Hey Jude — Thinking of You

Hi, Sweetheart.

Today was four months since we first brought you into this world in a most unconventional way.  Your little life was lived in such a strange place compared to most, but I refuse to believe it was any less significant.  You’re so very special, darling.

Today at church, Father David gave us a hand-woven blanket shawl made to comfort us when we are lonely for you.  We decided to get a paver stone for the church in memory of you, too.  I hope others will see it and wonder about the life of Jude Delcambre.  I often do.

Today, Lillianne pointed to a photo of you and your daddy that sits on our bookshelf, and she said Jude.  Your sister is so smart and special, darling.  It amazes me how delightful she is, and it hurts my heart so much to think of how special you and she would have been together.  Mommy doesn’t blame God nor is mommy upset with God, but mommy can’t help but wonder why….especially while she sees everyone else having babies and babies close in age and such.  That’s not to say Mommy isn’t happy for the other babies and families; it’s just to say that mommy feels sad because she misses you so very, very much.

I can’t help but think hard of you sometimes, Jude.  When I say hard, I mean that I think of you in the kind of way that makes me feel like I’m being vacuumed into a pit.  The depths of my pain and despair and loss of you are boundless.  I want to scream and cry and write and run and paint and hurt and float away for the misery that wells within.  There’s a depth of suffering that I know that I don’t know how I contain other than the hours in the day in which to feel and to have steam expire and I simply fall asleep on principle.  If It weren’t for that, I think I could go crazy for pain.

Of course, because i love you, and I know you want and deserve a well mommy, I don’t, and i won’t go crazy.  I’ll keep trying and I’ll keep hoping.  I’ll keep being good to daddy, and I’ll keep being good to Lillianne.  I’ll hold you in my heart.  I hope that we will have more siblings to know about you and to be impacted by you, sweetie.  I want you to know how special you are.  Even though I can’t hug you with my arms, I hug you every day in my heart, and you know it’s a big, tight squeeze.  I wish I could hug you with my arms and kiss you and feel your warmth and your smile beneath my cheek.  I wish I could hear your giggle.  I can’t even imagine it, but I imagine you love me as much as I love you.

Every time I see a red bird, I say your name, Jude; I say it out loud. Our neighbor told me that red birds were our loved ones coming from heaven to check on us.  I like to think that’s so, and if so, thank you for coming so often.  My baby boy, I need you, and I miss you, so thank you for the birds.  Thank you for the sun and the wind.  Thank you for being you, exactly as you are.  Wait for mommy and daddy in Heaven.  I love you and miss you.  Happy four month birthday, darling.  You’re my little world.

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All Inside My Head

I fully acknowledge that I’m not a sane being. Admittedly, I also wonder if any of us are ever sane, so there we are, am I right?

 

Lillianne turned 22 months today; on Saturday, Jude would have turned two months. The precipices of my mind are constantly obsessed with “what ifs”. No, I don’t wonder what I would be doing if I were trying to nurse a two month old instead of running from life itself (literally). I wonder about the mistakes still.

 

The first mistake I must give consideration to are my own stress levels. Was I too stressed? Did I kill my baby with stress? I didn’t feel stressed, but perhaps I was stressed. I once had a massage therapist tell me that my levels of stress tension would kill me. Perhaps this was a way to drum up business; regardless, now, it haunts me.

 

Am I so very tense and stressed that I simply don’t know it? Could I have been –between the constancy of work and work and work and home life been stressed to the extent that my body destroyed the only good thing about it? God, I cannot fathom such a thought. It’s too horrifying to comprehend because if it were me, and it were my fault…what right do I have to even live? Other than to be Lillianne’s mother, why should I even live? I should just die because I inadvertently did the worst thing anyone could ever do. I know I wouldn’t; I would probably live a long life, forced to constantly relive my own horror and my own demons.

 

Even though I’m only speculating, I run, literally run, from this idea every day. If I can run, I can exhaust myself of stress, and then, I can be sure that I am not destroying anything good my body might conceive due to stress. God help me.

 

The other mistake I ponder is the hospital. If I had gone to Women’s and Children’s, would things have transpired differently? Specifically, I ponder the healthcare provided. I was checked in with concerns. The MD said I wouldn’t get fluids; the nurses gave me fluids. I asked them about it, and they were like, “Eh, we’re giving you fluids because that’s what we do.” Should I have been more challenging? Perhaps.

 

Then, they gave me the steroid shot. Then, things started to go downhill, and then, my baby died. That was the sequence of events. Was there relevance to that sequence? It’s hard to say; sadly, there’s not medical or even blogging evidence to support that a steroid shot led to a stillbirth. Actually, I’m not sad because then I would have to lose Jude all over again. Right now, it’s deemed an act of God; if it were deemed an act of human stupidity, well, I can’t imagine.

 

Except that I do. I imagine all of the damn time. I imagine the scenario, finding out that it was someone’s fault. I imagine the rage and the pain and the anger. What I’m sure this is –is actually, displacement. I’m refusing to feel rage and anger at the situation, so I elaborate these scenarios where anger and rage are appropriately placed.   Yes, that’s what’s happening. All inside my head. Every day.

 

And so I run. I run until I cannot run anymore and even then, I keep running. Because running feels good. Getting back in shape helps but more so, the burn and the mind numbing distraction of pushing myself just one more tenth of a mile helps. It helps.

 

I’m neither running backward nor running forward; I’m just running, and it helps.

 

**Note, I’m not mentally unhealthy; I’m both physically and mentally healthy, as much as someone in my position can be. I’m running because it’s good for me. I think often about my son and his loss, and I don’t think any of the speculations or thoughts I have are unhealthy. I often run with my son; the Mobile Memorial Gardens site where he is buried is flat and is a lovely place to run. Running with Jude is special and it helps. I miss my son so much. I don’t understand why this has to be me. I don’t. I don’t like it. It hurts, and it’s hard. And I don’t like it. The only good thing is that I’m the statistic, and someone else isn’t. But everything else is hard.

 

My baby. (And I’m done because I can’t stop crying.)