After the Storm

Hello dear readers,

Maybe some of you wondering where I have been all this time, and I know some of you realize where I am, and some maybe just don't care. But I do owe all of you a blog post. Since it's my personal blog, and technically has been my second home in the blogosphere, where I connect to my whole dear "second" family.  Ironically, lots of whom I haven't actually met, but connected in heart and mind no less than those real physical being family and friends. It's really hard for me to come back here, I haven't the courage nor the strength to face it, maybe, I don't know. Even as I'm typing right now, I am still trembling, word by word.

As you already know, I was pregnant with a boy, hence our little virtual baby shower party. :) It's a little bittersweet for me to see the printables and my happy rantings still up on my blog, because I lost the baby.

Baby Glenn was born on July 20th, 2012, nearly at midnight. I had waited in the operation table to hear congratulatory remarks from the doctors, nurses, and midwives. "Congratulations, it's a boy!" and my baby's first cry to fill the room. And to see him brought up to my chest to cuddle. But no. There was nothing. The already cold operation room grew a lot colder. It felt like the longest thing in my whole life. No baby's cry.

37 days later after he was born, Baby Glenn died peacefully. During those time in the NICU, he had not once regain his consciousness. I couldn't remember the medical words the doctors mumbling to me, but I did remember one of them saying, I gave birth to a "vegetable". Another doctor said it's already a miracle he could survive for a week, or two, given the circumstances, he should had been a still-born.

My heart breaks like it has never been. I read, I know some parents who have to endure a child lost, but experiencing it on my own is a hell of roller coaster ride. And to make things worse, child or baby lost is still treated like a taboo for some and a not too big a deal for others. I know some things are worse than this (war, terrorist attack, tsunamis, ...) but some people dare to say it to my grieving face, that, "Oh, you could always make another one." Some people I thought I know well, coming out about their own loss or miscarriage and how it still grief them, shyly, like it was not supposed to be talked about, and only talked about because now I have experienced it as well. I'm Indonesian, well maybe that's how our culture reacts to a tragedy like this.

I tried to pick up my parts piece by piece and trying to move on. Anyway, works and daily life have been catching up to me naturally. Big Sister Giselle, thank God for her, is my main source of power, my Patronus, my anti-kryptonite, my sun. (sorry for the geeky references). She had a really rough time too, losing her highly anticipated brother. I could still remember her innocent prayer every night when I was pregnant, "Dear, God, thank you for a baby brother you had given me, please let him out of mommy's tummy soon" Every night, without fail.

And, thankfully, she knows, oh, how she knows better than me. She teaches a few things about "dancing, singing, and laughing in the rain" rather than curling up crying asking when's the storm's going to leave. Because I realize now, thanks to her, that this pain is not something we get over in time, it will breath with us as long as we live. But whether you want hope to shine upon the darkest place in your heart, or you'll let your whole heart rotten because of it, the choice is up to you. I can be a bitter old lady who hates babies and curses at Santa, or I can be more loving, more generous, more positive in my whole aspects of life. Maybe a little more helpful to the world?

I sincerely thank all of you who's already been there for me too. Thank you for you thoughtful compassion.  

And thank you for not saying these to me : (also, if you have a family or a friend who has lost a child/ baby/ have a still-born or a miscarriage keep in mind not saying this to them)

• You could always make another one. (well, say that to a parent who lost a 20 year old son) 
• You're lucky he died now, you'll grief more if he was already a 5 year old. (do you double your affection with your child's age? do you love the 10 year old sister much much more than your 5 year old? and you love your 1 month old baby the least?)
• You should have been closer to God and serve Him more. (not only this remark do nothing to my grief, it's also added guilt to my already catastrophic emotion, also you never knew if the grieving person is religious or not, if you're not sure stick your "God" or "angels" talk to yourself)
• ..oh.., yes, yes, it was sad. But did you know that I was... *telling her own not-to-related problems* (I'm not saying that her problems were of less more important than mine, but please pick your timing when you want to share your own problem to a grieving friend) 
• MY! Aren't you a little fatter this time? (no, I'm not joking, I'm actually told this on Glenn's funeral. Maybe, she just lost for words, maybe she doesn't know what to say to a grieving person- believe me it's hard- I don't even know what to say to my husband. But the old politeness rule is true, "If you can't think of anything resourceful/nice to say, don't say anything at all.") 

Well, now, I have used nearly a full box of tissue writing this. I am now ready to declare that I'm back at the blog. Have a nice day and thank you for reading!

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