On Friday, I had a meltdown. After a very difficult few days of desperately missing my Hudson and a long, mostly sleepless night Thursday night worrying about Jackson, I just cracked. Again. I was backing out of a parking space in an underground garage. I had looked over my shoulder to make sure no one was coming and started backing out when suddenly I heard someone honking impatiently at me. I braked, looked back again, and someone had just turned into the lot and was trying to barrel past me, even though I had already started backing out and clearly had the right of way. I let her go by and I lost it completely. I started yelling at her, complete with expletives, from within the confines of my car, windows closed, completely ineffective. I think I might have pounded my fists on the steering wheel. And then I burst into tears. I was so exhausted, so very tired of grieving, so very tired of worrying, so very tired of being tired. I couldn’t stop crying all the way back into town, where I picked Ed up at his office. After I picked him up, I still couldn’t stop crying all the way home.
All I could think, over and over and over again, was the same refrain that had been reverberating in my head all week long, and every time I thought it, it made me cry harder.
I just want Hudson. I just want Hudson. I just want Hudson.
I feel like I am standing on the precipice of a giant abyss. Somewhere behind me is my little girl, grinning her trademark grin, radiating light, but frozen forever at her very tender age. In front of me is a great unknown—the only thing I know about it is that Hudson is not there, that she can’t follow me. Soon, very soon, I have to step over the edge, or be pushed, as feels more appropriate to me right now, and once I fall in, a new life without Hudson begins. And what I’ve realized over the past several days is that I do not feel ready for it. I know she will always be with us, but the birth of a new baby feels like a tremendous shift in the gravitational pull that has kept her close to me for the past eleven months. One might think that having a newborn would be so all-encompassing that it would give me a break from my grief, a break from the pain of missing her. And one might think that this would be a good thing. But it doesn’t feel like a good thing to me. When I fell apart on Friday, I realized that for days and weeks, as my anxiety about Jackson’s well-being mounted and took on a life of its own, I had less and less time and energy to think about my girl, to be with her, to keep her close to me. I had the sensation of being torn in half as I teeter on the edge of this new life that won’t include her except in memory. An overwhelming force pulling on me from a past I can’t live in anymore and another force, one even more overpowering, pulling me into a future that I anticipate with both joy and dread. I fear a moment after Jackson is born, maybe a moment where I’m feeling exhausted or frustrated or stumped about how to handle a situation with him, where that deep recess of my brain, the one that’s never quite taken the leap over the edge, the one that is still standing there, looking uncertain, glancing back and forth between the past where Hudson lived and the future where she does not, where that deep recess of my brain starts to thrum: I just want Hudson. I just want Hudson. I just want Hudson.
I know that Jackson and our other future children will bring us joy that I can’t even dream of yet and I know that I will be able to open myself to that joy when the time comes, but right now, I just want my little girl back. I want back all the things we were going to do with her, all the things we should be doing with her, all the things she would be doing now, all the little everyday moments I miss so very desperately, all the dreams we had for her.
I want back a life in which she lives. I am totally unprepared to begin a new one in which she does not.
I just want Hudson. I just want Hudson. I just want Hudson.
Of course you do. Sweet, amazing, loving woman. What a terrible reality. To be constantly pulled between two... sadness and longing with hope and longing. As you ride these difficult waves, maybe it offers just a little bit of peace to know that there are so many who care and are holding you in their hearts. You are on the brink of yet another unknown. You will create your path, as you have done so many times already. The weaving of the two will always be in process, but you will do it. You are doing it.
ReplyDeletePeace and Light,
Rachel C.
Your words are stunningly compelling. I haven't commented in awhile, but I still have been following your journey. HUGS to you Mandy. Of course you are aching for your beautiful little girl. I have no wise words or anything like that. I can share this with you, though, in the hope that it at the very least sheds some light on some dynamic of expecting a child that is not our first: When I was going to the hospital to have my daughter (and daughter #1 who was 16 mos old was at home with grandparents), we were about half way to the hospital when I had a full blown panic attack. I literally freaked out. I could take anyone back to the exact spot on the road where we were -- I can look to my right and see the trees on the side of the road at the exact spot where we were when the panic hit me: WHAT WAS I THINKING? HOW CAN I POSSIBLY HAVE A NEW BABY? HOW WILL I GO ON DAY AFTER DAY AND BE ABLE TO MELD BOTH OF THEIR LITTLE LIVES? When I read your words I think of the unbelievable ambivalence I felt at the time. HOW was I going to do this? How was everyone going to go 'where' they were supposed to, where it was best for them, in the emotional puzzle of my heart? I can only imagine that your being torn is unfathomingly greater and more difficult -- grief is exhausting, painful, always there. I adored my first little girl and was totally blown away by the love I felt for her. On the way to have baby #2, I was so torn -- I know that your situation is totally different, but the conflicting emotions you wrote about totally spoke to me. And, (((hugs))) pls remember that hormones are totally raging at the end of pregnancy and by itself that is impossible to handle. When emotions get put into the mix, and your are so much more complex, well, please, be kind to yourself. I am so glad you have a husband there to comfort you. Mariann
ReplyDeleteMandy, I'm so sorry. If it helps, your family, friends, and readers of this blog know that you are not leaving Hudson behind. Yesterday, I reread some of your posts from the holiday season and I was thinking about how much you miss Hudson and how powerful your grief is. Just because you will experience the joy of Jackson's birth in a few weeks doesn't mean the immense tragedy of Hudson's death will be lessened or pushed aside. She will always be missed, always loved, always part of your family, and sadly, always physically missing. We won't forget. She should be there. The fact that she's not is so very sad.
ReplyDeleteI wish you could have Hudson back, so much. I can't imagine how scary it must be to feel you are starting a new chapter without her, and the fear that people might think you've moved on with her baby brother. Those who matter know better. You'll never move on from her, and she'll never be left behind, because she'll always be in your heart. I'm so sorry she's not here with you as you prepare to welcome Jackson. It is so unfair. But I can assure you that those who've come here to bear witness to your grief will never forget how very much you miss your sweet girl, even on the days when joy outweighs the grief.
Of course you do. Of course you do. Of course you do.
ReplyDelete(((MANDY)))
Mandy, I am so sorry you are going through this. I wish so badly that Hudson's death was not your reality.
ReplyDeleteI wish you serenity during this last few weeks of your pregnancy.
xoxo, Olivia
Mandy, I wish I had the words to comfort you. Hudson will be a part of everything you do for the rest of your life...she lives in the hearts she left behind. Rest often (can you reduce your hours at work?) and be very good to yourself. Fatigue and worry at the end of your pregnancy are part of the deal. Profound grief in the mix is simply unfair. I love you.
ReplyDeleteHelen
Hudson lives in all of us near and far and she always will. We love her and love never dies. Renee P.
ReplyDeleteI'm crying reading this.. because I believe the most difficult thing for a non-bereaved parent to understand is just how hard it is to live your life as a parent to both your living child(ren) as well as the child you have lost. So often people look at a bereaved parent and believe they should be ever more grateful for the ones they have living. No one is more grateful for life than many of us have come to be, however the fact remains that just as we have ten fingers and ten toes, we want every one of them. It is the same with our children.
ReplyDeleteThere are those who see a pregnancy after the death of a child and think.. well now.. that just makes it all better. It's a patch, a fix, a ray of light that will heal the pain and grief. But the sad fact is that living children, as well as subsequently born siblings are not ever a replacement for the one who is gone. A new baby does not fix anything, and in many ways reminds us of everything we are missing in the life of the child who has died. We simply want one thing.. the one thing we can never have in this life, but long for more than anything else.. each and every one of our children. All of them. Alive. Healthy. Full of love and joy and experiencing all of the very things that we realize they have lost through their death.
ReplyDeleteI know how it must feel to be balancing between your grief for Hudson and the impending arrival of her brother. I honestly think, in listening to others and in realizing my own emotions, that all of the things you describe as wanting in the last paragraph will never truly fade. Even though we parent other children, there will always be one who is not there, and I don't feel as though that void will ever be less noticeable. I can see myself years, maybe decades form now still wishing that I had all of my children by my side. Longing for the life that I was meant to lead, yet resolved to trying to find happiness and light in the one that I was forced to lead in the very moment that I learned he was gone.
ReplyDeleteNone of this is easy, and I admire you in so may ways.. not only for expressing this so beautifully, but also for sharing it here.
ReplyDeleteI know how much you miss and want your daughter back. It rips at my heart to imagine it for you and to know it myself with Cullen. I understand Mandy, and it hurts so much that they are not here. I wish that their lives were not cut short. I wish were here with us.. right where they were always meant to be. I am so sorry.. and I know that sorry just will never be enough.
PS.. As you can see I had a long response tonight.. so sorry I had to divide it up.. I still have not figured out why blogger will not allow me to post comments beyond a certain number of sentences.. if you have any info. on this let me know... sending love always.
ReplyDeleteI have no words except that I'm here, reading, witnessing, crying, wishing for you that you could have her. I'm so sorry.
ReplyDeleteMandy, you are amazing. I hope you can see that. It is hard work (emotionally and physically) growing a baby, and you are doing it amidst the absolute hardest thing in the world: grieving a child. I hope you receive some reassuring signs from your kiddos in the coming weeks. If there is anything the rest of us can do, please let us know. Otherwise, we'll be thinking of you, praying for you and knowing that you will continue to be the best mommy for Hudson and Jackson. love, Kate Z.
ReplyDeleteMandy,
ReplyDeleteYes, you want Hudson. Somewhere, I suspect she wants you. You always will. She always will. That connection will always be strong, and there is no reason to hide it. There is no reason to back away from the thousand and three emotional challenges that come with it. And there is every reason to let that longing and that connection be the thing that carries you gently forward. Just as I can still, sometimes, feel Hudson's hand on my goatee, I always feel her smile in my heart. You will always feel her presence, and you will always mourn her physical absence.
Mandy, I was about to write something similar(though not as well) as Mariann above. Although the situations are very different, the conflicted feelings/anxiety/panic/worry about bringing a second (or, I imagine, subsequent) baby into the family are familiar. Thinking of you all the time.
ReplyDelete- Andrea S.
Mandy, you have very wise friends; I, too, could connect with what Mariann said, and of course your situation is so different, but never fear that your joy and the intensity of the situation with newborn Jackson will lessen the importance of Hudson, nor will your love for Hudson diminish the love you will feel for this little boy. I know you know how many friends you have who love you and wish they could lift this from you. It just shouldn't be.
ReplyDeleteWe want her too..miss her so much..thinking of you everyday..
ReplyDeleteMandy, I think for most parents, it is hard to know how they can possibly love a second child as much as the love a first. And yet...they do. I've experienced this myself, and am finding that just as my love for my first son grows and grows as time passes, so does my love for my second. Having lost Hudson, you obviously have so many more emotions to deal with than just this, but I want you to know that you will love Jackson just as wholly and devotedly as you love Hudson. Of course you will still want Hudson and miss Hudson and grieve Hudson terribly, but that won't take away from the love you have for Jackson. Your beautiful writing already shows your great love for him, and I look forward to seeing the growth of that love chronicled on this blog (if you choose to share that with us). Thinking about you often...
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