, "If you don't have something nice to say, don't say anything at all."
When someone is going through a loss, if you feel like you have something to say but don't know what to say, say nothing. We have been blessed and have had only a few people who do not know this is actually an option, but those are the people who have actually made the whole situation hurt more. Saying that "this is for the best," may be something that you say to yourself to get you through something, and it may even be true, but nobody wants to hear that crap when they're hurting. Saying, "Heaven just needed another angel," is so absolutely useless, too. Heaven needs angels? Hey, maybe Asia needs more Chinese people. Seriously, don't say that.
The thing is, if you feel you have to say something, you probably don't. Sometimes just saying, "Hey, I'm sorry to hear about what happened. If you need anything, let me know" is the most awesome thing someone can say. Especially when they mean it sincerely.
I remember reading a book where a person said people should never say, "I know how you feel because I went through that." The author (Harold Kushner, I believe) said that nobody knows how the person in mourning feels because they aren't that specific person. I agree and disagree with that statement (I also disagree with several other things he said in that book, but this isn't the time or place). I mentioned previously how my grandmother called and knowing my grandpa went through a similar situation and took it hard was comforting. A family member of Jen's also went through it and was comforting in her words. A close friend talked about how she lost a baby at a much later time in the pregnancy, and I know she mourned with us all the same. But we've also heard, "Well, you'll get over it because I did" and that's just wrong.
Don't... don't do that.
Don't act like you're made of sterner stuff just because you've dealt with it and moved on in your way.
Also, never try and give someone grief counselling because you're awful at it. You're not me, you're not my wife, and it wasn't your pregnancy. It wasn't your kid, your hopes and memories that will never be made that were lost. I'm not saying someone who says that is heartless, had ill intentions or anything of that sort. I'm just saying that this isn't a helpful way of helping people and maybe you need to ask Oz the great and powerful for a blood pumping organ of some kind.
I will end with one last thing. My coworkers, my wife's coworkers, our closest friends and family have been great and I want to say thank you for all the prayers and encouragement and putting up with us the last few weeks.
I may not know how to deal with this, but I know I have good people helping me get through it while I figure it out.
A couple of weeks ago I blogged about how we're no longer pregnant and even though I've tried to keep the conversation about it light, have tried to avoid it and just deal with it privately, I'm finding it incredibly hard to actually do this.
Two weeks ago, Jennifer and I sat in our bedroom and we cried. We wept, we talked things through. In short, we grieved.
I haven't been able to stop grieving. Its hard to put into words, actually. Coming from me maybe that says plenty more than it would coming from someone else. For me to struggle putting something into words... well, it doesn't happen often.
To be honest, I don't know how to grieve. Growing up, my dad was always kind of distant at a funeral, and if he was around he was cracking jokes with his dad or his father-in-law. The only way we grieve, it would seem, is by laughing about things.
But I don't feel like laughing.
I spoke to my Grandpa Withrow the weekend after everything happened - the same weekend he lost his brother - and he basically expressed the same feelings. "I always tell jokes at funerals," he told me. I knew that. Everyone knows that about him. My dad's dad was the same way.
Mourning his uncomfortable so we laugh at it until we either forget it or figure out a different way to move past it, I guess? I don't know.
At one point, I remember praying, "Just tell me what to do, God. I don't know how to react to this, I don't know what to say to my wife, I don't know how I'm supposed to act and that hurts almost as bad as the loss itself."
No answer.
No magical parting of clouds, no voice through the static that is my brain, no magical neon lights telling me what I'm supposed to do.
But I can't really write a blog at all without going way out of my way, mentally, to avoid writing this particular blog. So maybe this is me dealing with loss. Writing it out. Ripping out my own bleeding heart and exposing it for all my friends and family to glare at. Metaphorically speaking, of course.
Maybe this will help, maybe it won't. Friends have been very helpful and encouraging, and family has been great.
And maybe its not something I'm going to be able to get over any time soon. Maybe I'm not supposed to. Maybe this is just one step in getting back to feeling right. Hopefully, it will be the last blog I write about it so you don't have to wallow in my self-pity with me - if that's what this is.
All I do know is this: There are times I feel like punching things, times I feel like crying, and times I push it so completely out of my mind its as if nothing has happened. I feel guilty for the last one. Am I supposed to continually remember?
I don't know.
Before I wrap this up I have one more thing to say.
You've the old saying, "If you don't have something nice to say, don't say anything at all."
When someone is going through a loss, if you feel like you have something to say but don't know what to say, say nothing. We have been blessed and have had only a few people who do not know this is actually an option, but those are the people who have actually made the whole situation hurt more. Saying that "this is for the best," may be something that you say to yourself to get you through something, and it may even be true, but nobody wants to hear that crap when they're hurting. Saying, "Heaven just needed another angel," is so absolutely useless, too. Heaven needs angels? Hey, maybe Asia needs more Chinese people. Seriously, don't say that.
The thing is, if you feel you have to say something, you probably don't. Sometimes just saying, "Hey, I'm sorry to hear about what happened. If you need anything, let me know" is the most awesome thing someone can say. Especially when they mean it sincerely.
I remember reading a book where a person said people should never say, "I know how you feel because I went through that." The author (Harold Kushner, I believe) said that nobody knows how the person in mourning feels because they aren't that specific person. I agree and disagree with that statement (I also disagree with several other things he said in that book, but this isn't the time or place). I mentioned previously how my grandmother called and knowing my grandpa went through a similar situation and took it hard was comforting. A family member of Jen's also went through it and was comforting in her words. A close friend talked about how she lost a baby at a much later time in the pregnancy, and I know she mourned with us all the same. But we've also heard, "Well, you'll get over it because I did" and that's just wrong.
Don't... don't do that.
Don't act like you're made of sterner stuff just because you've dealt with it and moved on in your way.
Also, never try and give someone grief counselling because you're awful at it. You're not me, you're not my wife, and it wasn't your pregnancy. It wasn't your kid, your hopes and memories that will never be made that were lost. I'm not saying someone who says that is heartless, had ill intentions or anything of that sort. I'm just saying that this isn't a helpful way of helping people and maybe you need to ask Oz the great and powerful for a blood pumping organ of some kind.
I will end with one last thing. My coworkers, my wife's coworkers, our closest friends and family have been great and I want to say thank you for all the prayers and encouragement and putting up with us the last few weeks.
I may not know how to deal with this, but I know I have good people helping me get through it while I figure it out.
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