Monday, March 28, 2011

Infinite Space, Infinite Possibilities

The Second Law of Thermodynamics seems to support the idea that the universe is constantly expanding and moving toward chaos.  In that chaos exists infinite possibilities.  If our reality is the most ordered of these possibilities it makes sense that alternate, more disordered possibilities exist.  It makes sense that in the most disordered of these possibilities my children are alive.

I wake up in the early hours of the morning, the beginnings of the day peaking through the edges of my bedroom curtains, and I hear the soft cry of my Alice.  A cry letting her Mommy know she is hungry and wants to be held.  I get up and slide on my slippers and reach for my robe.  About that time a second cry pierces the quiet morning, Drake, always the second one to wake.  My husband rolls over and mutters that he loves me and I go into the nursery to greet my children. 

This all happens in my Wonderland, that infinite possibility that hasn't been proven but can't be disproven.  My Wonderland where Once Mothers and Once Children are just mothers and children.  Where Never to Be Mornings are everyday mornings and the probable disorder is a perfect chaos that has an infinite chance of being true.

The mornings are the most difficult for me.  My husband goes to work and the silence he leaves behind is all I can hear.  What times do you struggle the most?  How did you imagine it to be different?   


  1. I always find the bedtime routine very difficult. I have a surviving twin and always am wondering what it would have been like, what it should have been.

  2. Jane, I am so sorry that the quiet and still mornings are your reality. I cannot even begin to explain all the ways I've imagined my life to be during the last year since my son died. I think all of use who live in the shadow of our children's deaths exist in two worlds. This one -the one "real" one, and the Wonderland where they are still alive and our hearts are still in one piece.

    So sorry you've had to join us here in the other world. I wish it weren't so.

  3. Jane I am so sorry for the loss of your precious Drake and Alice, and so sorry that you find yourself trudging through this awful grief-terrain. Back in the early days of our loss, I found mornings definately the worst time, partly because our daughter died at 6.55 am and I remembered that every day.
    I wish I could get you a passport to your Wonderland. Alice and Drake should be there with you, in the mornings and through the day. It's not fair.

  4. Mornings were the very hardest part for me at first. My husband went back to work weeks before I did and I basically spent my mornings alone and sobbing. My afternoons were scheduled so that I *had* to do something--a friend came over to watch TV, or I'd meet with a grief counselor, or another friend would bring me lunch. I won't really let myself imagine how things are in my "wonderland," but I know that everything should be different. I'm so sorry for the loss of Alice and Drake (and I love their names). What beautiful babies.

  5. I am sorry for your losses. My stomach is turning because you are now in this community of women forever.
    Nights were the worst for me. I had imagined being up with our little girl Bailey during the night, holding and rocking her. She was born and died on her birthday: 9/20/10. For at least the first month and a half if I fell asleep I was listening to my ipod.
    Again, I'm sorry for your heart ache.

  6. Jane, kudos to you for starting a blog and for writing about this terrible experience. I lots my first child 10 months ago. I'm not sure any time of day was the worst for me, I was basically in a state of numbness for at least 6 months afterwards. I have realized this was mental self preservation. I was very aware of the awfulness but there was a part of me that remained numb to the pain, I didn't fully live life and I took tons of time for myself. I didn't do much with that time except walk and read but I simply could not engage with life as I did before his death. I am just now feeling strong again and able to do things like go to job interviews and speak in front of groups. Everyone is different and heals differently. Be gentle with yourself, do what you feel. and if you feel like doing nothing then do not beat yourself up about it. You are already listening to yourself by writing and expressing and that is a very good thing.